A/N: This will determine if my theory is correct.
Bottomless pit didn't even begin to describe how he felt. He almost wished he was falling down a bottomless pit, because then he'd have the feel of falling. He'd be feeling something. Part of him believed that he had already fallen down the bottomless pit, and that he'd been falling for so long that he was lying at the proverbial bottom, unconscious. The other, smaller part of him thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a small flicker of hope for him, that maybe someone could come and save him.
But then the darkness in his heart snubbed out that tiny, miniscule gleam of hope.
It made him wonder why he was so popular in the ring. After all he had done, and after all he had been associated with, he was still loved. Jeff Hardy didn't understand it. He had tried everything. Sure, he was still a good guy, but he was beginning to show heel tendencies. How come he could be cheered for that, but others were ridiculed? Sometimes, he wanted people to boo him. If the fans hated him, it would make him feel better about hating himself.
The sad part of it all was that the darkness and depression in his soul was his comfort zone. And what was Jeff Hardy famous for? Stepping out of the comfort zone. Inside, Jeff felt like a hypocrite for feeling this way. He felt schizophrenic, as if he was two different people at the same time. There was television Jeff Hardy, and then there was the real Jeff Hardy. He wanted to turn the light on, but he was afraid he'd melt.
After a long, hard show in England, Jeff sat alone in a pub. Yes, he knew how dangerous that was for him, but unlike most people, danger was the one thing that made Jeff feel like Jeff. He was comfortable in it, and it was what he knew.
Downing one of England's finest brews, he contemplated that thought. He didn't want to be a risk taker anymore. He didn't want to be the dark enigma. He wanted to be happy. He wanted the darkness to be replaced with the light. He wanted to be a different person.
"You might want to slow down on that a bit," the bartender suggested, a young woman in her mid-twenties.
Jeff's head snapped up. He hadn't noticed her before, except for the fact that she was the person serving him his beers. She had short, blonde hair, and was quite tall. The nametag on her shirt read "Charlotte."
"Oh, thanks…Charlotte," Jeff mumbled, taking another swig of the amber liquid.
The bartender smiled. "No problem, Mr. Hardy. And please, call me Charlie."
Jeff's head snapped up. "You…You know my name?"
Charlie nodded towards the window. "The arena is right there. Of course I know your name. I was there."
"Oh." Jeff picked up his beer and took another long sip. Figures, doesn't it? Just another fan. Pretty soon, she'd be asking for his autograph. "So, why aren't you attacking me yet?"
"What?" she asked, cleaning stray glasses that she collected off of the bar. "Do I come off as a rabid fangirl? Shame. I thought I was doing something right."
Jeff smiled. "No, it wasn't that. It was just…I don't know. That's the usual reaction I get from women who know who I am. Sorry." His quick apology was quickly drowned out by the sound of the sink behind the bar being turned on, sending hot water pouring down the faucet.
"Not everyone is the same. Don't you learn that from traveling the world?" Charlie asked, not looking up at Jeff. She was concentrating on her work, and not on him, something that Jeff was very grateful for.
Those words caused Jeff to think a bit. Everyone was different. Hell, he was the poster child for being different. He was always stuck in his own little dark hole.
But what if he crawled out? What if he made an attempt to be happy? He watched Charlie as she cleaned the glasses behind the bar. She seemed like a nice, down to earth girl with a good head on her shoulders, not to mention attractive. What if he asked her out, fell in love, and wasn't depressed anymore? What if he wasn't insane anymore? He could lead a normal life just like everyone else. He wouldn't make stupid decisions anymore without thinking about it first.
But then he wouldn't be Jeff Hardy.
Jeff shook his head at the thought. As much as we wanted to be happy, he could barely stomach the idea. And as sick as it sounded, he was comfortable in his own depression. He didn't want to crawl out of the bottomless pit. He didn't want to be saved.
Jeff finished his latest beer and stood up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some money, placing it on the counter. "Thanks, Charlie. This should cover my tab for the evening." He picked up his coat that was draped on his chair and headed for the door.
"Jeff?" Charlie called, causing Jeff to stop in his track and turn around. She pushed the money back towards him. "It's on the house."