A/N: Wow, I just forgot all about this story. I'm sure you guys are ready to murder me for not updating. Sheesh. School's been crazy, plus I got a new job & yeah..just very little time.

Anyway, there will be about 5 chapters total, so..hope you guys enjoy & keep your eyes peeled for them!


Chapter 2: Narcissistic Personality Disorder: Chris Jericho

"Individuals with Narcissistic Personality Disorder have a grandiose sense of self-importance."

Whoever discovered the symptoms for Narcissistic Personality Disorder must have had Chris Jericho in mind. At least that's what everyone in the business said, anyway. Most people that knew the Canadian could not stand him. No, that was actually putting it mildly. The majority of the roster—actually, everyone in his life, if you wanted to be honest—loathed Chris Jericho. He would often stroll through the halls of whichever arena the WWE was taping at with an insane amount of confidence, acting like he owned the place.

Winning the Unified Tag Team Titles hadn't made matters better, either. If Chris had seemed standoffish and egotistical before, well, now it was a million times worse. It was almost as if the belts' main purpose was to act as a catalyst for the egomaniacal ways Chris now possessed. Whereas he'd at least made somewhat of an attempt to make conversation with people before, now he refused to speak to anyone but Big Show.

Calling the former Undisputed Champion a jerk would be a huge understatement. Chris constantly bragged about his numerous accomplishments—the fact that he was the first ever Undisputed Champion was just one of them—to anyone who would listen. Most of the time, whichever Superstar he was talking to would simply just walk off in the middle of the conversation, but unfortunately, the Superstars that didn't know Chris that well didn't know to walk off and just leave him be. Poor Evan Bourne was one of those people, as was Cody Rhodes.

Nine times out of ten, Chris would catch one or both of them in catering and would casually just make his way over to them, and before either of them could speak, he would bring up a match that he'd had a week or so before, and offer advice to the two of them on how they could be as good as him, if they worked hard. It was a blatant lie, because Chris knew that there was no way that either of them would ever be able to match up to him in any way, shape or form, but he looked at himself as kind of a locker room leader; one that the younger guys could go to for advice.

Chris wasn't well-liked or respected by his peers, but if he knew this, he simply chose to ignore it. Why did he care what they thought anyway? He knew that he had more talent, looks, and charisma in his index finger than the entire roster combined. Besides, he didn't need friends anyway. This was the wrestling business, not a fraternity.

"Individuals with this disorder generally require excessive admiration. Their self-esteem is almost invariably very fragile."

But even though he projected this standoffish, couldn't-care-less attitude, deep down, Chris was completely different than the image everyone associated with him. He always had to be complimented on how he looked, and he always took an ungodly amount of time to get ready in the morning. To everyone else, Chris' fashion sense seemed so comfortable and laid back, almost as if he just threw on whatever he found lying at the foot of his bed in the morning. No one, apart from maybe Christian or Edge, knew that Chris got a facial and a pedicure every Wednesday, and touched up his highlights on Friday. He always made sure to pick out what he was going to wear to a taping four days in advance. His tenacity when it came to perfection was almost ridiculous.

"They expect to be catered to and are puzzled or furious when this does not happen."

Even though he was part of the Superstar roster, it could be said that Chris would have fit in just fine among the Divas. When he stayed on the road, Chris always ordered room service, at exactly the same time of night, and always ordered the same meal. Upon its arrival, Chris would take the food out of the bags the hotel staff put it in, lift open the containers, and inspect it thoroughly before finally paying the delivery person. If the food was even slightly lukewarm, Chris would place it back in the bag, and demand that another dish was brought up to him. He also expected his room to be spotless upon checking in, and he made sure to run a finger across every nook and cranny in the room. After all, he was the best in the world at what he did, didn't he deserve stellar accommodations?

"These individuals are often envious of others or believe that others are envious of them."

At the end of the day, the one opinion that Chris Jericho cared about was his own. He understood that not everyone felt like screaming their praises of him from the rooftops, and that was more than okay with him. He was a god among men, a technical messiah stuck in a land full of mediocre, boring, washed up miscreants. Sometimes it was almost too much to bear, but then he remembered that he had a purpose, a calling: his sole purpose on this earth was to impart knowledge and wisdom upon others; in this case, the poor, untalented, unfortunate souls in the WWE.

If he wasn't Chris Jericho, he'd damn sure be envious and jealous too.


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