Chapter 1.
Punk made his way through the backstage area, Chris Jericho's words still buzzing in his head. The bastard had the gall to bring up his family past, something that should have stayed in the dark. Jericho could have kept this rivalry at a professional Level, but no, he had to make it personal.
Every word Chris had said made Punk feel as though he were living his childhood all over again. He could almost smell the booze from his father and his voice echo in his mind. He remembered how his dad would be passed out on the living room floor and a beer bottle lying next to him. Punk continued walking down the hall when someone placed a hand on his shoulder from behind. Punk spun around to clock whoever it was; hoping it would be Jericho, but stopped once he realized it was John Cena.
"Hey man, you alright?" John asked.
"Does it look like I'm alright?" Punk snapped, continuing on to the locker room and attempting to ignore John, who followed him inside.
"I just figured I'd ask... after seeing everything that just happened with Jericho." There was real concern in John's eyes as he said the words and, for some reason, it only made Punk angrier.
"I don't need your sympathy."
"Look, I know I can't say I've taken a walk in your shoes, but I've had friends since I was a kid who have had this same problem."
"Last time I checked, this was a wrestling arena, not a support group."
"What's going on over here?" Zack Ryder asked, coming to John's side. He'd been in the locker room when the two men had come inside and he was frowning.
"Nothing, Zack," Cena replied, thankful that Zack was the only one in the locker room at that moment. He had the feeling that this was going to turn into a scene.
"No no John, by all means, please tell your lover here all about how you think you're my fucking therapist!" Punk hissed, glaring at both men.
"Maybe we should leave you alone," John said. "I was just trying to help." Which, he probably should have known was a bad idea. He and Punk weren't the best of friends but he knew enough about the man to know that he should probably leave him alone when he was in one of these moods.
"You wanna help someone John?" Punk asked. "Why don't you help yourself fix that fucking Boy Scout, goody goody image of yours before Wrestlemania, before Dwayne knocks your teeth down your fucking throat!"
"Bro, chill, like John said, he was only trying to help," Zack interjected indignantly, coming to stand beside John.
"Just go, both of you." Punk's voice was a low, angry growl when he said the words. They needed to leave before he did something he might actually regret later.
"Alright, we're outta here." John said. "But I do still just want to help."
"And like I said, this isn't a support group for children of alcoholic parents."
"Good luck to you man," John said, walking out with Zack.
Punk stared after them before his back hit the wall and he slid down into a sitting position. Breathing a little harshly, his fists clenched until he could feel his nails digging into the palms of his hands. He'd never been more pissed off. At least, he hadn't since he'd signed his contract with WWE.
Jericho's words still rang in his head. Maybe he shouldn't have been so surprised. It was a tactic he'd used in the past to throw an opponent off their game. Attacking a person's family was a classic move. He'd used it himself on Rey Mysterio and Randy Orton.
But he was furious. He'd been tight lipped about his past since making it to the WWE for a reason. Bringing the hand up, he pressed the back of it to his mouth, a laugh escaping him that was half hysterical.
