A/N A little later than I had originally intended, but here it is. The 'Epilogue' and final addition to my story of 'Confide In Me'.
I know I said it in the last chapter, but I really cannot thank you all enough for everything everyone has done for me. The response I have had to this story has just been amazing and truly humbling. From just reading, to reviews, to PMs and e-mails. This story has been an amazing journey for me, and I genuinely thank you all for taking it with me.
The sequel. After much deliberation, I have decided that there will be a sequel to this story. I've given it a working title of 'Absolution'. I've got a few ideas that I've been working over in my head. I was against the idea to begin with, but I honestly feel like there is more story to tell. Although my ending did everything I want it to, I know this isn't the end of Morgan/John.
So for the final time for this story, please everyone accept my heartfelt thanks. I hope you enjoy this last chapter. I disclaim! Lyrics are from one of my favourite songs. It's called Who Am I, and is sung by Will Young. And just for me, please, if you read this chapter? Leave me a review. Love and Light!
Staring at the at the computer monitor before him, John's shoulders' sagged. Stretched across his e-mail inbox were the words: - 'Unable to deliver this message to recipients' inbox'. John's large hands rubbed his chin with interest. It was the third he had received after trying to e-mail Morgan. Every single e-mail he had sent had been returned to him, giving the same reason for its return. That message could only mean one thing. Morgan had blocked John's e-mail address. He could send a thousand e-mails to Morgan, and none would be delivered.
John's hands moved from his chin to his face. His fingers carefully massaged his eyes, trying to hold back the burning tears.
I will not cry anymore.
Closing the laptop computer, John got up from his seat. Pacing across the room, he suddenly found himself full of nervous energy. Somehow reaching the mirror attached to the opposite wall, John found it a chore to even meet his own reflection.
Looking at his misty blue eyes, and the dark circles beneath them, John Cena sighed. It had been four days. Four whole days. Ninety-six hours even, since John had seen Morgan. Never being one for patience, despite his easy going demeanour, John wished these feelings burning inside would just go away. Wasn't time supposed to heal all wounds? Didn't it make life easier? The only silver lining through this entire experience, was John's hope that in time the hurt would go away.
And yet the emotions seemed to bury themselves deeper with every passing day. Incapable of getting Morgan out of his head, John had resorted to e-mails. Truthfully, he doubted that he had the guts for a telephone conversation. A part of John's mind, plagued with self-doubt, really believed Morgan would refuse to speak to him. How things have gotten this bad? Had Morgan's feelings changed? John's certainly hadn't. He was as in love with Morgan has he had been for the past twelve months.
And yet, the love for Morgan that at first kept him alive, now rotted away inside his chest. As much as he truly loved the guy, John knew this love was slowly killing him.
John had had his heart broken before. But never like this. All his hopes and dreams seemed to cruelly torn away from him at the very last second. Morgan couldn't possibly have left it any later than he had. Maybe that was his point, to cause John as much hurt as possible. If John knew Morgan at all, he was sure that was Morgan's way of making sure he got the message. John watched his reflection, as its lips curved into a sad smile.
That was Morgan Lee all over. In his sweet little head, he would try and make John hate him. That way, their parting would be easier. If anything, it made it a hundred times worse. John just wished he knew what he had done. Where had their relationship gone wrong? Had he said or done something to chase Morgan away? Maybe it was the complete opposite. Perhaps there was something John hadn't done that pushed Morgan away. Sighing softly, his breath clouded up the mirror in front. John realised he would probably never know.
Turning his back to the mirror, he became aware of the other presence in the hotel room. Raising his eyes, John was confronted with the melancholy expression of Randy Orton. Stood in the open doorway, his large frame rested against the door, arms folded neatly across his chest. The expression on his handsome features was enough to make Cena snort incredulously.
"You realise," Randy began, "that the kid ain't on the other side of the mirror. If he's being a little bitch and blocking your e-mails, pick up the fuckin' phone and call him. You might be lucky, could end up as a booty call."
Rolling his eyes, John dropped himself onto the sofa in the centre of the room as Randy chuckled at his own particular brand of humour. Kicking up his legs, John rested his head on the arm of the chair. Randy simply shook his head. "I'm going to head downstairs and get some ice. The boys will be here in a minute, so try and be hospitable you miserable fucker." Randy shook his head. "Oh and John..?"
Cena answered wearily, without looking up at Randy. "Yeah man?"
"I invited Jeff. Hope that's cool." Not giving John any time to reply, Randy stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Resting one hand inside the pocket of his jeans, Randy headed down the hall. Things were so tense at the moment; he was beginning to feel asphyxiated by it all. All this emotional bullshit between John, Morgan and Jeff was really starting to get out of hand.
Randy Orton was not a deep thinker. He was not in touch with his emotions. He was a purely gut driven person, who didn't analyse things the way everyone else did. It was because of this, that he secretly felt like he was failing John as a friend. Sure, he could inject humour into any given situation. But that wasn't enough. Randy knew, when it came down to it, what John needed the most was to talk. He needed someone that he could his feelings and frustrations to. Randy Orton was not that guy.
The best Randy could do was just make sure John knew he was there. Whether that was enough or not, was out of Orton's hand. Turning the corner, Randy continued trudging along the corridor. Approaching a door to the left, he stopped. Taking in a brief burst of oxygen, he squared his shoulders.
If anyone was suffering more than John in all this, it was Jeff Hardy. Since the day that Morgan had left for good, no-one had seen much of Jeff. Rumour had it that Hardy had even refused to see his brother Matt. Finding solace in no-one, he had asked to be left alone. Wondering just how hard Jeff was taking the break up, Randy gently rapped his knuckles against the pale blue door. His lips less than inch away from the door, Randy's voice was a soft inquiry. "Jeff?"
For a second, Randy thought that he wasn't inside. About to turn to leave, he stopped as he the sound of shuffling. A set of feet padded across the floor. Hearing something fall to the ground, Randy heard Jeff's southern voice curse lazily. Sounding like he had collapsed against the other side of the door, Randy listened intently as the sound of the door unlocking came.
The door slowly peered open, flooding the pitch black room with the light from the hallway. Slowly, Jeff's head rolled into view. To say Randy was shocked would be an understatement.
Jeff's usually multi-coloured hair was a simple jet black, hanging in greasy streaks around his head. His skin was pale, betrayed by deep black circles etched beneath of his eyes. Randy looked at Jeff's eyes in more depth. After a few seconds, Orton could see just how unfocused Jeff's pupils were. More than that, he seemed to be having a difficult time focusing on Randy. Sniffing softly, Randy was instantly aware of the tell-tale aroma of marijuana.
Placing his hand on Jeff's shoulder, Randy peered intently into the unfocused jade green pools in front of him. "Jeff…man. Are you alright?"
"Sure." Jeff drawled, slowly wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. "What's up?"
His face showing real concern, Randy tried to looks past Jeff into his hotel room. "We're all heading to John's room, remember? For beer, pizza and poker? You said you'd think about coming?"
By the confused look on Jeff's features, Randy knew he had forgotten. "I did…? Don't remember that." Standing up to a straight, Jeff regarded Randy coolly.
"Well, the invitation is open if you want to come?" Randy's voice hinted at his hope that the Carolina native would still come. If anything, Randy wanted to get him out of this hotel room, and back to his friends. At a time like this, shutting yourself away was the worst thing you could possibly do, Randy decided.
Jeff shook his head lazily. "Nah, man. I'm good." Tilting his head slightly, Jeff moved to close the door to his hotel room. He was stopped as Randy planted the flat of his hand against it, baring its close.
"Jeff…whatever you're doing man…nobody is worth losing yourself for." Randy was more than a little startled at the withering look Jeff gave him. Face remained stony; Jeff pushed the door closed in Randy's face. Fumbling clumsily with the lock, Jeff pulled the chain back into place. Turning back to the face the room, he trudged back across the floor.
Sitting back down on the seat where he had been before, Jeff sighed. With a trembling hand, he slowly started to role the sleeve of his shirt back up his arm. Pulling it up onto his shoulder, his exposed bicep revealed what his shirt had been hiding. Stretched around his arm was a thin length of material. It had been pulled so tight, the blood supply into Jeff's arm pumped furiously. The large vein running beneath the flesh looked angry and bloated. Running his forefinger over it, Jeff chewed down onto his bottom lip.
He honestly couldn't take anymore of feeling like he did. Everything he had done in his life was a lie. Every time he had ever been the 'nice guy' was a lie. Everything he had done to show Morgan how much he cared about him was a lie. Jeff Hardy was a liar. In one moment of pure selfishness, he had done something he could never take back. In a fit of selfish revenge, he had deliberately kept Morgan and John apart. Maybe Ashley had started it, but Jeff had been the one to ensure the success of her idea.
Glancing across the room, Jeff's eyes fell over the envelope resting on the pillow of his bed. It was still there. The letter from John, the plane ticket to Carolina. A symbol of his guilt and self-loathing. Nothing Jeff had ever done, nor anything he would ever do, could possibly make up for his deceit. He was a terrible person, and for the first time understood why Morgan didn't want him. He didn't deserve the love of someone like Morgan.
Dipping his head, Jeff choked back the tears threatening to spill. Grabbing the length of material, he pulled it even tighter. Unable to stop the trembling in his hand, he reached for the syringe lying on the table in front of him.
Bringing it closer, he softly pressed the tip of the needle against the bulging vein. Sobbing softly, Jeff knew he was a failure. For all the hardwork and success he had staying clean, everything had toppled down around him, as though it were some kind of macabre house of card. But he didn't care anymore. I just can't stand feeling this way anymore. With one final sob, Jeff pushed the needle into the vein.
Back in his hotel room, John slowly sucked a line of liquorice in and out of his mouth. Having some kind of tongue contest with himself, he realised he was doing anything he could. Just so he wouldn't have to think about anything Morgan related. Realising that was exactly what he was doing, John immediately sat up on the seat. The silence of the room, which at first had been peaceful, was suddenly deafening. The entire lack of noise weighed heavily down on John. It was as if it were taunting him, shedding harsh light on all the things he wouldn't think - let alone say.
Standing up from the seat, he padded across the room towards the television. Hitting the on-switch, the flat screen crackled to life. Settling back down onto his seat, John's hands rubbed nervous circles over his knees. Snatching up the remote from the table in front, he switched the channel from the current 30s movie it was on. Having no desire to watch two people in love torn apart, his thumb jutted spasmodically against the button. Channels passed in a blaze of white light. Not lasting long enough to get a full picture of each, John Cena pushed the button one more time.
Deciding to settle for the channel he was on, he relaxed back into the seat. Pouring all his energies into focusing on the television and not Morgan, John's mouth fell open at the cosmic irony of the image before him. Shocked into a state of near catatonia, John could only watch helplessly as the images of the arena, and concert taking place, unfolded before his eyes.
The crowd roared to life in an explosion of sound. The indoor arena was positively shaking with the sheer force of the sounds coming from the fan's mouths. Everyone stood up from their seat, arms waving desperately in the air. Screams and chants of 'Morgan' echoed wildly through the space, all directed at the currently empty stage.
As if to but the baying crowd out its misery, a direct spotlight sliced through the darkened arena, focused on the staging. The cameras zoomed in to get a clearer view of what was taking place. Dressed in a pair of low rising jeans and a black 'Chain-Gang' tee-shirt, Morgan smiled broadly at the audience. The cheers reaching a fever pitch, he paced the stage for a few moments, waving at the crowd, reaching forward to tag the hands of fans that he could reach.
The sustained wall of sounds lasted for a few more moments. Taking his place behind the microphone, Morgan raised his hands in an effort to quieten his fans. Resting one hand on the microphone, his voice rang out through the entire arena. "Good evening New York! How are you enjoying the show so far? Are you guys having a good time?" The ecstatic response told Morgan that the sold out crowd were thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Grinning, he removed the microphone from the stand, and took a few steps towards the front of the stage. "Me too." The crowd cheered wildly as Morgan chuckled, reaching the front of the stage. "So, as this is my first ever concert right here in New York, I figured I'd give you guys a one-time special performance." Fighting to be heard over the screams of adulation, Morgan walked down the few steps leading onto the runway which jutted out from the main stage. "I'd like to sing a song for you guys, one which is very personal to me. I wrote it this weekend on my way here. See, I was originally supposed to be heading to Carolina…but that didn't work out…" Morgan licked his lips, eyes creasing slightly as the heartache took hold for a moment. Ever the professional, he forced himself to carry on.
"…as with most music, this is a song about love. It's about a powerful love, one which until recently least, had pretty much consumed me. I'm still trying to figure out where things went wrong…but talking about it helps I guess. And we all know I don't do talking very well, I do singing. So I'd like to sing this song for you guys. This is called, Who Am I."
Lowering himself to take a seat on the few steps, Morgan waved at a group of screaming tweenage girls nearby who were stretching to touch him. The houselights dimmed slightly, as the image of a bright daisy flickered to life on the screen behind. As the music began to play, Morgan could already feel his eyes misting over, tears desperate to be released from their prison of ocean blue eyes.
"Sometimes you know you push me so hard I don't know how I feel. You almost make me doubt I feel at all. It's not as though I always listen, but there's just so much I don't hear. Maybe I'll never be what you want." The crowds collective voice softly died down as Morgan's voice sang out into the darkness before him.
Feeling all the eyes of the audience, not to mention of the thousands watching at home, it was all too easy to let nerves get the better of him. But somewhere deep inside, Morgan knew. If he didn't get these feelings out of him now, they would consume him utterly. "I know that all you're asking for is a little place in my heart. But I don't find it easy to give. Maybe I get a little selfish sometimes, why shouldn't I? I used to say I love you, but would it make a difference this time?"
Using the momentary pause of the music to take a breath, Morgan's eyes closed for a moment. A world of fears and heartaches and disappointments bubbled furiously inside the pit of his stomach. For everything he had ever gone through in his life, it seemed finally his broken heart was finally finding its voice. "And who am I to tell you, that I would never let you down? That no-one else could love you half as much as I do now. And who am I to tell you, I'll always catch you when you fall? Well I, I wouldn't be myself at all…I wouldn't be myself at all."
Through the vast distance between them, Morgan secretly hoped that somewhere, John Cena was listening, that every word he was singing was reaching his ears. After all, this entire song was for John Cena. If ever Morgan was ever going to bare his soul to the person he had fallen so deeply in love, it seemed it was this very moment.
"I always find a reason why I didn't put you first. It's not that complicated I know. I really hate it when you shake your head like this ain't gonna work. Maybe you'll never reap what you sow…" As the chorus approached, Morgan was struck by a paralysing thought. Everything inside himself was finally breaking free. If that was the case, and he was riding himself of all negative emotions…what would be left of himself?
Wondering if pain had defined his life for so long that there would be nothing left if it went, Morgan's eyes looked hazily out into the crowd. "And who am I to tell you, that I would never let you down? That no-one else could love you half as much as I do now. And who am I to tell you, I'll always catch you when you fall? Well I, I wouldn't be myself at all…I wouldn't be myself at all."
Morgan's eyes fell to the camera on his left for some reason; it became the focus of his song, as though by looking into the camera lens, he was really singing to John Cena and him alone. "I didn't want to do what everybody does, and hide the truth to find we never knew a thing about love, cos this is real life, real love. And knowing what it comes down too It just might be enough…"
Morgan found himself rising back to his feet, looking out into the darkened audience. In some ways, he was grateful he couldn't make out individual people. He was petrified that if he looked into another pair of human eyes, the last strands of sanity holding his emotions in check would flee. Morgan thought he could never let that happen.
That was untilhe felt the tears rolling down over his cheeks. "And who am I to tell you, that I would never let you down? That no-one else could love you half as much as I do now. And who am I to tell you, I'll always catch you when you fall? Well I, I wouldn't be myself at all…I wouldn't be myself at all.
"And who am I to tell you, that I would never let you down? That no-one else could love you half as much as I do now. And who am I to tell you, I'll always catch you when you fall? Well I, I wouldn't be myself at all…I wouldn't be myself at all."
Perhaps out of nerves more than respect for Morgan, the lightning technician of his tour began to dim the lights as Morgan's head fell into his knees. Slowing cradling himself in his own arms, Morgan spoke without realising it. "I'm sorry." Not entirely sure of who he was apologising too, Morgan could care less. He didn't think anyone had heard him anyway. It was over, Morgan finalle realised. There was no going back now.
A lifetime away in Carolina, John Cena was perched on the edge of his chair. His heart pounded inside his chest as tears stung at his steel blue eyes. For John, it had bee as though Morgan had been in the room with him, singing directly to him and him only. Without realising what he was doing, John watched as his hand reached forward. His thick fingers were outstretched, as though he was trying to reach for Morgan's fading form through the television itself. But for what? To hold him, to comfort the crying love of his life?
For the second time today however, John was unaware of the company he had in the room. Lost in his own agonised heart, John heard Randy Orton before he even knew his friend was there in the room with him. "Anything good on television Cena?" Randy tried to keep his tone as light as possible. In reality, the young 'Legend Killer' had seen enough of Morgan's performance and John's reaction to know how much his friend was affected. Crystal blue eyes focused on John, Randy wondered how his friend would finally react.
Randy was rapidly given his answer. John's hand which had been reaching for the screen suddenly shifted to the left. In one swift movement, he hit the off switch to the television. The darkened image of Morgan falling apart on stage melted away into a blank television screen.
"No man." John replied, turning over his shoulder to smile up at Randy, despite the tears glistening in his eyes. "Nothing at all."
A/N FF isn't sending me alerts/Pms again! If you have sent me a PM, I apologise for not replying, but I haven't had it.