You’ve got to appreciate that this sort of thing killed me. I don’t do apologies or anything that belittles me in any way. Some things need to be said though. Heel or face, I’m not about to change the person that I am simply to satisfy wrestling stereotypes.

“We’ve already been through this. It’s over now. We can’t go back. I’ve moved on,” she proclaimed, throwing daggers at my heart. “Maybe you should too.”

As she spat those words out at me like some kind of vile apple pip, I twisted the phone cord around my neck and prayed that it’d strangle me. I can’t enjoy life without someone by my side. It’s quite a contrast to the side of me that you see every week, isn’t it? Chris Champion – the HWF’s biggest goof, right?

Maybe it’s a front.

Or maybe it’s just my way of dealing with problems outside of wrestling.

“Move on? Move onto what? The next eighteen year old girl that tries to climb into bed with me simply because I’ve got a big house and a fast car? They’re all the same. It’s all about draining as much cash as they possibly can. Sure, I had could have sex with five girls tomorrow, one after the other… but they’d not be having sex with me, they’d be having sex with the reputation I carry. It’s fun to screw a superstar. It’s something to tell your friends about. People dine out on it everyday. They live for it.”

She paused. That’s when I knew she was at a loss for words. She knew that everything I’d said was true. There are far too many whores on this Earth that exist as leeches and parasites. All I ever wanted was someone that I could talk to before going to bed, someone that would cuddle up on the couch… someone that didn’t want me for my money.

Someone called Georgina.

“Look, Chris, maybe it’s just for the best if we both hang up now. This isn’t going anywhere,” she replied, sighing as she did so. The thought of her hanging up on me filled me with an indescribable emotion that was neither anger nor despair. It was as if she wasn’t just hanging up on me… but actually giving up on me. In those final few moments, as I pondered how to respond, it happened.

Dial tone. The line was dead. And so was a part of my life.

Still, we’ve all got to try and venture on.

Dear Diary,

Why does everything my life have to be a bittersweet symphony? I beat Trey. I beat Azure. I lose Georgina. I don’t subscribe to any of this Matrix bullshit either – the equation does not need a balance. Even if it did need a balance, I’m due some good fortune all round. Wrestling. Love. Everything.

Collins has kept me laughing over the past few months. He’s been a really good friend. However, I don’t need a friend right now – I need a soul mate. Besides, even he’s gone a little weird lately with the Fuller situation reaching boiling point. Dancing with that maniac Tyrell? It’s like his personality changes and evolves with each passing day.

Do I know Shawn Collins anymore? I’m not so sure. But, I’m not all that bothered.

Maybe a part of me wanted to actually be Shawn Collins. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s part of the reason that I went on that losing streak. Fischer suffered from the same disease, I suppose. Everyone wants to be Collins because he’s the big shot. He’s the former World Champ. He’s the resurrection of Nicholae.

Why would I want to be Chris Champion anyway? A two-bit newcomer with a string of losses and, now, no girlfriend? No wonder I wanted to be Collins so badly…

But, as I pinned Trey’s shoulders to the mat, a little lightbulb appeared in my head. The feeling returned as I hit Azure with school’s out last week too. I couldn’t figure out what my brain was trying to tell the rest of my body. It made no sense…

Until now.

I’m not Shawn Collins. I never will be. And, as much as I respect him as both a person and an athlete, I am grateful for that.

I think it’s almost time for me to come out of my shell. The HWF needs a strong Chris Champion more than ever.

More importantly, so do I. It’s my only chance of resolving the situation with Georgina. I don’t believe she can move on so quickly. There’s got to be something still there.

There’s just got to be.

“Mr Champion? Mr Champion?”

Eurgh. Carefully, I rubbed my eyes and took a few moments to take in my surroundings…

On the floor. A few strange guys peering down at me. Bottle of Jack Daniels by my side. Nursing a bad headache.

“Jesus Christ!” I said, shaking my head from side to side. “Who the hell are you people and why are you in my house?”

“I’m Detective Yates and these are my colleagues. Your neighbours called and said there was a disturbance. When we arrived, the front door was open and we found a note on the table… from the guys that have burgled you,” said the guy in the black trench coat. He was around forty, had a well trimmed moustache and a slightly podgy belly. Also, on the right side of his face, there was…

Wait a minute. No time for description. I’d been fucking robbed!

“Burgled? What? When? Why?” I mumbled, in some kind of post drunken rampage euphoria. I shook my head once again, trying to signify some kind of physical resurgence. Finally, I came around. “Damn those rat bastards.”

Shakily, I picked myself up off the floor and looked around at the line of police officers standing in front of me. My first thought was, naturally, ‘I hope I’ve stashed that weed away’, however the second was much more sensible.

“I’m not supposed to get burgled! I’m a superstar!”

And that’s when it hit me. That was the cause of all my problems.

I wasn’t a superstar before I arrived in the HWF. I was Chris Champion.

Not a walking ego.