#flushes that subconscious part of my brain straight down the toilet and suddenly not only does the jaw hurt but so do the teeth

[deepwoundsandfadedscars]

.

[kaimelia]

never be alone

a/n: okay! this was originally supposed to be part of enough for you, but got cut out and I figured I would still turn it into it’s own fic...I hope you enjoy it! thank you to everyone who helped me out with this one!

tw:references to drug use

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"Link?" Her voice was quiet, so soft that for a moment, she wasn't sure that she had actually said anything; the only thing she could hear was the pounding of her heart in her chest.

"Yes?" His response was stern, the way he had spoken to her the last time their relationship fell apart, when their only communication was shared over patients at work, when Amelia had lost him for the first time. She sighed at the sound of his voice. It had only been a few days, but it sounded so unfamiliar to her that it took her by surprise.

"Link, I know you're mad at me, but I need you right now." There was a pause before she heard him sigh, her hand shaking on the phone as it was held up to her ear. "Please," she whimpered, her eyes darting around.

The bathroom was dark; she'd purposefully not turned on the lights in the hopes of avoiding the reflection of herself in the mirror. Between the bags under her eyes and the knowledge of the thoughts swirling around her brain, she knew that she couldn't bear to look at herself. The floor was cold, her pajama shorts providing no warmth as she shivered slightly.

"Where are you?"

"At Meredith's, she's out with the kids, and Maggie's still on her honeymoon, and I can't be alone right now, Link; I need to not be alone right now." Another pause, followed by shuffling from his end before he made some mix of a groan and a sigh, and she felt momentarily guilty. "I'm sorry," she whispered, tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

"Is Scout okay?"

"Link, he's fine; he's with Mer; I need you right now."

Her mind was filled with so many dark thoughts that she was surprised she was able to speak to him. The idea of feeling the relief from taking the one thing she had sworn away a long time ago was more appealing to her than anything, and if she wasn't frozen in place, she was sure her legs would be carrying her to somewhere she shouldn't end it.

It wasn't good. She thought of her son, her son who far, far away at the park, probably running across the woodchips where he often tripped and ended up in tears. Her son, who she had to stay sober for because she didn't want to ruin his entire life all because she couldn't be a good enough mother for him.

"I'll be there in five minutes," he muttered, and Amelia heard the sound of him picking up keys.

She wondered if it was his regular key ring, the same one that held his house key, the bright blue key he'd insisted on spending an extra dollar on because it attracted Scout's attention for so long.

"Okay." She breathed out slowly, her face dropping as she heard the sound of the call ending. She brought it away from her face and frowned at the black screen in front of her.

The air around her was so quiet that Amelia was sure the world had stopped turning on its axis. She leaned her head back on the wall behind her, staring up at the ceiling and trailing her eyes over the molding of the wall.

She heard the sound of rain outside as it hit against the bathroom window, finally filling the silence around her with something. She breathed heavily.

The sound of the door opening was jarring, causing Amelia to flinch as he burst through. She somehow hadn't heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs or the door unlocking downstairs when he came in. She glanced up at him.

He looked terrible, to put it gently. He hadn't shaved in the past few days; he was wearing the pajamas he almost always wore to bed, and part of Amelia knew he likely hadn't washed them since putting them on. His hair was disheveled, longer than she remembered it being, the strands falling straight down to frame his face.

Link looked down at her, his jaw locked and his eyes dark. He kneeled in front of her slowly, placing his hand on her knee wearily. "What do you need?"

"Hold me, please." Link sighed, maneuvering himself to sit behind her against the wall, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his body. She felt him embrace her tightly, pushing his arms into her body and applying pressure.

Amelia leaned forward as if about to heave, coughing loudly and choking on her breath, her body instinctively slamming back into his as she breathed heavily. He didn't loosen his grip on her at all, and Amelia was grateful for that.

He pressed his lips against the side of her head, and for a moment, she allowed herself to think that everything was normal. That she had a rough day, lost a patient, and came home to Link, who promptly wrapped his arms around her without any question. That she wasn't on the verge of ruining years of progress in her life, that everything in her life hadn't been flipped upside down, and didn't feel entirely wrong. His embrace was so warm that she finally stopped shivering, his breath hot against her head, his stubble scratching gently against her skin.

Shivering soon turned into shaking. She was no longer cold, but her body wouldn't stop moving, and she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but her voice was gone.

Amelia didn't even realize she was crying until she felt Link's thumb against her cheek, brushing away a stream of tears. His touch was soft and gentle, and she felt his other arm lifting her ever so slightly until she was sitting on top of his legs, her body sideways against him. She subconsciously leaned into him, pushing her face into the fabric of his shirt.

The fabric smelled like him, his cologne that she knew he managed to pack before he left their home, as it had already been gone by the time she arrived. She inhaled, and the strength of it caused her to cry harder, feeling his shirt damp against her cheeks as she realized how much she had missed his comfort over the past few months when he slowly slipped away from her and seemed to turn into a different man.

She shut her eyes.

------------------

She woke up to the feeling of his thumb grazing against her arm, his embrace just as tight around her as when she closed her eyes. The next thing she took in was the warmth around her, sweat dripping down her face, and the smell of her damp shirt mixed with his cologne suddenly nauseating. She coughed, finally finding the strength to move, and she quickly crawled over to the toilet before vomiting into the ceramic bowl. His palm rested on her back, rubbing a circular pattern as his other pulled back the strands of her hair fallen out of her ponytail.

Her vision blurred as she sat up, reaching to flush the toilet and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, slowly standing and spitting into the sink. "Can I get you something? Tea, maybe?" Link tried, pushing himself off of the floor and standing behind her.

"No, I'm fine."

"Amelia, you need to drink something. You look-"

"Like crap? Yeah, I haven't exactly been doing very well recently," she muttered, swishing mouthwash around and spitting it out. "Water, I guess." He nodded sternly, his hand dropping from her back as he hurried downstairs, returning soon with a glass of water. Amelia turned around and took it, attempting to hide the shaking of her hand as she took a drink.

"Can I ask what happened?" The glass clinked against the sink as she set it down, her hand running through her hair and an accompanying sigh leaving her mouth.

"I was worried that if I was alone any longer, I would," her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip, drumming her fingers against the edge of the sink. "I was worried that I might relapse. And, I know that you hate me right now, but I just needed a second to breathe and make sure that I didn't find some junky oxy dealer and screw him for drugs. Because I don't know if you've noticed, but these past few months have been absolute hell for me, and I'm not going to marry you when it takes everything in me to just stay sober."

"You didn't say anything," he muttered, leaning into the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. "I didn't realize."

"How the hell am I supposed to talk to you when every time you open your mouth, you start rambling about putting the clothes Scout's outgrown in the attic so that we can use them for our next kid! Link, I don't want to have another kid. I don't want to get married, and I couldn't say anything about it because you kept shoving your happiness down my throat when all I needed was a minute to breathe." Her mouth closed slowly, and she looked away from him. "You haven't noticed how I go to meetings almost every day? Link, I feel like I'm dying over here, and all I've needed was for you to be there for me." She took a breath before looking up at him, his gaze cold and his face hard.

"I don't hate you, Amelia."

"Then why the hell would you propose to me, at my sister's wedding, in front of the kids, when we haven't been talking about marriage. You stopped checking in, Link; you stopped giving me space to talk to you about things."

"I thought you wanted it. When Owen proposed to Teddy on Christmas, you looked happier than you had been in months; Amelia, I thought you were ignoring me because you wanted more. And you started working for longer and longer, and I didn't know what to do. How am I supposed to know what's going on if you don't even try to talk to me about it?" He had raised his hands as he spoke, and he now brought them down, sighing loudly. "Listen, I'm sorry. I did stop checking in, and I should've asked before I proposed; I just thought that-" He froze at the sound of the front door opening downstairs.

"It's Mer; she was only taking the kids out for an hour or so," Amelia spit into the sink again, wiping her mouth with a washcloth. "I can't fight right now, Link; I need time to think things through. I need to make sure that I'm okay."

"Amelia?" Meredith called out, and Amelia glanced up as her sister's footsteps approached the bathroom. "Can I come in? Scout just wants to be held, but I need to go ay down; I'm exhausted." She hesitantly moved towards the door, only opening it enough to take Scout from her sister's arms. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, go lay down," she began to shut the door before Meredith grabbed onto it and pushed it open, her eyes widening at the sight of Link against the wall.

"Oh, I'll leave you two-"

"We're not, god, Mer, just go." The bathroom door shut, and Amelia leaned back against it, Scout babbling in her arms as he tugged at the loose strands of her hair.

"Can I hold him?" She raised her eyebrows at Link. "I haven't gotten to see him in the past few days," Link muttered, walking towards them. "I've missed him."

"That's not my fault."

"I didn't say that, Amelia." He grinned at the boy, holding his arms out and happily taking Scout from her, the baby immediately settling comfortably in his father's arms. "Can I take you to a meeting or something? I'm not sure how to help."

She thought for a moment. The sight of her son so relaxed in his father's arms was both enraging and settling. He had been asking for his father ever since she arrived home from the wedding, and even though she knew he got over it the second she handed him a toy, it was relieving to see them interact so normally.

She didn't want to move on, find someone new and restart her family. But, she also wasn't quite ready to forgive Link.

"Amelia?"

"Yeah, a meeting would be good." He smiled for a moment, and Amelia almost did so herself as well. Link nodded, cringing slightly as Scout's hand slapped against his cheek.

"We should get going before this guy bruises my face," Link laughed, bringing Scout's hand up to his mouth and pretending like he was going to bite it. Scout shrieked happily, babbling nonsense as they headed down into the car, and he was placed into his car seat.

The car ride was silent and not the comfortable silence that Amelia was used to between them. She stared out the window, occasionally glancing back at her son, who had fallen asleep as soon as the car had started moving. She snapped forward as the car was put into park.

"Do you want me to come with or stay here?"

"Stay, I need to do this by myself," she murmured, opening the car door. "Thank you. For coming over, for bringing me here."

"Amelia, I'm always here to help, no matter what's going on. And, I'm sorry-"

"No, not right now." His lips pursed tightly, and he nodded. "Text me if he needs anything."

"I will." She stood in place for a moment, glancing between Link and Scout, breathing slowly.

"Alright. Bye, Link," Amelia whispered, waving to both of them in the car and shutting the door.

Maybe she was too optimistic for someone who had just been screaming twenty minutes ago, but part of her felt hopeful. The things that had weighed down on her for months were finally out in the open, and as she stepped towards the group of people, she finally allowed herself to smile.

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Unravel, Chapter 1/20

Work Summary :Antisepticeye has a plan to destroy Darkiplier, steal his power, and take over everything - and he might just succeed. What starts with Yandereplier going missing evolves into a messy web of betrayal and grief, of blood and tears, of old wounds and new faces. However this ends, Ego Inc. will never be the same again. Chapter Summary: Yandere is hunted, shaped, conditioned by a force made of static. It has a plan to control Yandere and take him over, bit by bit. Warnings: Mind Control, Kidnapping

Read on AO3

Enjoy!

~

It starts with such a simple thing: A light, tinny buzz in Yandereplier’s headphones. It’s there for a moment and then it’s gone.

Yandere’s been told by the older egos, Dark especially, to be aware of static in all its forms. But it’s so quick that Yandere can mistake it for something harmless. His headphones are rather old, it’s not strange that they might feedback every once in a while.

After that, though, the static learns. It can tell it’s been noticed, at least, and that won’t do. It reigns back, quiets, sharpens. It’s easy to penetrate a person’s understanding without their knowledge. It’s had plenty of practice. Filtering past Yandere’s awareness and crawling into his brain is child’s play. It’s tempting to go farther, to make the trickle a downpour, to overwhelm and conquer –

Patience, it reminds itself, In due time.

The static could simply take Yandere now; filter into his body like blood and move it to its whims as it has done to so many others. But it seeks a deeper control, a stronger grip, a longer-lasting influence this time.

There’s plenty of opportunity, after all. Yandere is young, he’s absorbed in technology. He plays video games, watches movies, scrolls through his phone, listens to music. If there’s a bit of audio fuzz whenever Yandere turns on Bluetooth or feedback under the sound effects in a game, he doesn’t hear it. His brain gets used to it even as his ears fail to recognize it. One day, the static crawls under the track of his favorite song, cozying up to the baseline, and Yandere doesn’t notice – that is, until the static cuts itself off two-thirds of the way in. It makes Yandere pause his music and lift his headphones to look around. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for. Predictably, nothing is amiss, and Yandere resumes listening. He can’t shake the feeling that something is off until the static creeps back in for the song’s last chorus.

The static is careful not to expose itself when Yandere is around others. It doesn’t filter through the TV when he plays video games with Chrome, it doesn’t leak into the speakers when he’s singing karaoke with Yancy. It stays away from the health monitors when Yandere’s in the clinic with Dr. Iplier, it avoids Yandere’s phone when he calls Dark during his business trips. It knows that if it’s spotted and pointed out even once, it’s all over. Dark will instantly shut it down, and the whole plan will fall apart. For that reason, it’s key that Yandere never puts his finger on what he’s hearing, key that he fails to realize that anything is amiss at all. The static makes a home in Yandere’s mind, an unending buzz that eventually, slowly, begins to speak to him.

Listen closely, it whispers, so low it barely reaches Yandere’s subconscious.

Follow me.

Hear my calls.

There’s no good way to test how well Yandere is listening straight away. The static has made its living off subtlety, it won’t do to be too direct now. As with the first stage of building audio fuzz, the words morph into commands slowly, and the static watches, learns, recalibrates. It knows it needs to make Yandere feel at ease before anything else. People are more compliant if they’re happy. It puts messages into certain songs, sees if Yandere listens to those songs more often as the messages sink in. An experiment of sorts.

Relax.

Be calm.

You are safe.

The experiment is a success. It’s not noticeable to Yandere how his body reacts to the static now, he doesn’t know why certain songs make him feel comfortable, fuzzy, tired in a pleasant way. He listens to the same songs over and over, the same songs the static speaks through. It goes further, pushes harder in small steps.

Turn off your laptop.

Say “good morning” instead of “ohayō.”

Lock your bedroom door.

Simple things that Yandere barely notices himself doing, things he doesn’t think about, things others fail to see. Yandere follows the commands easily, the static pulling him along, tugging him through the day. It continues, getting bolder.

Flush your mascara down the toilet.

Rip up the manga you’re reading.

Throw your sketchbook in the garbage.

Yandere obeys with few qualms. He does pause at tossing the sketchbook, and stands there holding it over the trash can, frozen with indecision. Fortunately, he has his earbuds in listening to music, and the static filters in to tell him relax, calm down, you don’t need it, just listen to me, you’ll feel better once you throw it out. And Yandere listens. He throws his sketchbook out and the static rewards him, rushing into his mind and settling in the cracks, vibrating at the right frequency for pleasure. Yandere returns to his room with a shiver to listen to the same songs he’s been listening to all week.

The static can afford to be louder, now, more absorbing. Anyone who listens to Yandere’s music or TV shows or video games would hear the static clearly and be annoyed or alarmed by it. But Yandere is desensitized. The first time he fully registers the static, he doesn’t have the ability to care about it anymore. The static is safe to him now. Comforting. Kind. Gentle. It dulls any pain, drowns out the world. But when the static cuts off, he can easily return to his normal behavior. As far as the static can tell, not a single ego suspects a thing.

The static is an omnipresent, comforting buzz by the time visuals are introduced.

Visuals are necessary. Even if Yandere’s ears tell him he’s safe, he’ll panic if what he sees is too frightening and unfamiliar. Fortunately, Yandere is still glued to screens, especially now that his sketchbook is rotting in a landfill. When he draws digitally, there’s opportunity for visual glitches in his canvas. When he watches TV, fuzzy gray stripes can dart across the screen. Videos of all kinds can buffer, skip, repeat frames. Games can glitch, too; characters can clip, their bodies turn inside out. They start slow, quiet, ignorable, but escalate, louder, droning, gray fuzz sloughing so heavy across the screens that Yandere cannot see what he’s watching. But the static encourages him, tells him it’s safe, it’s okay, it’s good. These glitches are nothing to worry about. These glitches are things to look forward to. These glitches are fun to watch. The static gets Yandere to watch a suddenly-signalless TV for a full minute before he remembers to blink.

It’s time, the static chatters to itself, Wait for the right moment.

There are safeguards in place at Ego Inc., firewalls and failsafes and lines of code to keep the worst of the static out. They aren’t perfect, but they’re enough to stop the static from enacting the final part of its plan. Yandere knows little of these systems, the static cannot command him to destroy them. So it bides its time and keeps Yandere solidly in its control. It gets him in the habit of locking his bedroom door. It waits.

The right moment comes before long.

An awful lightning storm swallows Ego Inc., something the static cannot take credit for. It’s purely serendipitous, and it’s perfect cover. The lightning is striking close, most of the egos are indoors trying to weather it out. Natural electricity is unpredictable, but the static is powerful enough to harness it, to join it, to redirect it. It waits, congregates in the outer reaches of Ego Inc.’s security, lurks among the storm clouds, waiting for the perfect moment.

Finally, a bolt strikes down, right into Ego Inc., powerful and bright, and the static joins it, makes it stronger. It crashes into the building with an unholy flash.

The entire building turns off.

The lights blow out, TVs and desktops shut down, security cameras go dark, firewalls go down, coding scrambles and fails.

The static, all of it, slips into the building as easy as water into a riverbed.

Yandere is in his room in the dark, recovering from the scare of everything going dark at once. He pouts and groans. He’d been watching the TV on the wall across from his bed, but said TV is now as black as everything else in the room. His phone is the only screen still on, but the battery is low, and it’ll die too before long. He wonders if he should hunt around the building for someone else to wait out the storm with.

At that moment, his TV turns back on, but shows nothing but droning static and high-pitched radio fuzz. Dull gray light illuminates Yandere’s face. Even with the thunder outside, the noise of the TV is present and commanding. But Yandere doesn’t mind it. Maybe he should turn the TV off, but he doesn’t want to. The pixels scramble and run into each other, black and white and gray, and Yandere watches them churn on the screen, phone forgotten. That familiar unfamiliar buzzing fills his ears, sends a nicer version of pins and needles through his brain. It feels good, safe. It’s light in the dark, quiet in the loudness of the thunderous storm.

Come closer.

Yandere crawls up his bed, slowly. He doesn’t want to miss a moment of swimming pixels. His eyes absorb it, blown wide in the dark, filling in gray. He sits at the foot of his bed, leaning forward as far as he can, utterly and completely taken in. Soft, quiet, numb, gentle. It’s fun to watch the pixels dance. It’s fun to listen to the static. It’s normal. It’s ordinary. But it’s wonderful. Calming. Soothing. Yandere could get lost in it. He wants to.

The static builds, congregates into the TV screen, louder, fuller, it builds into something tangible, makes itself a body, reforms, and it – he – finally manifests, hand reaching from the static like Samara. From the hand, clawed and gaunt and sharp, comes an arm, comes a shoulder clad in black, comes a head, a face, a neck sliced open and leaking blood and pixels, eyes blacker than the room around him, mouth split in a grin of huge, harsh teeth.

Yandere feels no fear. He feels no trepidation. He stares into the monster’s eyes. He’s leaning so far forward he nearly falls off his bed.

“Come here,” the monster commands, “It’s time for us to go.”

Yandere slides off his bed, takes the monster’s hand without hesitation.

When the power comes back on half an hour later, Yandere’s bedroom is empty.

[wwesmutdonedirtcheap]

Afterburn

Part Eleven of my Hold On Me Series. The rest can be found on my Master List  

Summary: Finally, some progress....And not the wrestling kind.

  @becca-bear @queenreignsempire @nightmareangeluniverse @balorfromstarlabs @sammiielli @withwordslikeweapons @pjanina13 @tmriddler @ii-love-roman-reigns @kailynnyukari21 @catie-kaboom @ladyjenny19 @wwelife0014 @fioportella @wrasslin-x @brokenwinchesterr @dopematicdiamondz @killmushelff @scarlettequinn @therattlesnakedaughter-devon @slutforchadgable @abominablestrowman279 @vebner37 @justrae9903 @bodhi-black @writergrrrl29 @maliahood @y-oungin @wrasslin-rollins @thedeboniardevistation @the-geekgoddes @thatonegirloncealways @get-glitched @reigns420 @loveambrylayn @alafairftw @helluvawriter @kat-shirayuki @shieldfanomg @harleyquinnnikki @nickysmum1909 @rum-and-whiskey-gypsy @attilasgurl @iwannadiehere @loveali94 @wwegirl12 @imladylunaticbitch @all-time-low-ruined-my-life @aaaammber @princess3733 @glamlover87 @welshwitch5 @lifeisabitchandikillit @pettymachete @letitsn0vv @meaganjm @lip-sync @valeonmars @la-mala-suerte13 @unstablenikki @lindseyrae20 @gelinas22 @r3dskywaterfall @alexahood21 @letswriteaboutwwe @fiftyshadesofdunne @queenmaryseouellet @bisexual-enzo @pplesauce @irefusetoacceptreallife @effy-christine @actualamyautopsy @roserae527 @sanazebreigns @lavitabella87 @jadabayda @blumisty @fmlallthewayup @jenn-starr @xchrissymitchx @dontbeamenacetotheforce @laigy2213 @womderland-fandom @newbroxkenscene @cynda-kiwi @toni-williams @panicattheambrose @2loveeverything2 @damnbuvky @wafflovessyrup @dolph-wwe @sarahmatthews7 @laochbaineann @devittslegos @wwewritings @wweismyguiltypleasure @little–alphabet–boy @heavenlytheshield @guatebabyxo @alexispoo @olipockett @sebastianandstyles @amberhere-hi @fangirlextraordinaire713 @laochbaineann @giantbananas @macfizzle @amantedelcalcio @blood-fells @ang-78 @caramara3 @rocketqueen28 @emilyswweblog @wwe-trash2005 @lilmisscrisis @lostimaginxtion @superrezzy00 @smutwwe @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues @the-geekgoddes @alexablss @thedustyangel @thenameskaelyn @hevluvsya102 @irishpoetlover @awkward-potato-imagines @wwesmut88 @that-lolachick @greygirlmoxley @calwitch @karaboomhower @skyemeetsreignsmain @lunaticfringe216 @hiitsmecharlie @shelaughssheloves @meaganottiz02 @tearsropsandtiedye @bettergetusetoit @racheo91   @daddynicki @fandomwhore95 @ineedyourlaughs  @sarahmatthews7  @charismatickilljoy  @lclb13 @ashleyvc88 @littledeadrottinghood  @wwe-fluff-fic @ridingmoxley @alaniskama0 @xfirespritex @alyneve @blondekel77 @kinkymaminicole @bolieve-that @ashleymarie2021 @uberduber-loulou @crowleysqueenofhell

*

I had a terrible time falling asleep. The fact that Pete lay feet away from me on the other side of my bedroom wall was incredibly thought consuming.

Part of me wanted to march out through the door and tell him to leave. Part of me wanted to offer to share my bed to keep him from sleeping on my uncomfortable sofa. Part of me wanted to do things with him I hadn’t done in months and I tried my best to shut that part down before it even got started.

I would not allow myself to fall back into that trap. The cycle of jealousy and sex and the magnetic pull that we had over each other. I was too far removed from it now. At least, I had hoped that I was until tonight. I knew now that I wasn’t. Months meant nothing, time apart meant nothing…If I still loved him.

The pain he had put me through was still real, raw and the driving force that kept me from him.

I would not be hurt again.

Somewhere around two in the morning, I managed to shut my brain off enough to go to sleep.  I didn’t stay asleep for long. I was jolted awake around three by the burn of the night’s festivities sliding up my throat. My stomach felt like someone was stabbing a knife into it, twisting it deeper and deeper.

I capped my hand over my mouth and raced out of the bedroom.

The apartment only had the one bathroom, which was unfortunately not an on suite.

I barely made it onto the cold tile in front of the toilet before I began to violently throw up. I had never felt so sick in my life. The alcohol burned just as strong as when I had drank it hours earlier. I felt tears sliding down my cheeks as I struggled to stay up right.

Suddenly, I felt Pete’s hands grab hold of my hair and pull it away from my face. He held it at the nape of my neck and his other hand rubbed my back gently with his knuckles.

I was too nauseated to even think of rejecting him. I coughed so much that I began to dry heave and I finally lowered the lid to the toilet and weakly raised my hand to flush it. 

“You all right?” he whispered into the darkness.

I hadn’t bothered to turn on the light in my haste and the room was only illuminated by the tiny nightlight near the sink.

“No,” I whimpered, managing with his help to sit up on the side of the bathtub.

“One too many scotch,” Pete sighed, crouching down in front of me “Regal should’ve known better than to make ya drink all of that.”

“It’s part of my job,” I sighed, running my hand over my mouth, across my dry lips.

“To get drunk with the talent?” he scoffed angrily “No, love, that’s not your job.”

I let the nickname pass. I was too tired to argue and at the moment, it was surprisingly soothing.

“You’re a tough as nails business woman now,” he smirked as he looked up at me “I’m damn proud of ya for that.”

I bent over, clutching my stomach as another pain shot through it.

“Fuck,” I grunted “It hurts so bad.”

“Dehydrated,” Pete ran his hand over my clamy forehead.

I found myself leaning in to his touch as he felt the sides of my cheeks. I could hear his breathing become more labored in the dark. I assumed it was exactly what I was feeling inside. We were touching. Not in a sexual way or an angry way, but a concerned and caring way. It had been far to long since we had been like this.

“You’re sweatin’ all over,” he shook his head “And fuckin’ cold as ice.”

“I, I don’t know if I can walk,” I stammered “I can barely…”

I tried to stand up and I fell hard against his chest, as he rose to his feet at the same time.

Before I knew what was happening, his arms grabbed me up and he began to carry me toward my bedroom.

“Pete,” I tried to protest.

He sighed, his hands gripping my body tightly.

“Ya can’t even hold your head upright,” he replied matter of fact.

Once he sat me down gently on the bed, he went into the kitchen. A minute later he returned with a Gatorade that I had bought a few days before.

I never bought Gatorade or Powerade or any of that stuff. Why had I bought that? Then I remembered…Pete used to drink it and I would sometimes drink some when I didn’t have anything else. Great, my subconscious was making purchases without my consent.

“I forgot about having that,” I sat up slowly.

He opened it and handed it to me.

“Can ya drink it?”

I nodded, taking tiny sips of it. He sat down beside me and pushed my wet hair off my forehead. Again, it didn’t burn. It didn’t hurt for him to touch me. Maybe it was because I had my guard down? I was too distressed to think about the reasons it burned in the first place. The reasons that I made it burn.

“Ya feeling hot?”

I nodded, taking a bigger drink. I ran my hand down my throat that was slicked in sweat and back up on my neck, underneath my damp hair.

It was only then that I remembered I had on a nightgown. When we had been together, I mostly slept in t-shirts. Tonight, I had on a skimpy little purple gown and I mentally cursed myself for trying to dress cool in the Florida heat.

“Ya want the air condition’ on?” he offered.

“No,” I sat the bottle on my nightstand “I’ll get too cold…I think.”

He stood to leave the room. I couldn’t let him walk out without saying something. I had been treating him terribly and yet…

“Pete,” I spoke as he neared the doorway “You didn’t have to do that…After the way I treated you tonight…Thank you.”

“I’d do anythin’ for ya,” he drew in a deep breath “I told ya I’ll prove it, if you just give me a bloody chance.”

A smile unknowingly curved on my lips before another stabbing pain shot through me and I doubled over again.

“Damn it,” I groaned, my throat burning ever so slightly “Why did I think drinking all of that was a good idea?”

“Ya gonna be all right if I go back in there?” he motioned to the couch.

“I don’t know,” I grimaced truthfully.

He came back and slid on the bed beside me. I lay down, bunching my pillow up underneath my head to make it as high as possible. Pete sat up straight with his back against the headboard.

It was quiet for a while. It gave me enough time to gather my thoughts and process what had happened in the last ten minutes.

“You're actually proud of me?” I glanced up at him.

He looked down at me and a pleased smile turned up on his lips.

“Thank you,” I whispered  “That actually means a lot to me.”

“This was your dream too. I’d say that you’re makin’ the most of it. Regal can’t say enough good things about ya.”

“You’ve been talking to Regal about me?”

“I’ve been talking to Regal about a lot of things,” he shifted and his eyes fell to his lap.

It was silent again, as I tried to decipher what he meant.

“Go to sleep. I’m not gonna leave ya,” he spoke, his eyes staring straight ahead at the wall.

I nodded and nestled into my pillow a little more.

We lay in silence until I finally was able to fall back asleep.

*

I woke up with my back turned away from Pete and my arms wrapped tightly around one of my spare pillows.

I felt breath against my shoulder and I jumped a little. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see Pete. He was lying flat in the bed next to me, his body turned toward me. His head was centimeters from my back.

I stared at him for a moment. This man who had done so much to hurt me, who even days ago I couldn’t afford to look at…He was here. Next to me. He had taken care of me all night., expecting absolutely nothing in return for his effort.

I slowly rolled over so I could look at him more closely. His lips lightly parted as he slept, his hair hanging over in his eyes.

His eyes.

Those fucking eyes that could undo all the progress I had made with a single look.

Then, as if on cue, there they were staring at me.

I shifted quickly, pretending that I hadn’t just been staring longingly at him.

“Ya feel better this mornin’?”

“Besides a headache I completely deserve? Yeah,” I laughed, sliding up to sit in the bed.

I reached for the blankets, pulling them over my far to exposed body. He sat up too, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Thank you, for staying with me,” I turned to him “It was really…sweet of you.”

“Sweet,” Pete laughed nervously, "Now there’s a word ya don’t hear about Pete Dunne every day of the fuckin’ week.“

“Or ever?” I kidded lightly at him as our smiles met one another and then died on our lips.

“I guess, I should get goin’,” Pete ran his hand over his mouth as he slid to his feet.

“Do you have a ride?”

“Yeah, called Trent last night…He should be here in a few minutes.”

I climbed out of the bed and stood in front of him.

Now came the incredibly awkward part. You’re my ex and you ripped my heart out but now here you are taking care of me and I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen…

I shifted on my feet when I caught him staring at me in my nightgown.

“Sorry,” he sighed, “I…You’re still tha most beautiful girl I’ve eva seen.”

“Pete,” I whispered in defiance.

“I know,” he nodded “Fuckin’ worthless words right?”

“No,” I shook my head “I believe them….That’s not the problem.”

“I haven’t been with anotha girl,” he broke the awkwardness with even more awkwardness.

“What?” I recoiled back with a little laugh of surprise “What does that have to do…”

“I don’t know what ta say all right?” he crossed his arms nervously “I don’t know what ta do to get ya to understand how much I want anotha chance. Nobody has eva in my entire life made me beg for anythin’…But I’m beggin’ ya…”

He stepped closer to me and I felt my breath rise in my throat as his fingers danced across my cheek.

It didn’t burn.

Suddenly, the sound of Trent’s fist pounding on the door startled us both and I grabbed my robe out of the closet, sliding it on and beating Pete to the door.

“Ya all right there, sweetheart?” Trent laughed lightly.

“I’ll survive,” I smiled.

“Come on, we gotta be at the gym in an hour!” Trent beckoned Pete.

He headed for the car as Pete made his way toward the door. I stepped aside to let him pass and he stopped in front of me.

We stared at each other for a few seconds before he followed Trent into the parking lot.

*

Monday morning came and thankfully my hangover was gone.

I had been in Regal’s office all morning, typing up notes, when he came in with coffee.

“Oh, are you the barista now?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

He chuckled, sitting my drink down in front of me.

“Don’t press your luck.”

I kept typing for a while and finally, the question burning in my brain got the better of me. I watched as he meticulously went over his own notes, handwritten.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?” he mumbled, without looking up.

“Have you…been having meetings with Pete?…Without me?”

“Don’t you think it best to keep the hostility at bay?” he raised his head.

“What kind of meetings?”

He sighed, dropping his pen to the table and taking a long sip of his coffee.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he sat his cup down.

“Yes,” I nodded but I felt a little scared by his tone.

“A month ago, Pete was offered a Raw contract,” Regal began.

“What?” I gasped softly.

“He turned it down. Oh, he gave a list of ridiculously arrogant reasons but I wasn’t really listening because I knew the truth…After the meeting, I pulled him aside and we had one of our…talks.”

“Why would he do that?” I shook my head “It’s all he’s ever wanted…”

“He wouldn’t leave you.”

I froze in my seat.

“He said as long as you were working for NXT that he wanted to be here…I suppose he is determined to try to win you back, even at the expense of a rather promising place on the main roster.”

“How promising?” I leaned forward against his desk.

“Outta the gate, shot at the US title,” Regal sighed “Hunter insisted it would be his within a month…He said no.”

“How could he?” I felt tears start to burn at my eyes “Why would he do this to himself?”

“He loves you,” Regal answered quickly “He’s a bloody fool in love and the longer you two keep up this ridiculous game of cat and mouse, instead of talking about what’s keeping you apart…The more opportunities he’s going to miss.”

“So, you think I should forgive him?” I sat back and asked him honestly.

“I didn’t say that,” he shook his head “I do, however, think the bloke is owed a chance to redeem himself.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this?” I shut my laptop nervously, fidgeting in my seat.

“You didn’t ask,” he shrugged “Besides, I didn’t want you to be distracted…Which is clearly the case now.”

“Can I…take a few minutes?” I whispered, standing to my feet.

“As long as you’re back before your coffee is cold. I won’t having you waste my money,” he smirked at me.

I nodded and walked out of the room. Immediately, I pressed my back against the wall and ran my hands over my face.

What had he done?

He was offered everything and he turned it down?

For me?

*

Once I had gathered myself, I marched in my heels as fast as I could to the gym.

I walked in, pushing passed performers and trainers, my eyes set on Pete who was standing near the weights with Tyler.

“Pete!” I shouted his name and a few people turned to stare.

Tyler’s eyes lit up and a little grin came across his face.

Pete turned around, wiping sweat off his forehead and looked utterly confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I grabbed his face in between my hands angrily before slinging it away.

“Tell you what?”

“About your contract,” I hissed as we walked near a corner “The Raw contract that you turned down!”

“Regal told you that,” he scowled.

“Why would you do that?” I found my voice wobbling “Why would you give that up?”

“For you,” he answered flatly “I’m not leavin’ ya. Not while I’ve fucked things up like I have…”

“You go back to Hunter and you fucking beg for that contract, you hear me?” I pressed my finger into the middle of his chest.

“Say you’ll go out wit me then,” he pushed back, just as sure of himself as I was.

“What?” I scoffed “Pete this isn’t….”

“Say it,” he tilted my chin up toward him “One date.”

“A date?” I laughed.

“I never really planned one but I can give it a go,” he clenched his jaw in determination.

I stood there for a few seconds, my mind racing on what one simple little date could mean. Twenty four hours ago, we had made zero progress but that was because of me. Maybe we owed each other just this one thing.

“Fine,” I whispered before turning and leaving him behind.