Hello there. It's been a long time. Do not get your hopes up, this is a one-time thing. I'm still working on book 3 and a career as a journalist, so my focus is solemnly on that. This fanfiction just needed to get out of my system. You all know Jonathan Good aka Dean Ambrose. My OC might be new to you though, since it's only the second time I post a het-fic on here. Tammy has dark, black locks, sun-tanned skin, her arms covered in tattoos (skulls), a fit physique and doe-brown eyes. Everything else you will figure out during the story.
Italics are flashbacks.
As always, ALL reviews are welcome. Short, long, good, bad. As long as you leave me a few words on how you liked it. I'll post it 5 parts, each one after three days. Enjoy reading!
Disclaimer: Jonathan Good belongs to WWE, Renee Young and himself. I own Tammy though.
Warning: Lots of darkness and a little fluff
There's that feeling. As if the world ends today. As if there's nothing left. As if you're drowning. As if nothing will ever be the same. And it won't. Not without him. For years, so many years, he was there. Whenever I needed someone. Someone to lift me up, someone to listen. Someone to vent to, to cry with, to laugh with. He was there for everything. Every single fucking catastrophe of my existence. And now he's gone and I'm still here.
„Great, a new one. Let's see how long before she runs off screaming." My first day on my new job. I'm just putting up the treatment couch when I hear a raspy voice behind me. As I turn around, I see the face belonging to the sarcastic tone. Gray eyes that tell the story of a man with many secrets; a stubble that shows me he tries to look like he doesn't care, but actually spends a good amount of time in front of the mirror; lips that have kissed hundreds of women and been split open twice as many times, but that know exactly what to do in every single situation. He's accompanied by a long-haired man, a little more slim, a little friendlier looking, maybe even more handsome, but not my type. „I like screaming. I never run though." The dirty blonde looks a little surprised for just a second, before he scoffs. Still, I can see the amused sparkle in his else so clouded hues. His friend laughs. „Fiesty. Maybe we'll keep her."
Three years ago our journey began. Yesterday it ended. It should have been me.
It's been two weeks with WWE when fate leads us together again. Or rather anger. It's a little past midnight when there's a knock at my door. If I've learned one thing in my short time with the company, it's that being the Doc's little helper is a 24/7 job. I've always been a night-owl though, so it's little surprising that I'm still wide awake, glass of Whisky in my hand while surfing the internet. What is surprising though, is the man on the other side of the door. „Hey... I... well, I didn't know where to go." The doc or the hospital are the obvious answers that want to slip past my lips, but as I take in his drowsy, empty gaze and his rain-drenched, brawl-scraped clothes, I bite back my retort and usher him inside. He looks a little lost in my hotel-room, chewing his gum absentmindedly, surveying is surroundings with a far away look. Only when I clear my throat, he seems to snap out of whatever dream he was in. „Let me see." I gesture to the hand he's been holding ever since I opened the door. He eyes me warily for a few seconds -and for a moment I get all self-conscious, wearing only some hotpants and a shirt that reaches past my butt but covers little of my shoulders. I didn't expect company after all. He doesn't comment on it though and after a few moments, he steps closer without a word.
I ignore the scratches on his forehead and the cut on his lip in favor of the obviously most pressing matter. As I take his hand in mine and he immediately flinches, I contemplate to ask what happened, but something tells me that he's the kind of guy who only speaks when he wants to, and I drop the thought again. I can see that nothing is broken. On first sight it's only some banged up knuckles and a bruised wrist. Nothing some ice and a salve can't heal. „Sit down. I'm gonna be right back." He eyes me a little suspiciously before he shrugs his shoulders and makes his way over to my bed. It's the only possibility to sit in this hotel-room. He's probably used to twice as much space, but for me this room is luxury, compared to where I've lived before. I make the few steps towards the bathroom too fetch the fist-aid kit. When I return, I see Grumpy eyeing my half-empty glass on the night-stand with great interest. „Johnny Walker. Want some?" A glass a night is all I ever drink, too vivid the memories of the past. Something he doesn't need to know. He raises a brow at me, his gray orbs unreadable, his whole body in defensive mode. „I promise I'll leave the poison out." I stay right where I am, quietly waiting for his decision, watching as he seemingly relaxes just the slightest bit and nods his head in silent answer. I pour him a dink and hand it t him, before silently kneeling down in front of him. He hasn't said a single word since stepping into my room, so his rough voice startles me a little. „You haven't asked what happened." It's more of a statement than a question. I look up from the first-aid kit to see him questioningly staring down at me, his gaze so burning, so intense, that I need to look away again before answering. „I'm neither your mother nor your girlfriend." I busy myself by pulling out everything I need to tend to his wounds, stopping only when he snorts. „As if they'd care." I look up again to find him taking a big swig of his Whisky and I could swear, I see a hint of remorse in his eyes. I don't comment on it though. I've met guys like him before. I know guys like him. I don't get involved with guys like him... anymore.
He's proven me wrong again and again after that night. I'd never met a guy like him before. I'd never known anyone like him before. He might have been rough on the outside, like he didn't give a damn about anything and anyone, a loner, an introvert, but he was the most loyal, the kindest, the man with the biggest heart I've ever met. Stubbornness and madness aside. It's what made him unique.
TBC