A/N: This chapter might be triggering to others. Please read with care.
Chapter 3.
For the first few moments when she first slowly wakes, the only thing she's aware of is the warmth. Still sleep befuddled, she doesn't even remember where she is at first and turns into that warmth automatically. Feeling arms tightly wrap around her body, she opens her eyes and it's then that she suddenly remembers where she is, who's lying next to her. The scream that escapes her is loud and she struggles in his hold even as he simply laughs.
"Did we forget where we were?" He says, laughing and refusing to let her go. Stroking her hair, he continues. "You're so beautiful when you sleep, you know that? You're like a firefly, looking down from the sky. It amazes me how you didn't notice me lying so close to you the entire night. Pretty soon, this won't be so frightening, my dearest Paige," he finishes, kissing her forehead.
"I hate you!" She yells the words, absolutely frightened that she hadn't noticed him sneaking into bed with her. Every ounce of privacy has been taken from her by this...monster and she can't think rationally in this moment.
"You don't mean that, after all the kindness I've shown you over the past few weeks, you still hate me?" He asks, sarcastically. He begins to leave a trail of kisses on her forehead, as he rubs his hands up and down her arms.
"STOP!" She shouts, trying again to break his hold on her body. She doesn't want this, even though he's actually being gentle with her, she still doesn't want this. All she wants is to go home, to be free from this hell.
She can't help it when she starts crying. She's still struggling but not so much and the tears won't stop. "I hate you," she repeats. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." She says it in a mantra, real anguish coloring her voice.
"No you don't," he whispers as his lips capture hers in a soft kiss, smiling into the kiss when her lips open and his tongue enters her mouth.
Disgusted and horrified, and unwilling to submit to him so easily, she bites down as hard as she can, tasting blood as her teeth tear at his tongue. Vicious satisfaction rises in her for a few seconds when he pulls away with a pained noise but it only lasts seconds.
She's expecting anger, for him to start hitting her in punishment for her resistance. The thing that she doesn't expect is for him to begin laughing. "You think that's going to stop me from doing whatever I want to you, Paige?"
"No," she says, defiance still there. "But I do know that I'll never want you. I'll never do anything with you willingly. No matter how many times you force yourself on me, at least one thing will remain the same, and that is that you have to force yourself on me in order to get what you want. I'll never be your lover; I'll never be a part of your family. That will never change."
She's even more freaked out when he rises from the bed, clapping his hands. His face however is pure anger, but he begins to speak. "What a heroic speech, Paige. You think the fact that you have stated you won't do anything I ask of you willingly makes anything different? The fact still remains, you're trapped here in a room, and I am the reason you are not able to break free. I'm the real victor here, not you!" Before she can react, there's a sharp pain to the back of her head.
Her head bouncing off the railing of the bed makes her go fuzzy for a few moments and she reaches back to hold her head. She's having trouble focusing all the sudden and maybe what she'd said had been stupid but she still thinks she's right. Gritting her teeth, she speaks again. "Then why are you so angry, Bray?"
With her hands holding her head, she's unable to react fast enough to the punch that strikes her face, and the hands that roughly clasp around her throat. And still...still the defiance is there, even if she can barely breathe. He's reacting this way because she's gotten to him. She knows it. And while the attacks hurt, she is a wrestler, is used to physical violence. So she spits at him and croaks out a laugh. "Pathetic. Can't even get a girl to go to bed with you willingly."
She doesn't hear him say anything, but she does feel his hands squeeze tighter on her throat, temporarily cutting off her air supply. The next thing she notices is him tearing her shirt off, making her body shiver. His grip still doesn't loosen, though, and she's distracted from him ripping at her clothes by the fact that she can't breathe at all anymore. Blackness starts to invade the edges of her sight and she thinks maybe he is going to kill her this time.
Feeling herself slipping into darkness, Paige can feel his hands slowly leave her throat, and she coughs for air. "Do you want to continue you're backtalk, Paige?" He hisses in her ear, holding her head still so she can't turn away.
She opens her mouth but all that comes out is a wheeze. Her throat burns and she literally can't backtalk at the moment. It only serves to add to the anguish she feels. All she can do is lay there, unable to speak and move her head. She doesn't register that his hands are no longer holding her head still, that he is still waiting for her to respond to his question. She tries to speak again, but she's unable to.
"ANSWER ME!" He shouts, glaring at her.
She can't answer him verbally but she does answer him in another way. It's probably not a smart move but she's been so desperately angry, so desperately fearful since he'd woken her up. She reaches up and uses all her strength to dig her fingernails into the skin of his cheeks.
Seeing red trickling on her fingers, she releases her nails from his cheeks. She feels him quickly release his hold on her body, and the weight lift as he stands up in front of her, sadistic smile appearing on his lips. "You'll regret that, I'm going to make you pay for that," He hisses, leaving the dimly lit room.
Taking in a deep breath, the raven hair diva allows herself a moment to cry; to let the tears fall as her body becomes filled with shooting pain. She knows that the next time the evil cult leader returns, that there will be hell to pay for what she did. Forcing herself to move, Paige slowly makes her way to the closet and puts on another shirt.
She's careful as she slowly walks back to the bed and sits down. She can still feel the burning sensation in her lungs as she takes in another breath. Feeling exhaustion taking over, Paige softly allows her head to hit the pillow, as sleep soon takes over. She doesn't even hear him re-enter the room, nor does she feel the pinch of the needle as it enters her arm, putting her in more of a deep sleep.
XXXX
Excess energy has Dean pacing, unable to remain still and completely on edge. It happens a lot, usually when his head is fucking with him or when he hasn't slept well. It has been happening more often lately, since Seth had betrayed him, and with this thing with Bray Wyatt.
It shouldn't be as bad with Wyatt because he honestly doesn't give a shit about Wyatt on any sort of personal level but the fact that Wyatt is trying to get personal with him is setting him on edge anyway.
He feels like he's back to where he started, back to wrestling being the only thing he has. Because Seth is gone and Roman barely gives him the time of day anymore. He's mostly okay with this. He'd spent ten years okay with that on the Indies and in FCW but it's still fucking with his head more than he thought it would.
And Wyatt…Wyatt thinks he needs to be fixed, of all things. Dean brings his hands up to his head, tugging at his own hair. Fuck that. The only thing that will fix it will be getting his hands on Wyatt. Pummeling Wyatt's face in will definitely help.
But he can't do that yet which is why he's pacing in an empty room of the arena instead. This energy isn't exactly the good kind. It's dangerous in a way. The kind of dangerous that had had him participating in death matches at one point in his career.
He squats down suddenly, hands still on his head and trying to calm down. Going to that headspace has never turned out well for him. WWE has already made tee-shirts with the word unstable under his name; he doesn't need the batshit insane one's.
He supposes he has made progress if he can stop himself from sliding down into that sort of thinking. It is, of course, fucked up that a lot of that progress has been due to Seth and Roman. But thinking about that is dangerous territory now too.
He stays there for a bit longer, only moving to leave when he's pretty sure he can be around people without the urge to put their heads through the nearest wall and yanks the door open to the room and starts down the hall.
He's halfway down it when the lights go out. He stops short, that earlier energy coming back full force but he's not even surprised at this. Although Wyatt usually saves the theatrics for when the cameras are rolling.
Dean stands still, rotating his neck. He knows it's Wyatt and as such he also knows that the bastard isn't going to let him back to the locker rooms without at the very least trying to screw with his head so Dean only spreads his arms, wonders if Wyatt has some way to see him. Maybe he has one of those camera's with night vision; maybe he carries one of those around like the nutjob stalker he is.
"Well? I'm right here, asshole!" Dean is not afraid. He's never been afraid of a beating before. He only grins; sliding dangerously close to what Seth had once called his "Moxley headspace". But whatever. Moxley is just a ring name he'd used. It doesn't matter what ring name he has. He's not afraid of Bray Wyatt.
The blow comes swiftly and not from a fist. Dean's been hit with enough weapons in his lifetime to recognize the difference, even as his thoughts go fuzzy and unfocussed upon impact. He falls to his knees and then back to a sitting position but stays conscious, somehow.
He laughs as he reaches behind, feeling the warm wetness that he knows is his own blood. "Look at that," he says. And he can actually see it, or Wyatt but that hardly matters at the moment. "Promise I'll return the favor." These words are slurred and he tips backwards.
The lights come back on but Dean's vision is darkening anyway and his eyes close just as Wyatt stands over him.