Author's Note: Since I finally got my hands on a new computer I am going back to frequently updating for you guys! Especially when I'm in class because oddly enough that is when I have some sort of motivation to continue writing this story (other than you guys faithfully standing by me with this). I wish to thank those whom followed and even favourited the story. I hope you guys are enjoying how I torture my precious babies so far. And a special thank you to those whom reviewed: Em, samathanjaydex, RollinsInTheDean, Teanni, Guest, HumanSpectre, ZizFox, angelsdee327, ThatGirl54, xSamiliciousx, Guest, fenner82 for you guys never fail in putting a smile on my face. Anyways, I think it's only right I publish two updates this week seeing as I kind of ended it in a cliffhanger didn't I? Anyways, enough babbling. Please don't forget to review your thoughts for they are always appreciated.
I owe nothing that corresponds with the WWE except for Charlotte – she's my sole creation.
XI: Lakes & Fires.
Can't you see what you do to me baby?
You make me crazy, you make me act like a maniac
I'm like a lunatic, you make me sick
You're truly the only one who can do this to me.
-Eminem, Crazy in Love.
You don't fuckin' remember me? I'm that fuckin' Stray Dog.
She couldn't breathe. No, of course she couldn't. She found herself tugging the ring that never wanted to remove itself from her finger and of course all attempts were in vain. Her chest rising little by little, heavier by passing seconds as the once sitting down Dean Ambrose snaps up from his seat and stares down at her. The tears that once burned the corner of his eyes were ferociously wiped away. Green oculars that trembled in confusion would crumble before him. No longer was her mind making the vivid contrast it once did within her dreams or even looking at him – she glanced down at her ring, back at him and Dean took note of it.
He noticed the ring that he gave her before she got in the accident on her way to New York City. He felt himself choke up – wondering as to why would she even wear that? Without much of his own control he took her hand and played with the ring and Charlotte – startled by the firm grip would only try to pry her hand out of his own but, all attempts in vain. However, she didn't even willingly put up a fight.
Dean found himself with an indescribable itch he can't scratch or even reach for that matter. The silence of the room – it wasn't all that. The tension itself ached in agony and Charlotte, unable to handle it anymore only ripped her hand out of his with the little bit of strength she has left. He growled in distaste. He hated the expression on her face – detested it with very aching millisecond that passes by. Her hand felt so cold in his and this need to warm her ghastly frame felt like the hives. A feeling he thought he developed some sort of desensitization due to his constant relapse in vice.
Charlotte found herself constantly pushing the vivid compare and contrast chart out of her mind. It was molding little by little. The colour of the Stray Dog was like that of Jonathan's, even it's eyes. And the gestures like dog. The way he nuzzled his face into her leg when he came into the room, or how he'll constantly tug that annoying strand of hair that refused to be tamed. She felt it kicking in – that feeling she got before within the presence of CM Punk and Paul Heyman. The beep of the heart monitor began to kick in – and the image of Jon swirled itself into this blend of a gray whirlpool.
Jon, at realizing what was happening didn't bother calling out for help – stubbornly he just gripped her by her shoulders. At realizing her eyes were about to roll back he felt his fingernails dig through the material of her hospital gown and into her flesh as he sucked his teeth, shook his head like mad. He felt like he was losing her, again. He didn't want her to forget whatever she's got in mind of him, again. He couldn't afford the pain or luxury of her forgetting him again.
Jon didn't know what Jon was doing.
"Charlie, get a fucking grip. Not again!"
For some reason, her eyes locked once more into his and this time she gasped aloud – as though there it was, she saw him. She saw this young boy, with the same look in her eyes that the Jon before her bore. The boy with the evident anger in his eyes and she couldn't help but raise her shaking fingers to his face. Jon, only loosened his grip on her shoulders, he noted he withdrew blood into his fingernails. The look in his eyes soften for a mild second as he felt her cold fingertips burn into his flesh. That look in her eye reeked of acknowledgement. His heart felt as though it was to burst right out of his chest. No, his lungs were to collapse. Everything, the tension within the room and even the maddening sounds came to a halt. The room no longer felt cold, no longer the incessant screech gnawed his mind.
"Jon..."
Finally the sound of silence was raptured by her feeble voice and Jon once more found himself warped into reality. He stared at her, glanced back to the heart monitor and noticed everything was back to normal. Nurses burst into the room as the grip he had on her slipped its way to her hands. She stared at him, she couldn't say anything else after that, the look in her eye twinkled with warmth and he felt something inside of be pried – just like eight years ago.
The hospital officials would only push Jon back, causing him to no longer feel her velvety fingers in his palm. They tried their best to push him out of the room and he half-assed attempt to resist. But he knew he had to go, he knew he couldn't do anything for her. That girl in the bed, although she's the same girl, she's not the same because she doesn't remember him.
That hope of her even remembering even after being informed of where he stood in her life eight years ago diminished like nothing. He choked up, he felt the tears well up in his eyes as he shook his head and simply walked away from the inertia of the orderly. Roman and Seth simply stared at their companion who came out of the room with a defeated look in his eyes. Both found themselves itchy with nervousness.
Jon wasn't okay. Jon didn't even know he wasn't okay. He just grinned before combing his fingers through his hair.
"Dude, you're okay?"
He didn't answer Seth's question as he found himself searching for the exit. He wanted to get away from this place. It never did him any good. He never had a miraculous experience in the cold embrace of a place he would dare call a morgue. Time, a little bit past midnight, Jonathan Good has just passed away.
"I fuckin' hate hospitals..."
Three Days Afterwards
There was no sighting of Dean Ambrose for the three days that Charlotte remained hospitalized. Although with much urgency from the higher-ups of the WWE for her to go home and get some rest even if she needs a week – Charlotte refused.
Not because she doesn't want to give them an impression that there is something wrong with her (health wise) but also because she refused to go back to New York City and deal with the likes of Hayden right now. A Hayden Park whom insisted in going to the hospital, who was willing to cancel all his business appointments to go see her. Whom was willing to pay top-notch doctors to take care of her. Laughable really – because the times Charlotte throughout the eight years she remembers of her life have suffered such attacks, Hayden would be the first person nowhere to be found. It was what he was infamous for – not being around when actually needed.
Hayden wasn't home. Hayden was the farthest thing from home.
And within weeks, maybe months of working with the company, Charlotte managed to make sense of why she loves this place so much. Because it felt like home.
Something, made it feel like home.
Although much of what happened to her and the reasons of her being hospitalized remain foggy – the dreams of the Stray Dog no longer plagued her mind. Either it was clarity has reassessed her well-being or well, it was always just a dream.
I'm the fuckin' Stray Dog!
Those words however, weren't a dream. She could hear him snarling in the back of her mind – even while sharing laughs with Seth and Roman – Dean, whom wasn't around for those three days remained in her mind. Tugging at her sanity, tugging at the little bit of sense that remained left in her. In accordance to the guys, Dean wasn't around during her stay at the hospital nor his hotel room or even backstage arena. As though for the three days he disappeared and when Charlotte was out and about in the hands and care of Seth and Roman who loyally remained by side her.
When she came back from the hospital and to the hotel room – Charlotte, Seth and Roman found Dean in his room and it seemed he splurged on room service for the two bottles of Jameson and the unknown blond in his bed was self-explanatory.
Charlotte remembered chuckling, she remembered shaking her head, she remembered turning her back at a sight that for some reason boiled her with ardent ferocity. Charlotte remembered lying through the little spacing of her teeth, saying she was okay – that it was okay. She couldn't comprehend why she felt like a liar when she said that was fine because something in her told it wasn't. Something told her that's not what he's suppose to be doing. Something inside of her barked once more – that he's suppose to be resting his head on her lap.
But he wasn't. He was resting his head on her rather large bosom.
"You guys, I don't want either one of you two giving me that look! Now we are going to make sure the three of ya'll have the best fucking debut ever! Now get used to moving around in your gear. I think it's suiting for The S.H.I.E.L.D."
Charlotte whom sat on a metal chair by ringside would smirk at the sighting of all three members bouncing back and forth from each rope side. In her hands she stared down at the words of creative which plotted and pre-determined the functionality of The Shield. Of course, already she spotted the flaws within the lines and the so-called personas they want each member to adapt and she made sure to take a note to make sure and pitch this back to creative and even the likes of Paul Heyman.
Survivor Series little by little approached her and the stable. And training's intensity multiples itself by the days – usage of angles or even the way they present themselves through entrance... Charlotte made sure that her boys would have it down to the core. Charlotte placed the papers on the floor as she then pulled out her pack of Malboro reds.
"Take ten you guys! I'll be out for a smoke break. I'll see ya in a bit."
"Please, Charlotte-baby! You gotta cut that shit out! Gonna end up killing yourself man." Seth cried out causing Roman to laugh along side him. Charlotte simply stuck her tongue out to the two and she felt it – that sharp stab behind her head. He was looking right at her. There was no doubt about it.
Charlotte has been aching for a moment to be alone with Dean, now that she was better she hoped to make sense of a situation she's still trying to grasp onto. She could hear him again yelling in her mind, as though there was a tiny-gnome like version of Jonathan Good implemented into her very fiber and core for the sake of not letting her live shit down.
At reaching the parking lot of the arena for where one of the house-shows were to be hosted – Charlotte sighed in relief as she placed the cancerous stick on the corner of her lips and inhaled that sweet smog that always set her nerves at ease. The echoing footsteps behind her came to a sudden halt. He was there. She could feel it. Amidst the fall – she could feel goosebumps cause out of pure eeriness that is contrasted by the starching heat consuming her body right now.
This was the effect Dean, no, Jonathan Good had on her.
She leaned against the wall and Jon did the same. She could feel them both touch elbows yet although so physically close to one another – they've emotionally been trying to disconnect themselves from one another. That, however, was something remotely impossible for the both of them.
Jon didn't need anything else from her – rather than the fact she wished she would remember him. He wanted to then be able to consume her lips once more for all he got is the memory to live by. He missed her. He misses her. And he wish regardless of his frustrations to push her away and for her to forever forget – he wants her to remember the stray dog, the delinquent teenager whom rode a rustic pick-up truck and lost himself in the act of loving his owner.
Jon lit up his own cigarette and she would glance his direction as he would through gritted teeth he would blow the smog right out of his lips. Her ring finger began to itch. She rubbed her hand against the fabric of her leather jacket and felt her gesture come to a halt. Her body this time scorched, the colour flushing right out of her cheeks as she felt his fingers push through the spacing of her hand. It felt so right – the fit. It felt familiar.
The smell of mild sweat, old spice deodorant... That recognizable knot he knew how to form within the depths of her throat found its way once more. She would glance to Jon, whom never looked at her, just down at the hand he held. His fingers tracing the shape of her ring finger. He made sure to not touch the one Hayden gave her. Just the one she never knew where she actually got it from. Before she could pry her hands out of his, this time she was pinned against the wall. His hands right underneath her chin – taking proper hold of it, causing her to squirm a little bit more within his grasp.
The hand that once held a cigarette would press against his chest. She could feel his roaring heartbeat – it matched the pacing of her own that felt as though it was to pop right through her esophagus and onto the concrete. This feeling, she couldn't comprehend it. She couldn't figure it out. It sickened her – the way he made her feel. This exact predicament.
She remembered now. She remembered the moment she was at the hospital. He's the reason she has the scars in her shoulders – those were his fingernails that dug into her for dear life. As though he was trying to find something that she didn't know rested inside of her. He gave her chin a light squeeze as he took the hand with the ring and placed it above her head. He did this all with little to none aggression. A strange, tenderized gesture at its finest.
"Why do we always meet after something crazy happens, like this...?" She managed to gush out and Jon would only chuckle. He didn't respond. He would only drop his head onto her shoulder. Causing Charlotte to gasp aloud. Trying to push the weight of his body off hers but Jon only hushed her. His lips slightly grazed the nape of her open neck. Charlotte whimpered, glancing up at the evening skies that are slightly orange, heading into twilight.
Jon wasn't danger.
Jon was what made her feel real. What brought her into reality.
"I'm sorry, Charlie."
He could feel her chest heaving. He could smell her sweet, cinnamon winter scent. He felt like devouring her in entirety. This right here, the scent he loved so much – was the one he tried countless of times finding elsewhere and with all attempts in vain. He remembered when they were teenagers and how she would wrap her arms around his frame whenever he did this. His eyes widen as he was snapped out of the flashback and into the real world.
She was holding him, responding to his apology. Giving him that tight squeeze that her lithe frame granted her to give. Jon realized she was there, the girl that left his heart in Cincinnati. "Why, why are you like this with me...?" The question caused Jon to pull back a bit, this time his forehead pressed itself against her own and he would with a free hand take one last drag before tossing it aside.
She didn't mind the smog being blown in her face because past it – it was him. Her eyes clashed once more with the blues that reeked of nothing but danger and there it was – the sensation. This was home. Jonathan Good was home.
"Because, you're my home, Charlie." His words dance amongst her lips. The swam past the partings and down her tongue, affectionately suckling her essence. Innate almost, Charlotte's fingers went from the back of his neck, and combed through his moist auburn locks as she pulled him closer. She wanted to hear that again, she wanted to consume his warmth even if she had no understanding of it.
She just knew this is where she belonged, this is where she's suppose to be whenever the cold would come. Jon shivered in her embrace and he would chuckle, his nose rubbing against hers.
"Always making a dog out of me..."
She couldn't shove him away. It was always like this. Cigarettes by these walls would only bring them closer – yet drive them so far away whenever they were to step inside. She felt the spacing of their lips almost closing in on one another. Jon knew, that regardless of these instances, she won't fully remember him. But he had to abide by her.
Charlotte bit her lip as she felt her pocket vibrate a repeated amount of times. Jon felt the vibrations against his legs and would only growl. The hand that held onto that of the ring that bounded the two would now drop by side her. The image of the Jon that was there now gone like dust. She felt winded as she slid down against the wall and would look at her phone.
Hayden Park.
"Yeah baby?" She answered and she silently gagged with the excrement that ached to pour out of her throat after exchanging those words.
It was becoming harder to see her smile through the red of her lipstick. He knew she was with the likes of him right now, in the same room, breathing the same space. His hands on her flesh, not in an affectionate fashion either. Jon found himself in a bar – he couldn't be in the same building or even doors down from that energy that was clearly disturbing him. Hayden Park was the one calling her, he was the one who ended up coming to the arena to see her work and put this filthy act for others that he is a loving fiancee, who genuinely cares about the woman he's to marry.
Look at that, Jonathan Good, caring again. It was such a foreign feeling – it's been so long he found himself caring but of course it was almost impossible not to give a fuck about someone like Charlotte Helena Rove. His home. The only golden thing he found in Cincinnati other than the gateway to professional wrestling. But even her, it's because of her, he finds himself in the light of success.
Jon grew to the lonely lifestyle. The problem was that undoubtedly he let her in. He was a couple of shots in – he knew he wasn't suppose to be drinking like this. But what else could distract him from the screech that constantly bites away at him? It was Jameson. Maybe number seven Jack Daniels. He just needed to make sure he got home, with someone clinging onto his arm for dear life and unable to even fuck the blond because of whiskey dick.
Charlotte was restless. She was naked underneath the sheets as all she could hear were the obnoxious snores of Hayden whom of course, after getting what he wanted from her would fall asleep. The instant she tried to budge, she felt herself wince for her insides felt as though they were taken apart.
He was always so rough with her...
Her finger began to itch once more and the next thing you know, the phone that rested on the nightstand would light up. She squinted her eyes, lowering the brightness so she could take note of who was calling her. Her eyes widened as through gritted teeth she silenced her whimpers and walked to the bathroom in nothing but a sheet covering her frame.
"Why is he calling me?!" She asked herself as she stared at the name once more to make sure it was him. Jon.
"Hello?"
"Listen here, Princess... I think it's so fucked up that you're fuckin' that asshole right now and you can't even remember me! But you know what! As a matter of a fact! I don't even need to you to remember me because I never was shit, and never will be shit! I'm just a fucking brat from the slums of Cincinnati! Right? Do you remember that much about me eh?" Charlotte stared at the ceiling of her bathroom slightly bewildered.
He was drunk. She could hear almost every word he spat through the phone slur themselves into a big whirlpool of whiskey and dirt.
For some reason, she felt her heart grow heavy. "Jon, where the hell are you?" She ignored everything he said. She had to find him. She couldn't leave him to be alone in that condition. Her mind snapped back into reality, she realized that Hayden was in the the other room. No, Hayden was knocking down the bathroom door with his fists.
"Charlotte what the fuck are you doing?! Who are you on the phone with? Open up!" He was so quick to change his temper with her as well. "Hayden, I'll be out in just a second!" She tried to control the sobs that tempted to creep their way out. She didn't want to display vulnerability right now. She didn't want to snap at Hayden and make the chances of her being able to get Jon all the more impossible.
"Oh! The fuckboy is really there with you! And I woke him up~ Oh I'm sorry! How about you bring his soft-having ass over here and I'll fuck him up too!" Charlotte sucked her teeth, feeling herself unravel into an anger she never truly tapped into. She's dealing with two different forces. Her fiancee who seems so strive off beating the crap out of her.
"Jon, just shut up and tell me where you are right now! Okay? Can you do that for me please?"
She looked at the clothes she left on the bathroom floor and while listening to Jon look around the bar - describing it to her to the best detail a drunk man can do, Charlotte slipped on with great ease the clothes and hung up the phone. She knew where he was. Now it was all about being able to open this door and push past the demon that awaits.
Charlotte slipped her phone into her back pocket as she would gather one last breath. She felt her pockets, she had some money at hand and even her cards incase of emergencies. Good... She thought to herself as she would then snap the door open - causing the man at the other side, Hayden to fall onto his rear.
"Charlotte!" He yelled as he struggled to quickly get off the ground but already she was long gone. One could say for the sake of exaggerating that time fast-forwarded itself as she ran, she ran to the nearby bar that she knew he was in. Heaving, she would wipe the cold sweat from her forehead and inside she looked wherever her eyes would lead her. There he was. A mess - with women at each arm and him licking the salt right off their neck. Charlotte flared, she hated seeing him like this. She hated both women by side him and as she would approach the three, she noticed the grin on Jon's face.
"Charlie! Baby! You're here~!" He didn't even smell like him.
The two girls glared at Charlotte and she would only crack her knuckles before them. She didn't know where this energy came from. Maybe it's pent up frustration. Or this insatiable need to keep him away from harm. And those two women were far from good.
"You two, grab your shit and leave him be."
"Ugh! And who the fuck do you think you are? Jon baby, tell her to stop being a spoiled-sport and to kick it from here." Her voice...
It drove Charlotte mad. All the more mad to say the least.
You're going to fuckin' learn how to defend yourself. Got it? Don't be a pussy and hit me alright?
I don't think I can do this.
Come on. Don't be a pussy. Take a good fuckin' swing right at me.
Just like that, Princess.
That dialogue poured into her mind with ease. As though the memories little by little lubricate themselves into a reality she's quite unsure of. Charlotte only knew, that she knew how to fight. And that voice - it was Jonathan Good's voice. Guiding her, teaching her how to fend herself off. She could remember that. She remembered it as the Stray Dog with the shaggy auburn hair play fighting with her when it came to a braided rope.
Charlotte pushed past the two females who held onto Jon for dear life and she felt someone take a good grip into her hair. She winced, her body already ached from her experience with Hayden and her reflexes kicked in. With her elbow she swung around and felt the muscle squish and something crumble at the contact.
"You fucking bitch!" The other one cried out and Charlotte saw it coming, saw the hand coming right at her face and she simply stepped to the side causing the second blond fall into her friend who leaked a pool of blood right out of her nose. Jon whom wanted to remain on the seat he was in would struggle against Charlotte whom was trying to put his arm over her shoulder. She sucked her teeth, the most aggressive she's been in what she could remember would grab him and pulled him right out of his seat. She could hear one of the girls crying about her nose and the other one as to how her hair almost looks pink from the blood. Charlotte only spat on the floor, she could hear the bartenders yelling for her to get out when she was already on her way.
Outside, she leaned against the wall of the bar to keep a rather inebriated Jon on his feet as she made a phone call for a cab. He was in no condition to be walking. Charlotte looked at Jon, whom simply rested his head onto her shoulder. Tears without any control poured right out of her eyes as she began to sob. She didn't know why she was crying. Maybe because she can't remember something she knows she's suppose to know about Jon, maybe because she can't define this reason as to why she believes he is hers, nobody else's. Maybe because she feels this need to watch over him, to take care of every wound on his body.
"I don't hate you Charlotte..."
Before she could even respond, she felt something wet wipe away the tears that little by little cascaded down her flushed cheeks. His arm that was wrapped onto her shoulder would only pull her closer to him as his tongue continued to clean her face. Charlotte began to shiver, tried to pry him away and Jon only shook his head, nuzzling his cheek onto hers, murmuring drunk apologies. His head once more dropped onto her shoulder, into the nape of her neck where he planted soft kisses against her flesh. Teeth slightly nibbling and she whimpered in sadness and heat. She felt the chills crawl up and down her spine, she felt herself stiffen from these signs of... affection? Regardless of being under the influence, he once more took her all in.
Her mind stuck in delirium from disbelief and pleasure.
"You always found me. You found me once and here you are, again. Once left for dead and now me drunk out of my god damn ass. This is just that solid proof, that you're the reason, that I, the stray dog has found a home. Regardless of all the lakes set on fire, you always swam your way towards me. Even if I reeked of trouble, you never cared. All you knew, is that you needed me, as much as I needed you. I'm the shit of a dog you always welcomed home..."