↻
1 DAY LATER,
SMACK DOWN.

"Please leave your voice message after the tone."

"Fergal,
dearest grumpy curmudgeon,
you have every right to be mad at me ...
but this is the thousandth time I've called you,
so fuuu ...
c'mon dude.
... please call me back, that be really tight."

I end the call with a long sigh, wishing and hoping he'd just call back. There is 24 hours in a day, and yesterday, I only spent two of those hours sleeping.

Well,
trying to.

My mind wouldn't was relentless, unforgiving and unwilling to allow any room for tranquility. There was a war-zone in my mind, my body tense as If I were a troop out in the battlefield.

No matter how many times I tossed and turned in bed, I couldn't get comfortable. I scratched and even clawed my skin from the guilt that was driving me insane.

I felt dirty.

For the past few weeks, I have been so unlike myself. I doubted someone who's always been by my side, one way or another.

Even when I don't see eye to eye with Fergal and his mind that's able to produce visions from start to beginning, his heart is pure.

I should have known better.

His intentions are always well-spirited, even if he masks them behind insults and harshness like when I enrolled into his wrestling school.

There wasn't a day in that school were he didn't make me cry,
where he didn't make me second-guess my decision to enroll,
where he didn't take a toll on my body with the insane work-out drills,

but,

there also wasn't a day where I came back the same.

Every day I came back better,
stronger,
and more resilient.

Every morning that I walked through the doors for another session, he'd always join me by the water stand where I'd drink a cup of water and also stretch out before joining the group at the far end where we practiced on barely-cushioned mats.

My drinking a cup of water + stretching wasn't the routine I looked forward to each new day. The routine I looked most forward to was Fergal standing beside the water stand and asking me this:

"Ready for me to break you?"
"Not today Satan,
not today."

I'd reply, always enjoying his boyish chuckle that came afterwards before he'd severely pull my arm back to commence my warm-up to yet another grueling day that was designed to weedle out quitters, and forge warriors.

"Broken down I see?"

Fergal would smirk when the day was over and I'd be sitting on a bench, catching my breath.

"I'm unbreakable."

I'd say, earning his way of showing appraisal by taking his hand that he'd extend out to me. Fergal would pull my ass off of the bench and walk me to the locker room where he'd tell me silly thoughts he had throughout the day like:

"Paul Tracey needs bigger pants,
If I see his ass crack once more,
I'm going to lose it."

On really good days,he'd pull my ass off of the bench, place his arm over my shoulders, buy me a vanilla ice cream cone that he's addicted to and then share an ear bud with me as he walked me home,

the two of us in complete silenced as we listened to his music.

We shared more good days than normal days.

"Becky, you're on with Renee in 5!"

A backstage coordinator hollers, snapping me out of my day dreams as I follow behind him. "I wasn't told about this." I say, confused as wonder why on earth I'm being scheduled for a backstage segment.

With my head back up in the clouds, I nearly fall on my face as I stumble on something. When I look back, Sasha uncrosses her arms and shakes her head at me.

"Break a leg, Bexter."

She says, her tone menacing but not entirely foul.

Is she throwing caution to the wind by giving me a warning,
or is she seriously threatening me?

My mind questions.

"What's that all about?"

Renee asks, walking up to me with her camera men that speak "production language" as they get ready to shoot.

"Ugh, drama."

I say, rolling my eyes as she exhales.

"Tell me about it,
everyone's losing their mind backstage!
I'm turning into a punching bag for them,
Dean's upset about his mid-card status,
and now your match has been changed."

Renee says.

I raise my brows, repeatedly blinking until she realizes I'm not at all aware about that last bit. "They didn't tell you?" Renee gasps.

"No!
No one ever tells me ANYTHING!"

I say as she lets her head hang low for a few seconds.

"That's what this backstage segment is supposed to be all about."
Renee says, leaving it at that as the camera crew gives us the cue to start.

"Welcome WWE Universe, we're backstage with WWE Superstar, Becky Lynch."

Renee says, turning her face to me as I politely smile.

"Becky, the past few weeks have not been kind to you."
Renee states as I shake my head to agree.

"With Emma's stipulation to have a partner and make it a 2 on 2 match,
how do you feel? Is the sudden change worrying you?"

Renee asks as I take in a deep breath to collect my scattered thoughts.

"Well Renee, you're right. These past few weeks have not been kind to me,
but I didn't become straight-fire by having people be nice to me."

I say, taking a small pause to appreciate the supportive + positive response the crowd gives me.

"As for Emma's stipulation, It doesn't worry me at all. First of all, who would tag-team with Emma? You'd have to find someone just as self-absorbed as she is, and I don't think that's possible."

I say just right before the Australian born Diva steps into the scene besides Renee.

"I may be self-absorbed for good reasons,
I mean, look at me."

Emma says, gloating about her glorious physique before snatching the microphone away from Renee.

"But at least I'm not you,
a jealous,
backstabbing,
ungrateful,
traitor."

Emma says, ousting me for everything I've been wrongly exposed as for the past two weeks.

Before I can speak another word, I find myself gasping for breath as someone harshly chucks the back of my head, causing me to fall face first.

Just as I get on my knees, Emma immediately kicks me back down, laying me flat as I ache in pain.

"You will never amount to anything!"
Emma shouts as she grabs fistfuls of my hair and whacks her other hand into my face with brutal fists.

"As long as we're here,
It's all about us!"

Emma declares,
stopping her abuse as she sits me back up to face Dana Brooke.

"You naive little weasel,
doubting your friends and weak like the rest.
I'll admit, It'll be sad not to drag you out of matches anymore,
but the games are about to get better."

Dana says, so awfully close to my face before she leans back only to wrap her hands around my neck while Emma pulls on the roots of my hair.

"Oh and one last thing Becky,
Say good bye to the fairy land you've made because playtime's over.
We're Emma + Dana,
and we're your
E-N-D."

Brooke laughs before Emma harshly slams me to the ground,
turning my world black.

☒

For a split second, I stare at the pristine white walls and think I'm back to where I spent quite a lot of my abundant time in Ireland—the infirmary in Fergal's small wrestling school.

Yet, as I notice all the new equipment and actual doctor in the room, I groan and turn my face.

Back when I was 16 and training under Fergal, we were lucky if we had band aids and gauze.

Sometimes we'd have a doctor, sometimes we'd have a medical student who was about as clueless on how to stitch wounds as we were.

The infirmary really wasn't a state of the art institution like this one, it was just a room with four white walls, each side sparkling clean.

Everyone hated it because it reminded them of an asylum,
and they hated it even more when Fergal made it known what the room was for.

On the first day, Fergal made it clear that that would be the room used if we needed a time out.

"I don't want to see your tears."

Fergal would say, mentioning that the room would be where one would go to cry, shout, or whatever.

The infirmary was a sign of weakness for most,
but it was a sanctuary for me,
a safe haven even.

Inside the school,
there was no room for emotion.
I learned that the hard way,
I think.

"You drive him mad because you're the only student whose spirit he hasn't broken." Paul Tracey confessed to me after Fergal nearly made me pay a visit to a hospital after he kept having me take tumbles.

That day, I had sworn he was out to make me break, so I held on extra tight. Instead of being the one to throw the towel in, he snapped after I could no longer get up,

not because I didn't want to,
but because Paul Tracey and a few others intervened after my back started bruising up badly.

There is only so many tumbles one's back can absorb when there's no proper equipment. The only tools are the mats which are useless, and your bones.

You pray your bones don't crack and call it a day.

"Sir, she's badly concussed.
She'll mostly likely not wake up until tomorrow."

The doctor whispers to someone I can't make out. I slowly sit up as a hand slams the door open, shoving the doctor aside and entering the room.

"You're quite popular today."

He says, informing me about the people who've tried breaking in just to make sure I'm not actually brain dead.

Paige,
Sasha,
Renee,
Bayley.

"Hey."

I croak, smiling as he leans in to warmly hug me.

"My god,
this is a miracle."

The doctor gasps as Karl rolls his eyes.

"This is no miracle.
She's Irish
& she's straight-fire.
Ireland doesn't make no little weak bitches."

Karl laughs as I shake my head and give into laughter as well.

"Hey, what's the British Chick's name?"

Karl asks as I raise a brow.

"Why?"

I ask, intrigued by his interest as she laughs. "She was dead-intent on biting the head off of a bat just to admit herself as insane to be able to be enrolled as a patient and then come visit you."

Karl says as my body warms up just thinking about what that crazy goth would do just to see me.

"But then some blonde and a pink haired chick dragged her away."

Karl adds, shrugging as I shake my head.

"What?"

"Her hair isn't pink, it's magenta."
I say, finding myself amazed at how protective I am over my friends even though I've caused a split between us.

At least now they know the truth,
and I'm not one to harbor grudges.

"Anyways, I have a message for you."

Karl says as I cock my head to one side.

"You do?"

I ask, giving him my undivided attention as he nods.

"Fergal's in Europe for some media appearances,
but he told me to tell you that ... "

Karl says, taking a dramatic pause that drives me to the point of digging my nails into his arm.

"Tell me!"

I plead, desperate to know what Fergal's message.

Karl pries my hand away from his arm as he smirks.

"This isn't the end."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I can't even begin to explain how much I enjoyed writing this chapter, but I hope you guys like it.
What on earth does Fergal mean by, "this isn't the end"
+
who'll tag-team with Becky?

*insert evil laughter here*

xo , violet.