b e l l a m y ;

Fighting is a strange thing reserved to the wicked ones. The conscious and active decision to put their own health in harm's way.

To feel knuckles colliding into a jaw and lethal kicks targeting the spots so perfectly that all they can think about is the pain they're experimenting.

Most times the lost souls' desire for devastation and suffering is ignited by a chaos so vivid and intense that it invades their every thought, never resigning in leaving its self-made / stolen home.

Their past mistakes echo louder and louder inside of their brains until the sole thing resonating, no matter the time of the day, is a big, crushing, consuming failure.

Bellamy found himself in that torturous situation, reminiscences of stolen goodbyes and infinite sorrow playing back without never interrupting.

Therefore as his restless demons surrounded the bedroom, constantly too gran for him without h e r but perpetually too confined to save his lungs from asphyxia, he contacted the only person able to control his wrath : a brother.

While making his way to one of a kind competitor, their bond's value surpass any materialistic possession, the tormented man couldn't help but notice that his fist is already clenched, ready for battle.

Bell contemplated the trembling hand, his explosive habits quick to take him over each time he'd lose sight of the light s h e put in his dead heart.

A spark of hope that he's hold on to for the past couple of years, her delicate words taming and caging the monster trapped deep within him.

He's always been a walking, talking paradox : hatred and rage constantly boiling up inside, yet s h e gave him the strength to push away those destructive emotions as her beaming smile quickly became his shelter.

Risky moves then quickly made up for the fact he couldn't afford to let his impulses take the upper hand, letting it all go through a despicable persona, at the antipodes of what he truly is.

Just like the old days, him and his fiery acolyte reunite in what turned into their headquarters throughout their carreers in Japan - the grease and dirty aspect used to remind them of where they've grown up, both as men and wrestlers.

The garage's floor was as cold as the Devil, the sent far from anything agreeable and the place so hot that about less than thirty minutes of workout, both were already covered of sweat.

As he barely dodge his friend's punch, feeling the air caressing his cheek and adrenaline filling his vains, he remembers his true nature.

Bellamy is a savage and free animal : pain fuels him and the harder he gets hit, the brighter the flame burning in his eyes becomes.

Until the fever pitch is reached and he eventually backfire at whoever stands in his way.

He had many anecdotes shared with few of the NJPW guys that he actually let approach him - so much that now, they're printed in the walls of his heart - bruising some and others earning shiners.

They'd take revenge on him and in the end, they'd all take pictures of their swollen faces and bodies, proud of their battle scars.

Except this time around it is him who's the victim, struggling to touch his opponent let alone avoiding to get smacked, provoking laughters on one part and swelling frustration on the other.

Although kick boxing always helped him when it came to haunting regrets, it seems that his head is still filled by heavy blue clouds, draining the positive energy out of him.

As he finds himself hitting the ground once more, unsure to fully get his head around that unexpected turn of events, a golden yet taboo memory hits his brain so abruptly that it doesn't even offer him the choice to chase it away.

_______

f o u r  y e a r s  a g o ;

A veil of tenderness unexpectedly wraps a clueless soul, wrongly thinking he has the upper hand while in reality, he is doomed to self-destruction.

A beaming smile blinds his blurry view even more, preventing him from distinguishing the extend of damages he inflicted to her pure heart - yet again the victim of his unpredictable explosions.

Bellamy's eyes can't help but remain fixed upon the author of his wrath, the one who provoked a stubborn soldier to a never-ending war.

Since the day he had stepped foot in the promotion, his relationships with fellow wrestlers never were ideal as they would nearly awake the demon caged inside of his dead soul.

An absent locker-room's etiquette and a mouth that could never shut up, abdicating in front of useless trivialities, caused the raven haired to bleed one too many times - inheriting wounds both inside and outside of the ring.

Fists would be thrown but his rage could never be tamed, fuelled by the affront Ring of Honor's guys made to him, underestimating his talent, belittling his knowledge and mocking his childish behavior.

"You will never amount to anything if you keep running head first into walls." The wiser men of the company used to recall to him, their words attempting to talk some sense into his troubling brain, all in vain.

The sole creature able to calm the demon inside was Carmella, her touch so magnetic yet soft that the slighest contact felt as if her elegant fingers were reaching through his chest, searching for his heart, in hopes to heal its scars.

Kneeling besides an exhausted yet infuriated entity, she nurses the deep cut on the left cheek as if the most precious work of art just got ripped apart.

The second his dark eyes connect with her compassionate stare, reflecting to him the cruauty of his methods, he realizes that he's undeserving of such a flawlessly crafted beauty, both in and out.

But she would never leave him either way, too attached to their wicked paradise and unbalanced love - he has always been convinced that he adored her beyond anything imaginable.

He thought of her as a wizard, the slightest of her gesture able to numb the pain away.

She became his focal point in the middle of the thunderstorm, sometimes far away but constantly able to light his way out of the darkness.

_______

"Carmella would never abandon me." Bellamy was so sure that he repeated those words every single night to chase the doubt installed by his demons.

He hold on to this unspoken promise, so tightly that in the end, his fingers bled out and he fell back down, admiring the perfect angel flying above while he returned to his rightful place : Hell.

Nervously brushing the scar on his face, the one she cautiously took care of healing, without ever mentioning the fact that none of his battle scars would ever match the suffering his heart endured.

"You should talk to her." A serious tone knocks him out of his thoughts as his loyal acolyte also gives him the final blow, raising the possibility that he may just know a little too much on the case invading Bell's mind.

Words are not necessary for them to understand one another and while their souls merge, each other's body language do the talking.

A raised brow on one part who attempts to avoid the hurtful topic at all costs, years not enough to fully recover from such a fall.

A mocking gaze and a head slightly tilted on the other who comprehends his need of remaining mute, yet assures that he doesn't have to clearly open up to realize what is happening.

The man who welcomed him with opened arms when Bellamy first came to Japan slowly approaches the defeated silhouette facing him.

Without any warning, he rapidly squats inches apart and offers him his fist to bump, both their rings colliding in a meaningful resonating sound.

The friendly reminder that the sole muse a wrestler should allow to himself is the passion underneath his skin, boiling up inside, the desire to craft his art so it can reach heights never encountered before.

From up there, Bellamy would make a new promise to himself : never fall again from the clouds.

c a r m e l l a ;

Love is such a paradoxal concept.

It is the conscious decision to offer yourself entirely at another being, relinquishing each parcel of your heart to a person who was simply a stranger at first.

And you wish they won't hurt you.

You wish, and you wish, and you wish.

But they always do.

Or maybe it is yourself who constantly ruins things. Or maybe it is the stars that were wrongly aligned, on that particular night you left.

Maybe on that particular night Carmella left, she abandoned her heart to her strange perfect match, to her introvert lover, the one who never admitted his feelings to her but always demonstrated them.

He would not sing serenades at the top of his lungs to seduce her, he would simply pay attention to insignificant things : she liked her coffee dark (without sugar), her morning quiet (before being replaced by her fiery personnality) and her sorrow to be hid (guilt adding weigh to her heavy soul)

Carmella could not bare with the sadness slowly installing in people's eyes, slightly reddened by the upcoming cries, choosing to carry hers silently - unconsciously wrecking other's feelings, the ones they spent so much time unveal.

"Bellamy's just another victim of love" she thought while cowardly running away, the real kind of love, not romanticized like in books, not heroic or tragic like in movies, just the heartbreaking kind.

The years that followed, she viewed their relationship's state as a dead rose : it hadn't been watered since the day she closed the door of their paradise, throwing the keys away.

As she tenderly gazes at a florishing and vibrant flower, Dana and Jason's hands clasped so tight - and their hearts interlacing even more - a wave of suppressed emotions come crashing upon her soul, the one she was convinced she'd toughen up through damageful decisions.

A minor cut is felt deep within her entity, as if the scene's authenticity that captivated her in the first place now sends needles ripping her inside out.

As if her blinded eyes were finally facing a truth so painful, she sheltered her own self from its repercussions, locking herself in a home of lies.

But in reality, your very first love can never vanish.

No matter how long it's been since the last time you've awaken these unforgettable memories, recalled that unbreakable bond, realized that you've embarked in a never-ending journey.

Love don't die, feelings can't fade, only your certainties get troubled, tarnished by time and remorses.

Carmella's mind chose not to believe in the fairytale she was living in, closing the book on an unfinished page.

Carmella's heart never stopped beating, racing faster each time his beautifully marked features would come up in her dreams, few moments before rejecting all of it.

Yet another uncomfortable silence took place between two sisters, not related by blood but by a much deeper, lasting link : the spiritual kind of bonds, connecting individual beyond life and death.

After Bayley's supplications, her endering eyes and lovable way of overly worrying for her love ones being weapons no one could everresist to, Carmella abdicated.

For the first time since the taboo day she deserted both Ring of Honor and Bellamy's appartment, she opened up about the true reasons hidden behind her actions.

The shameful motives not a secret to neither their knowledge anymore, shock easily readable in the brunette's gesture.

Pursing her lips in an useless attempt at reassurance, she in the end couldn't find the right words.

Carmella hoped that despite confiding her worst mistake, Bayley's opinion wouldn't change - if she were to lose her, she's not sure to remember what kept her going for so long in NXT.

"I miss that." She eventually breathes out, concluding that after sharing such deep and dark moments of her life, anything could now be said.

Bayley's flow of thoughts get interrupted by the low voice of her precious friend, revealing another mystery she remains unsure to fully comprehend.

"Does h e miss me ?" Carmella gives a piece of her mind, a subtle nod in the happy couple's direction enough for the "heart and soul" of NXT to figure the situation out.

"Have you seen the ring on his hand ?" She anxiously enquires, foolishly hoping it was just an illusion forcing her to keep her distances.

Vulnerability exudes out of her diverted eyes, her posture leaning on the wall, hoping not to fall any lower - in confusion or in love.

Until Bayley suddenly chases away the infinite scenarios playing in Carmella's head, trying to wrap her mind around what she could have done to avoid such a desesperate, messed-up remains of a relationship.

Until she sparks a freil fire, able to slightly heal the cut in her heart - bleeding out of love or hatred, desire or distrust.

A silver ring, aged and damaged by countless fights, both inner and against the world's villainy, with three meaningful letters that paved Bellamy's way to recovery.

M(arried)

T(o)

W(restling)

"If you don't introduce me, I'll hug you to death." The cheerful savior adds, playfully positioning the two of them or a headlock, realizing that time isn't at mournings anymore - hope just got revived.

A shy smile extends Carmella's pinky lips, relief written on her relaxed features and warm soul.

If wrestling were his metaphorical wife, would it mean that she's his not so figuratively soulmate - bound to part ways a million of times only to meet again ?

∞ ∞ ∞

e le n a ;

+ Will Bell keep his new oath, promising to himself to focus on his carreer and stay away from Carmella ?

+ Will she attempt anything to rekindle their history and / or share her unexpected feelings ?

Thank you so much for taking the time to read, please let me know what you thought about this chapter &  what you think may happen next.

Love you all my beauts! xxx