BULLETS ˎˊ˗

fire

↻
FERGAL

I've never liked my hands.

They've always been calloused from brutal sweat sessions in the gym, the metal of the bars tearing my skin apart in order for muscle to grow.

It's a grueling cycle that has it's downside, like having hands that aren't soft.

"Hard working hands." My father would say whenever he'd find me self consciously picking at them. Personally, I didn't mind the feeling of my hands, but whenever I wanted to touch her I'd be so ashamed of their texture.

I wanted to be gentle.

I didn't want the feeling of my hands to be abrasive.

Yet, the second she came stumbling into my door I couldn't refrain from keeping my hands off of her. I stopped caring so much about my sand paper hands on her delicate marble skin. I only wanted to comfort her as she sat on the corner of my bed and cried.

"Rebecca what's wrong?"
"Are you hurt?"
"Did someone hurt you?"

I ask as she holds her arm wrapped around her jacket. When I try pulling at it she whimpers and I stop. "Becca, we can do this the easy way or the hard way." I say, losing my patience as I can't stand to see her in pain.

Without putting up a fight, she allows me to take the jacket off of her hand. "W-what happened?" I say as I see her hand bloodied up and cut with shards of glass covering a portion of her flesh.

"I accidentally fell with a bottle of glass on my hand." Becky whimpers. Before I can stupidly ask what kind of glass bottle, I get a whiff of alcohol from her shirt. I breathe out and decide to lecture her later as I grab her other good hand and pull her up.

"And your shoe? What happened to your shoe?"

"I lost my shoe."

Rebecca quietly mumbles. I shake my head and lead her to my bathroom where she leans her head against my chest and sniffles as I rinse her punctured hand.

"Becca?"
"Hm?"

"Why'd you get this way?" I ask, making conversation only to distract her as I pull a few shards away with a pair of tweezers. "Because I'm stupid." She mutters.

I pick the last shard out and let it fall down the drain as I rinse her hand once more before shutting of the water and placing both my hands on her shoulders to steady her.

"You're not stupid."

I say, looking her straight in the eye as she exhales. "Then why'd I do this?" She asks. "I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out." I say.

Like a new born deer, she stumbles all over the place before she finally crashes down onto the ground. She begins to cry again, except this time her sobbing is so intense she gasps for air and lightly trembles.

"Charlotte's bred for the WWE. No matter what wrong she does, it'll always be shrugged off cause she's Ric's daughter." Becky cries.

As comfort, I take a seat besides. With our backs leaning against the bed, I gently squeeze her knee for reassurance.

Comfortable reassurance that speaks volumes.

I want to know if she still knows, if she still feels that with me, she can say anything.