The Princess of The Ambrose Asylum ( Book 1of 3)

17

Dean Ambrose's Point Of View

As I sat back in my seat, the whirl  of the plane's engine and the quiet murmur of chat between passengers being the only noise in my ears, I felt genuinely calm and relaxed. I pressed a button on my arm rest, the back of the chair resting slightly horizontal, putting me in a comfy reclined position.

By some miracle, kenz had made a few phone-calls and had managed to get me a seat on her flight Monday morning to Texas for Raw. It was very easy for her to do, the flight company doing as she wanted when she used the McMahon  name, telling them who she worked for, and offering a little more cash. They were putty in her hands and we were now on our flight, ready for the show that evening.

I had a whiskey in one hand and a bag of peanuts in the other, plenty leg room and the best company that I could ask for at my side.

I looked over, watching her curiously as she looked out of the window, her smile beaming from cheek to cheek as she enthusiastically snapped pictures of the clouds outside on her phone.

I took a sip of whiskey, unable to keep my own smile away.

The last few days with her had been nothing short of... just magical, and I could hands down admit to myself that they were some of the best of my life. I know it sound cliché and girly, like I was some pussy who couldn't hide his emotions, but I never thought having a picnic and spending time with a girl could bring such joy to my heart or excitement to my mind.

I wasn't sure if it was her positive outlook, her brightness, or her ability to make the best of a situation, but the few days I'd put aside to make kenz happy had sort of turned into therapy for me and made me happy for once. It was strange, and slightly unnerving, but oddly, I didn't not like the feelings she was giving me.

She got me to open up, something I never ever did, yet something she'd made me do on one occasion before after the mugging incident. She had this ability to get the best out of me, to make me talk, and she didn't even realise she was fucking doing it. The stuff I told her after the mugging, the information about my wrestling history, I'd only ever divulged to Roman and Seth.

But the shit about my past, my family and my childhood, I'd literally told no one, not a single fucking soul. It was something I'd kept closed up inside for almost 30 years, never telling another human being. Partly it was because it was embarrassing to admit I had such a shitty and crap childhood, but mostly it was because I didn't want the sympathy. I didn't want people to feel bad. I'd made the best of the situation I'd been in and I'd grown from it. So why did I need people telling me life was hard and how sorry they felt for me? It was just a line, they never really meant it anyway.

Yet it was so easy to tell kenz. One little look from those big brown doe eyes of hers and it was like I had verbal vomit. Everything came out, from shit about my childhood to the crap my mother got up to as I grew up.

And the reason it felt like therapy was because the very second I told her, I felt as if a massive weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I knew a lot of what had happened to me as a child had made me the person I am today. The stuff I witnessed hardened me, it gave me a negative outlook on the harsh world around me and made me believe nothing positive could come from anything I ever fucking did. And the stuff I'd witnessed my mother do, from spending our food money on drugs, to seeing her inject herself and watch as she caved in as the drugs took effect, along with watching as dealers threatened us when she couldn't pay up... It had made me mad, it had made me dark and twisted...

It had essentially created the lunatic.

I'd never spoken to anyone about my issues before. I'd never opened up to friends or visited a therapist. I'd kept it inside, waiting as it grew and mixed and fermented and overwhelmed me, eating away at everything I did, ruining every aspect of my life, from jobs, to relationships, to friends.