BULLETS ˎˊ˗

demon

↻
1 WEEK LATER

After hearing the news about her upcoming over sea's media obligations, Becky Lynch walked out of the management office and into the back stage area of Smack Down with nothing but a sigh of relief.

For once she rejoiced in the un-televised madness the backstage halls are, happy to hear the wwe personal speak their own tech language while the voices of superstars portray loud ranges of emotions:

happiness,
nervousness,
weariness.

Among the Irish Lass, all sorts of emotions surge through her bones with just looking left and right at all the familiar faces she's not quite friends with.

Although she's anything but friendly, Rebecca's not always excelled in making friends. For the most part, people come to her and she's never once denied a soul looking for a friendship.

As a child, her mother would constantly scorn her for being so shy. "Why are you so shy?" Mama Lynch would ask. Timid, little Rebecca would just pout and hide behind her father's leg.

Even at that young did she find the question ridiculous to even ask. Already an introvert at heart, why would her mother pick qualities that little Rebecca loved?

To sweet little Rebecca, it didn't matter that she could count all her friends with one hand. Words and ideas could change the world, and so Becky deeply trusted only a selected few.

For better or worse, those selected few are people she coveted and considered life-long companions. The only other person Rebecca once considered a best friend, a soul-mate at one point is someone she met deeper into her adolescence.

Maybe if they'd met as kids, things would have been different. Maybe Rebecca would have never fallen in love with that stupid idiotic Irish boy and his stupidly blue eyes.

But Fergal had a way of always seeping into her mind and life, like unwanted rain, except he wasn't a mere drizzle.

Fergal was a thunderstorm,

and Rebecca deeply hated thunder.

As Tom Phillips eagerly smiles at the Irish Lass, Becky half grins before her eyes widen at the sight of his entire camera entourage following behind.

Without thinking twice or feeling too bad about it, Rebecca takes off sprinting away from Phillips. Once out of his way for good, she turns into a lonely hall and sits on a crate by herself.

Agitated, she breathes out and picks at the small cuticles around her nails. For a whole week, Rebecca grew weary and almost resentful at every interviewer she met.

They didn't ask about being drafted to Smack Down.

They didn't ask about her upcoming plans and goals.

They talked so much and asked all the wrong questions. "Now that you're in Smack Down, what will be of Bulletproof?"

"Are you an official member of Bulletproof?"

Every question directed at her had everything to do with Bulletproof and she had no idea how to even answer their questions.