BULLETS ˎˊ˗

forgive me?

From afar, the resident Lunatic Fringe of the WWE stopped amid the sea of Superstars in the backstage area. Commotion filled the hall, everyone too busy with their own conversations to notice what caught his attention.

"Just a sec." He breathed out, gently pushing his Samoan best friend aside to dive deeper into the room and follow her trembling silhouette. As he caught a glimpse of her profile, Ambrose respectively took a few steps back.

The vision before him was haunting, almost heart-breaking. To see the person he pegged as the most valiant, most unbreakable now stood a few feet from him, broken.

The epitome of a damaged soul she was, crushed by straying from her values and not understanding when shame took over her. Expectations are always high for the Lass Kicker, but none are more tough than the one she sets on herself.

What took place down in the ring was not something she was proud of, and the more she stared at her wrestling boots, the more poison seeped inside her veins.

She didn't become a wrestler to nearly kill her opponents, she became a wrestler to inspire.

With black tears streaming down her face, Ambrose momentarily pushed himself to walk towards her until hurting eyes glanced at him and rendered him paralyzed.

Unable to move, the lunatic remained frozen to the ground, his eyes solely fixed on the defeated Irish warrior.

"I've been where you've been."

Her eyes glanced inside his, detecting what no one would think of Dean Ambrose possessing— innocence.

No sorrow, no pity, no shame dwelled in his eyes as the only emotion that shone through was his underlying naivety that foolishly drove him to believe that for the Irish Lass, everything would eventually be alright.

Despite the baggage he's carried for the years, the chip that's present on his shoulder from time to time, Dean Ambrose still values the goodness he picked up over the years.

Growing up, he was a man that for all intents and purposes should have never even made it to the WWE. Imprisonment for a stupid crime was always the recurring dream that lit a fire under his ass to change his ways.

Carrying a pocket knife at the tender age of five wasn't for adrenaline, it was for protection. There was never a surge of power whenever he'd have to use it to remain alive, there was always deep, deep, regret.

He didn't want to tie, but he also didn't want to pull out the weapon.

Life was tough in the slum neighborhood he grew up in, so he made himself tougher. When he left home, he swore that nothing again would ever phase him, let alone break him.

For many years he was right, nearly unbreakable until he met the same vile human being that's now left Lynch feeling demoralized.

"I can help you break him. Make him regret all the damage he's caused." Ambrose murmured, knowing that in times of total devastation, sometimes the only way to be pulled back from absolute death is to focus on the next step: revenge.

Void of any desires that'll only pull her closer to temptation, Lynch sighed. Refusing his offer, the Irish Lass saved herself, sparing the Lunatic Fringe another dagger to the back by his former brother, Seth Rollins.

"We'll only become like him." She weakly replied. Too far gone, he see's her flame truly blown out. All that's left is smoke and if he exhales too deeply, he fears that she'll disappear.

"There's a difference between justice and revenge."

Becky cynically laughed, wiping the tears away. "The only thing you want is payback, how is that justice?" Lynch scoffed as she walked​ away from the Ohio native, a bigger mess.