Death Of Peace Of Mind || Dominik Mysterio

STILL DONT KNOW MY NAME

Delany's POV.

I've never been the one for the glitz and glam that came with fame. The lack of privacy, the constant begging for acceptance, the revolving door of fake people. So, when my older sister began her rise to the top, I found myself trying my damnedest to keep my distance. The only thing is Demi refuses to let me live my reclusive life in the shadows of her success. In her eyes we were a package deal, which don't get me wrong I absolutely loved because all too often you see celebrities leaving their family completely in the dust. I personally, however, could do without being dragged all over the world, interview after interview, promo after promo, and so on.

A couple years ago when Demi started really gaining attention in her career, she decided to do a complete and total one-eighty with her image. She was no longer this bright-eyed, blonde-haired beauty from Australia. Oh no, we were now Mami. A gothic queen in her almighty reign, and no queen would be complete without her leather and chains, and twelve pounds of makeup every night. That's where she found an excuse to rope her baby sister into traveling with her. We had spent out teenage years side by side in most pits, death walls, and questionable venues. We were now elder emos , with the freedom and finances to live out our teenage self's emo aesthetic dreams. I had always been the more creative one, whereas she was the talented one. Friday nights for me were makeup tutorials and burning cd's. Friday nights for Demi were parties with her friends, plays during drama season, and weight training. Which brings me to the reason of me being roped in to her current life journey.

When Demi decided on a image change, she begged and pleaded with me to come along with her as her make-up artist and designer. She threw it in my face that I had already been that for her our entire lives. I was the one who always planned the outfits for the concerts and festivals. I was the prom makeup artist, the Halloween face painter, and so forth. I would be lying if I said that I put up a fight when she initially asked. There was a split moment of refusal, but realization of an opportunity set it before I could feed into the dismissal. If there was one thing, I ever wanted for myself, was to be a well-recognized make-up artist. Following my sister to help her conquer her dreams seemed like a damn good way to do the same with my own.

So here we are, almost six years later. Six years of doing my sisters makeup and designing her gear, quickly turned into six years of also doing her teams gear and makeup. It took me a while to be completely open to the idea of designing outfits for men, but once I did, I found it quite easier than designing my sisters. The makeup aspect of the job is still a work in process, at least with the men. With Demi, we grew up invading each other's personal 'bubbles'.

I had issues being in a man's bubble.

Don't get me wrong, I had boyfriends growing up of course. It's not like I was a nun in a convent. I just, couldn't get past the nerves that filled every inch of my body as a man stares me dead in the face. The breathes that came from their flared nostrils and danced across my skin, their calloused fingers mere inches away from my own thighs as we faced each other, while I nervously covered their groomed faces in "war paint". Most of them made it easier on me over time, as we got to know each other and grew closer. However, there was always one that made it much, much harder.

His dark, dark eyes bore into me like his life depended on it every time it was his turn to get ready for a show. In the years I've been a part of this team, he's only ever said a handful of muttered "thank You's. We've never held an actual conversation, and I wasn't sure who's fault that really was. There were many times I tried to start conversation but was met with silence and a menacing look. If it weren't for the fact he was a close friend of Demi's, and her "on screen partner", I would of respectfully asked him what his fucking problem is.

~*~

Tonight was another promo night; Demi and her boys were to go out and interrupt yet another match and issue a challenge. I had already finished Demi, Damian, and Finn's looks for the evening. Now it was his turn.

"Look up, please" I asked softly, and kohl liner pencil lined up with the waterline of his eye. His eyes stayed in the exact spot they were, connected to mine as if they were tied together by an invisible string.

"Dominik, please." I asked once again, my patience growing rather thin with the man, as per usual. Once again, his eyes stayed in the same place, on mine.

"Dom." was all he said in response, the name rolling of his tongue and lying towards me like a thousand tiny daggers.

"What?" I questioned.

"Dom. You can call me Dom." He said in a monotone voice. His eyes never once leaving mine.

I left out a heavy sigh of annoyance, "Okay, Dom. Please, will you look up. I'd rather not stab you in the eye and complicate your vision for the night." I pleaded. His eyes lingered on mine for just another moment, before he finally caved and tilted his head ever so slightly towards the tiled ceiling.

"Of course, Gatita." he replied, ever so quietly. When Dominik did speak to me, he always found a way to slip in some Spanish, knowing very well I had very little idea of what he was saying to me. I of course, would try to remember what he would say and google translate it later on in the privacy of my own home. His favorite was Hermosa, or "Beautiful". I never thought anything of his little comments, as we honestly barely knew each other. I just figured he was trying to be nice to his friend's little sister. Gatita was a new one though, and one I was definitely going to have to remember to try and translate later on.

Once the team was all dressed and had their looks ready for the show, they were on their merry way. I was left to clean up the scraps of fabric and chain, sterilize my makeup brushes and pack up while the show went on.

~*~

Judgment Day once again wreaked havoc on Monday Night Raw. The show had long been over, and everyone had been clearing out of the building for the last hour. I had just finished packing my stuff back into my car when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I flipped my head around, and my eyes landed on the muscular chest of none other than Damian Priest.

"Hey little D" he greeted me gently. A small smile formed on my lips at the nickname he had given me many years ago now.

"Hey Big D!" I happily retorted with his matching nickname.

"Some of us are going out for drinks tonight, care to join? Your sis is heading home with Buddy, but we were really hoping to get at least one of the Bennett sisters to come out with his."

"Oh Damian, thank you really but, you know I'm not the going out type. I have a bag of popcorn and a John Hughes movie waiting for me at home." I replied, letting out a small giggle at the end. Damian always tried to pry me out of my shell, no matter how many times Demi and myself told him not to bother.

"Which one is it this time?" He asked with a sarcastic eye roll.

"The Breakfast Club!"

"Again...?" his eyebrow raised.

A hand went to my chest in fake offense "Again? yes again! It's the greatest movie of all time" I defended. He shook his head with a laugh, knowing this battle was at an end.

"Alright querida, enjoy your movie. we'll see you later." and with that he was off.

Once home, I quickly settled in. Stripping off my clothes from the day and trading them in for a oversized Motionless In White t-shirt. I made myself quit the little nest on my couch and turned on my movie before pulling out my phone. It had been bothering me all night, what Dominik could have possibly called me this time. There was something about the way he said it too, that just did something to me. I pulled up Google translate on my phone, and eagerly typed in "Gatita"

Kitten. Dominic Mysterio called me Kitten.