"Fuck you Bitch!" Dean said as he hit the ground. His skull crack aganist the hard pavement of the sidewalk. A sharp shiver of pain exploded at the back of his head. It passed through his body like lightning bolts. It made his body tingle and burn. Dean eyes widened after he reached to the back of his head. His hand was coated with blood. Dean lips trembled as he tried to hold in his laughter. He couldn't help himself and let out a loud mocking laugh. It was twisted and high pitched. It sliced through the night air as it left an echo in the dark alley. The laugh transformed into a blood curling scream. His whole body hurt.
Then he stopped.
"Don't come back, you scum!" The bouncer screamed out. It was third time George had to deal with Dean. He knew he didn't have to throw Dean out the club so rough but the man's actions was ridiculous. He was close to stabbing a woman with a broken liquor bottle because she accidentally step on his foot.
Dean slowly stood up with crazy eyes. Scum? SCUM? WHAT A FUCKING HYPOCRITE. Dean knows George secrets. That bastard is nowhere near innocent. Letting sluts cut the line to get in the club. Just to get quickie. Dean smiled at the thought. This fucker has a wife and kid. But he dare call him scum?
George was tense, ready for an attack. This made Dean frown. Did this man really think he could intimidate him? Dean fingers tingled in hate. The Ohioan squeezed his eyes closed and let out a deep moan. His fingers would look so pretty curled around the man's beefy neck. Watching the man's face as the bouncer realized how much he fucked up tonight.
George watched him. The man body shook in vibration. His eyes squeezed tight as his mouth was morphed into a frightening smirk. George could tell the man was breathing fast. His chest expanding and contracting faster each time. George slowly put his hand on his tazer.
Then it stopped.
The shaking, the smirk, and the fast breathing stopped.
"What the hell?" George whispered to himself. It was like a new person. Dean opened his eyes and stared at George. He looked the same but his eyes looked different. Lighter? More innocent? Dean body was calm with a soft smile.
"See ya later, George!" Dean said with a chuckle as he walked away. George let out a deep breath. He hope that loser would be okay. Dean Ambrose is his son's favorite wrestler. Well, was his favorite. His son been whining about Dean not being on WWE for weeks. Jeff, George son, said that Dean had a bad injury. George could see for himself that it was a lie. Unless they include being an alcoholic an injury.
***
Dean eyes snapped open. The faint smell of soap traveled to his nose. He was so cold. Goosebumps covered his pale skin. His finger tips was slight purple. Dean was covered in ice. The small cubes cover him, all away to his neck. His skinny 194 pound body shook hard and his teeth chatter in his dry mouth. No, not because he was cold. He was scared. How did he get here? Where is 'here'?
He lifted himself out the porcelain bathtub, knocking some of the small cubes on the shining white tile floor. He was a little relieved that he still had on his black Basketball shorts. They was sagging on his small hips. He wasn't eating as much anymore. Dean brusied ribs poked out like a sore thumb. His cheeks thin and almost hollow. The blonde hair stuck to his forehead from cold sweats. Many times he had to convince himself that he was the same. Still...okay. Mental, physically and emotionally.
Without thinking, Dean numb legs carried him over to the bathroom mirror. He didn't want to look. He'd knew what he would see. No matter what he tells himself, he knows what he'll see. Dean Ambrose. With all his heart, he hated himself. Dean growled like a wild animal in a cage.
He forced himself to look in the mirror. He watched his fingers drumed fast against the grey marble sink for 5 minutes. Dean was trying his best. All he had to do was look up.
