Unfiended

Chapter 4

The room was more than large enough for five people, even when those five people all happened to be professional wrestlers—in Hunter's case, mostly retired—with impressive physiques. Once they had all filed in, though, the space seemed small, almost oppressive, and Seth found himself getting antsy the moment the door was closed. The room looked like it was mostly used for storage, judging from the random stacks of boxes that lined the walls, but there were enough chairs for all of them and just enough space between them to ensure that if Becky had another episode, someone would be able to intercept her before she could do too much damage. Hunter pulled three chairs closer to the wall and motioned to Seth and Roman. "We're just observing, remember," he said, looking pointedly at Seth. "I talked to Bray beforehand and he knows not to ask about anything personal." Then he let out a long breath. "You're sure you're okay to do this, Rollins? Reigns and I can handle it."

"She's my . . . fiancee." Seth caught himself just in time, even though the word felt flavourless and foreign on his tongue after calling Becky his wife for so long. "I want to help her. I won't interrupt; you have my word."

Hunter held his gaze for a long moment. "Okay." Then he gestured for Bray and Becky to sit.

Seth's chest felt uncomfortably tight as he watched Becky sit on one of the chairs, the executive office type that always seemed to be casualties during in-ring contract signings. She drew her legs up onto the seat and swivelled the chair experimentally from side to side. "What's with all the fuss?" she asked, turning briefly to face Hunter as she twined her fingers together, picking at her nails. "Roman has his match soon and—"

"Don't worry, Becky. We won't be long." Bray's voice was strangely soothing. "How are you feeling? I haven't seen you since I was traded to SmackDown." Bray's eyes flicked briefly over to Seth.

"I'm good." Suspicion drew the two simple words out like taffy. "What's going on?"

Bray kept his voice casual and calm. "Nothing. I just wanted to talk." Then he gave her a warm smile. "Want to see some new pictures of Knash? I haven't been posting many online lately; people had been giving Jojo a hard time, so. . . ." He pulled out his phone, swiped the screen a few times, and turned it towards Becky, glancing at Hunter as he did so.

Hunter stood and walked over, flipping through the pictures along with Becky. "Cute kid," he remarked as he sat back down. "Just baby pictures," he murmured to Seth. "Nothing triggering."

Becky's lips curved in a small smile as she flicked through the photos again. "He's got a cute nose."

"Well, he can thank his mama for that, not me." Bray shut off his phone and tucked it back in his pocket. "So what's new with you? How have you been doing?"

There was nothing leading or suspicious in Bray's tone, no matter how much Seth tried to find something there, but it seemed to spark something in Becky all the same. She stopped swivelling the chair from side to side and her fingers finally went still. "My hands hurt." The words were simple and soft, stitched together with subtle agony. Her brow furrowed as she looked down at her hands in her lap, flipping them from back to front and back again before pressing her palms against her thighs.

My hands hurt. Seth replayed the words over and over. There was more than one possibility there. Was she saying her hands were sore, or was that a vague admission of the suffering she had inflicted upon Charlotte?

"What happened?" Bray's voice was low and soothing, the Southern accent—whether it was genuine, played up, or completely fake—as slow and sweet as honey. He held his hands out flat, palms up, and looked to Hunter for a nod of approval before extending them to Becky.

Becky's gaze bounced from his hands to hers. "I don't know," she whispered, resting her hands lightly on Bray's palms. "There was a phone and talking and singing and . . . then they went dark. Numb."