looking through your eyes + five
authors note: soooo, i both hate and love this one. can't tell if i'm just being super hard on myself, but it feels flat and a bit boring, but i also know if i keep messing with it, i'll never feel wholly satisfied, so here is the best version i could come up with!
it does include more of roman's background though so....there's that at least lmao
if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!
cw/tw: sexual harassment, language, violence, ptsd episode (dissociation, avoidance, breakdown), torture
song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes
words: 8k
Solana has come to the realization that training isn’t entirely awful.
Or maybe it’s the fact that along with training, she’s allowed the chance to socialize, to be around other people and learn to not be so nervous all of the time. Naomi is a great person for that, bubbly and naturally personable. She’s created such a welcoming space that has left Solana feeling less and less nervous.
A couple weeks into training, Solana also feels like she’s growing more comfortable in her learning. It’s still the very basics, a lot of focus on flexibility, but it feels good. It feels almost relieving to be able to learn certain skills and tips that she can use to maybe one day defend herself.
To maybe one day be able to take care of herself.
Or maybe some dreams are just too big to wish for.
It’s the end of her session with Naomi, and Solana is in the women’s locker rooms, having just finished her shower. She’s in her head a bit, mentally going over what she’s going to make Roman for dinner.
He’s been gone more often than not the past couple weeks, and she’s torn on that. On one hand, it’s nice not to be around a man who she’s supposed to be figuring out a way to kill, a man whose presence alone creates an additional layer of anxiety on top of the pre-existing baseline that is her everyday anxiety
But…..
But, there’s also a part of her that….that wouldn’t be too opposed if he was around more. Being alone in the big house also creates a space of anxiety. If…if he was present more, maybe she could learn how to interact with him.
Could learn him.
It’s this strange thought process that’s so confusing and almost overwhelming for her that it keeps her from noticing the pending danger lurking just steps away.
“Hey, Solana.”
Solana gasps loudly, spinning around, her eyes widening at Austin Theory who stands before her with that same predatory smile. She opens her mouth to scream, but she’s too slow.
Austin backs her against the lockers and slaps his hand over her mouth. His other hand moves to pin her hands over her hand. Instantly, her heart is beating out her fucking chest, an intense weight of dread anchoring her down.
Solana feels paralyzed. She is paralyzed.
“Always so damn jumpy. All we wanna do is get to know you....”
It’s almost perfect timing when another man appears, Grayson. But, it’s when he sees Austin and Solana that he frowns, walking over, “man, what the hell are you doing?”
Austin rolls his eyes, laughing. “Come on, don’t be a little bitch. It’s just a little fun.”
“This isn’t funny, Austin. If Reigns finds out—”
“What the fuck is he gonna do, huh?” Austin scoffs, gaze returning back on Solana who has her eyes clenched shut, tears threatening to spill over. “And you’re not going to say anything to him anyway, are you?”
Solana gasps, breathing uneven as Austin lowers his hand to tug on the knot of her towel just enough to loosen it but not enough to undo it. Regardless, it’s that one act that truly immobilizes her because she’s no longer standing before this man as a grown woman.
She’s that 12 year old little girl completely unaware of what night of horrors is about to be unleashed on her, the way an unspeakable act of evil perpetrated on an innocent child is going to lead her down a dark, depressing path.
And she’s frozen, frozen in time, forever stuck in that state of suffering.
Grayson’s eyes fall on Solana, seeing that she’s almost no longer present, dissociating, and that seemingly freaks him out even more. He tugs on Austin’s shoulder. “You had your fun, mate. Let’s fucking go.”
Austin has never been one to listen to others. Ever. But in a testament to his cruelty, Solana’s lack of reaction, lack of struggling and displaying helplessness in front of him wanes the enjoyment. He doesn’t get off as much, doesn’t feel as empowered as he does by making people feel small.
So with a scoff and not an ounce of influence from Grayson in his ear, he releases her, stepping back with a smirk as she instantly moves her arms over her chest.
“Relax, Mrs. Reigns.” She’s anything but, and it brings a smile to his face. It’s so fucking easy to get her unnerved. “Just messing with ya, that’s all.”
There’s more distant talking, snickering and combatting with someone speaking quietly but urgently. Solana can make out part of that as she gradually returns to a state of awareness. Enough to where she’s eventually cognizant of the fact that they’ve left, that she’s alone, that they no longer pose an immediate threat.
But, they do. They do, because what if they come back?
Chest still tightening, breathing still erratic, Solana rushes over to the door, shaking hands managing to shut it closed and locked. But, it’s not enough to just be alone, to know that no one can come in and try to hurt her.
Because she still feels it.
Still feels hands on her, restricting her, bounding her, and it makes her sick.
Hand over her mouth, Solana does her best to push back the nausea, rushing over to the showers, turning the knob so that it’s at full strength.
And heat too.
Shoving the towel off her body, she steps under the scalding water and grabs the soap, immediately scrubbing at her body. It’s unnecessary force, unnecessary heat, unnecessary altogether, but it’s the only thing that gives her a faux sense of comfort. She needs to wash the feeling of them off of her, scrub until her skin starts to look wrinkled and raw, her complexion tinging with redness from the heat of the water.
Eventually, the scrubbing stops feeling like enough. Nothing feels like enough, and she falls back against the wall of the shower, sliding down as she pulls her knees to her chest.
And she cries, the water blending seamlessly with the tears that filter out the drain in a way she wishes the heavy feelings wrecking her body would melt away.
Safe.....
It's a dream that she'll never achieve.
A wasted hope.
A lie.
—-----------
“The RKO proposal is pretty decent.”
“But not good enough.” Roman’s dismissal is swift and to the point. “I want 75% of all profits.”
Rikishi presses his lips together, calmly reminding, “that’s gonna be a hard sell.”
“Orton is desperate. He’s an imbecile who uses more products than he moves and is running Bob’s legacy into the ground.” Roman is a man who prides himself on always being on the up and up. He makes it his business to know what’s going on with all competitors and even partnerships. “He should consider my offer fucking mercy. 75% or nothing.”
Rikishi sits back in his chair, a proud smile growing on his face. “I’ve taught you well, Uce”
There’s a modicum of truth to his cousin’s words, but for the most part, Roman has learned more on his own than anything anyone could have ever taught him.
“What’s the status of the imports from Columbia?”
Jey leans forward, answering without pause. “Scheduled to arrive just on time, assuming nothing goes awry.”
“Who’s managing?”
“Tama.”
Roman nods. “It’ll be fine.” His distant cousin, Tama Tonga is a bit on the……eccentric side, but he’s never failed to see a successful shipment through from beginning to end.
“If…..” Paul’s low but firm voice enters the conversation, Roman’s lazy gaze falling on the man. “If I may, my Tribal Chief?” With the nod of approval from the Head of the Table, Paul clears his throat. “By my calculations, there’s a way for us to improve on the total time it currently takes for us to move product by over 40% with some minor….changes.”
Jimmy, who sits almost bored at the other side of the table, feet propped up, asks in a suspicion tone. “What kind of changes?”
Paul clears his throat. “If we were to have access to the Eastern harbor—”
At that, both Jimmy and Jey land eyes on their cousins head counsel. Jey is the first to speak though. “You know that’s Nightmare territory, correct?”
Paul’s voice is surprisingly calm. “I do.” A nervous set of blue eyes settle on the man who sits at the head of the table, the primary one who needs to be convinced of the possible benefits of what he’s about to suggest. “If we would just consider—”
“No.” Roman’s rejection is loud and echoes throughout the conference room. “How could you even fucking suggest that shit?”
“My Tribal Chief, if you could please hear out my—”
Roman’s fist banging against the table sends an alert to all members of this current meeting that the Tribal Chief word is final and unchanging. “I said…..no.”
Rikishi shakes his head, thankful that a stern rejection is the extent of his cousin’s reaction. He can’t believe Paul could even be stupid enough to even suggest such a thing to Roman. Perhaps he could be swayed over to see the business and financial benefits, but Roman…..no, that history runs too deep and bleeds too much red for Roman Reigns to ever consider some sort of ceasefire or let alone alliance with The Nightmare Factory.
“Well, that shit got awkward real fast,” Jey mutters, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Even if it makes all the sense in the world. “How about that marriage life?
Roman shuts his eyes. It’s jumping from one annoying topic to another. “What?”
“Man, Big Dog living good over there,” Jimmy’s smile is wide as he rubs his hands together. “Lil Soso can cook her ass off!”
“Stop calling her that.”
“Speaking of ass, she pregnant yet?”
This is why Roman didn’t want to get on this subject, because he knew where it would lead to, another road he’s not trying to go down right now.
Rikishi chimes in, “their delivery is trash, but the question is still fair. Is there a chance she’s pregnant?” A sly smile falls on his face as he teases, “I know you well enough, Uce, that I don’t need to remind you of the importance of trying.”
Jey snorts. “That ain’t never been a problem for any of us. Especially Roman. Man, I still don’t know how you don’t have a gaggle of lil mean mugging ass kids running around here.”
The answer is simple, and Roman expresses as such. “Because I know how to fucking use a condom unlike you idiots.”
“Hey. I don’t know what you talking about. All my kids by Nicki.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing.”
At that, Jey jumps out the chair, Jimmy rolling his eyes as Paul shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Ayo, you the Tribal Chief and everything, but you not gon’ keep disrespecting my wife like that, aight?”
“Where did you sleep last night, Jey?” Roman’s tone is both bored and knowing, especially as Jey’s gaze drops the same way his ass does right back in his seat. “That’s what I thought.”
“Just…” Rikishi’s voice is louder, allowing him to realign the conversation. “Keep us updated, Roman. When she does get pregnant, you’ll need to up her security.”
“I’m aware.” Just like he’s aware of the fact that unless this girl is the virgin fucking Mary and will have an immaculate conception, there’s no need to worry about that right now.
Or ever.
His business phone lighting up with a familiar name across the screen is both a welcomed surprise as well as distraction for Roman. Without hesitation, he answers, watching the TV anchored on the wall light up.
Roman’s shoulder straightens as he leans back further into the soft Italian leather of his chair. “Dwayne.”
“Roman.” Dwayne removes the stereotypical dark glasses Roman always grew accustomed to seeing his cousin wear in any interaction. His smile beams. “Long time no fucking see, cousin.”
Roman shrugs, answering honestly, “been busy.”
“I saw that. Congratulations on the marriage. An invite would have been fucking nice.”
At that, Roman chuckles, calling out his bluff. “Like you would have come.”
Dwayne’s laughter echoes through the office. “Fair.” He then greets the rest of the men present, though it’s a surprise to no one that his initial exchange is solely with Roman. They’ve always had a great bond, even better business partnership, hence the position Roman has placed him in. “You know why I’m calling though”
And there goes the ‘fun’ while it lasted. Straight into business with his big cousin. He respects it immensely though. Dwayne is all about profit and efficiency and ensuring the smoothness of operations. “The same reason you always reach out, cause it’s not that often.”
“It’s been a couple years, cousin….”
“I’m aware.”
And he is.
6 years, to be precise.
“You need to fly out here.” Dwayne isn’t saying anything Roman doesn’t already know, hasn’t already heard. “They need to see your face.”
“They have you.”
Dwayne snorts. “They hate me almost as much as they hate you.” They being that other side of Roman’s family, the side that he could go on with the rest of his life without seeing or speaking to. The side that probably feels the same about him and his Tribal tattoos, long hair, and skin that is not like theirs.
Yeah….hate is definitely the right word.
“Do you care?”
“Hell no.” The answer is surprising, unlike Dwayne’s next statement. “But, I do care when shit starts to get more openly disrespectful.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re becoming bolder with questioning your leadership. Less subtle. More direct.”
At that, Roman’s attention is fully captured. He sits up in his seat. “Is that so?”
The twins, Rikishi, and Paul all exchange knowing glances, having been wisely quiet to allow the Head of the Table to conduct business as he sees fit. But this, they all know where this is going.
“Maybe it is time I remind them who the fuck is in charge here.” As much as Roman loathes the idea of having to be around and interact with these fuckers, nothing vexes him more than having his authority challenged.
Like he’s not the one, the two, and the three they’ve been looking for.
“I’ll see about flying out within the next week.”
Jey speaks up for the first time. “I can’t just leave on that short notice—”
“Did I say I needed you to come with me?” It’s a bit of a rhetorical question. “I can handle this on my own.”
As is his preference with most things, because in Roman’s opinion, most things are handled better and in the way that most pleases him when he does it himself. His expectations can only be set and maintained or exceeded by him.
“At least take Paul with you, Uce.” Rikishi suggests, and in the moment, it’s last thing he wants. Paul’s already pissed him off enough for the day. “They need to be straightened out, not taken out. Paul can help you keep that balance.”
Roman isn’t obstinate enough to disagree with that. Paul does have his uses, one of which being his ability to talk Roman down when the preference is to just kill motherfuckers the second he deems them annoying.
And that’s not the goal for this trip.
Not yet, anyway.
“Fine. Wise Man and I will go.” There are far too many other things on Roman’s plate for him to push back on a plus one. This is immaterial to the larger picture. “Dwayne, start the preparations.”
“You got it, brotha’. I’ll keep in touch.”
The screen goes dark as Dwayne ends the call. Roman reclines back in his chair, a mixture of muddy, dark, bleak emotions. The idea of having to be around his maternal family is quite literally sickening to him. He hates those sons of bitches almost as much as they hate and despise him.
But on another hand, the idea of getting away from all this, from this Solana dilemma, there could be some benefits. He’d be gone for a couple of weeks, perhaps even a month. Maybe in that space he’ll come back to a different kind of woman. A woman who knows how to fucking stand up for herself instead of being so scared all the time.
And as if reading his cousin’s mind, Jimmy breaks the silence, asking, “Ayo, Roman, you sure you should be leaving—”
A knock on the door seems to only exacerbate the tension as Roman snaps. “What?”
Alicia, his secretary, easy on the eyes and effective in what she does, opens the door just enough to stick her head through. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Reigns—”
“So why are you?” It’s well known that Roman is a man who hates interruptions, especially when he’s in the middle of a briefing meeting, and she knows this well. Might be time for a new secretary.
Alicia swallows and calmly explains, “your cousin, Nia, is on line one. She says she needs to speak to you immediately.”
“She can wait.”
“With….all due respect, sir, it sounds like an emergency. She’s been blowing up the lines all morning.”
Curious, Roman turns his personal phone over and sees his lock screen littered with missed calls, texts, and a voicemail all from one person.
Nia.
With a heavy sigh, Roman dismisses Alicia. “I’ll handle it.”
Quietly, she closes the door and he unlocks his phone to return the call. Nia never makes such an effort to get in contact with him. Some shit must have went down, though his mind still wonders what level of bullshit could have occurred that even she can’t handle.
Phone laid on the table, he dials and places it on speaker.
“It’s about fucking time, you asshole!” Her introduction is unsurprising. “I’ve been trying to call you for almost an hour.”
Roman is already tempted to hang up the phone and block her until further notice. “What do you want, Nia?”
“You need to get down here now.” He’s still not hearing anything that would warrant him moving an inch. “Your fucking Princess Peach wife—”
But at that, Roman’s interest is piqued. He sits forward in his chair. “What about her?”
“I don’t know, she had a mental breakdown or something and has locked herself in the locker rooms. We can’t get her to come out—”
Right away, Roman gets to blaming and accusing. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Nia can’t respond before he asks the next important question. “Where the fuck was Solo!”
“I didn’t do anything, Roman! And Solo can’t be with her in the fucking women’s locker room!” Nia’s defense is as sharp as his imputation. “I told you that girl isn’t made for this life. She’s a fucking problem! Come get her now, or I’m going to blow the damn doors off myself.”
Highly vexed with Nia’s smart ass mouth as well as the nature of the situation, Roman slams his finger on the end button and stands up from his chair, rolling his shoulders. “Fucking hell.”
Jey, just as confused as everyone else, decides to be the sacrificial lamb, asking, “Roman, what was that—”
“You two come with me. Wise Man. Rikishi. Finish and send out the response to Orton’s proposal.” Roman issues out indisputable commands as he marches out of the room, the twins not hesitating to hop up and follow suit. Confused or not, they know better than to question their cousin when he’s in one of these moods.
They don’t even say anything for the beginning portion of the ride to the Warehouse, a rarity for them considering they always have something to say. But this time, they wait for Roman to break the silence, and he eventually does, still just as angry.
“I don’t have time to be dealing with this shit!” To say Roman is pissed would be an understatement. He’s livid. For a lot of different reasons, really, maybe even mostly at the fact that his head counsel had the unmitigated gall to even utter Rhodes name around him.
Roman would see the entire empire go up in smoke and flames before he’d ever agree to any sort of alliance with that son of a bitch.
That only adds on top of the fact that the Italian faction of his empire seems to be questioning his ability to lead, as if the data doesn’t clearly support that business has never been better. The cash flow is endless. Numbers don’t lie.
But, Roman knows the real reason for their insubordination.
It’s because of his father, the Samoan blood that runs through his veins. His being afakasi. Mixed. They believe that following that night, the alliance between the Bloodline and the Guild, an alliance sealed by the marriage of his father and mother, should have been dissolved. That someone from his mother’s side, a full blooded Italian, should sit on that metaphorical throne.
But, that’s not the case.
Roman assumed power because it is his by birthright, and he’ll be damned if he lets some ignorant fucks try to take it from him.
So yes….there are a lot of different reasons for his anger.
But, it’s a lot easier to blame it on the reason he’s in an SUV now, heading to a place he didn’t even plan to attend today.
“I’m not going to keep dealing with this shit with her.” He’s not even entirely sure who he’s speaking to at this point, or if he’s directing his statements to anyone in particular. Just needing to vent and get it out.
“What do you mean keep dealing?” Jimmy is the first to pick up on his cousin’s wording. “Something like this happen before?”
The twins look between each other and then back at Roman who runs his hand over his face, realizing that if there’s anyone he can trust to keep this between them, it’s the twins. Annoying and sometimes dimwitted, they’re notoriously loyal and can sometimes provide sage advice.
“She had a complete meltdown on the wedding night. Panic attack, wouldn’t stop crying.” Roman conveniently leaves out the part of him talking her down from a panic attack. They don’t need to know that.
No one needs to know that.
“After ya’ll….”
“No.” He answers, honestly. “We didn’t even do it. She was too hysterical.”
“Wait a minute.” It doesn’t surprise Roman that Jimmy is the first to put two and two together. “So you ain’t even fucked her yet? But you said—”
“I know what I said.” He doesn’t need to be reminded of anything. Roman’s memory is long and sharp. “I also know what I do and don’t feel like dealing with right now.”
“Uce, the only reason you even married this girl was so that she could give you an heir. How the hell is that supposed to happen if she won’t even let you touch her?” As much as Roman wants to snap at his cousins, he can’t. He can’t because they’re right. It’s something he’s thought about on and off since the wedding night.
It’s painfully evident to him that Solana’s mental state is….fragile, to stay the least.
He doesn’t need fragility.
He doesn’t do fragility.
The same way he apparently can’t do her.
“Maybe you need to just annul the shit and cut your losses while it’s still early.” Jey suggests, and Roman can’t deny the idea has a level of appeal to it. Until the next part leaves his cousin’s mouth. “Send her back to her family.”
“No.” That’s an easy no. He’s not entirely opposed to the idea of annulment, but what’s not an option is sending her back to that house of horrors. The only way he can see himself doing that is if he’s put a bullet in both her brother and father’s head, which technically, is the plan anyway.
He would just be making some…..timeline adjustments.
“I won’t send her back there. That’s a death wish.”
Maybe set her up with some money and a house. Let her live out her days with her damn writing, reading, and cooking, the only three things she seems capable of doing without fear. But even thinking that, Roman wonders just how capable she is of living on her own.
Xavier kept the girl so damn sheltered. He’d have to keep a security detail on her at all times. Maybe keep Solo with her. She seems to have grown somewhat comfortable with him.
The same with Naomi.
Or, so he thought. People who are moving in the right direction don’t lock themselves in public fucking locker rooms.
Jimmy also points out, validly, “well, you obviously can’t keep her around if she literally can’t do the one job she has.”
“Let’s not be irrational, alright?” Jey, in a twist of faith, tries to be the voice of reason. “That girl can cook.”
Jimmy’s eyes light up. “Oh shit, I forgot about that.” Sure enough, he switches his tune. “Man, Soso ain’t even that bad, uce. You just gotta be patient with her.”
The change of tune doesn’t surprise Roman, but his suggestion is almost comical. If not for the fact that he’s already in a sour ass mood. “Do I look like a patient man?”
“No, but you do look like a man who could benefit from learning how to be patient,” Jimmy’s rebuff is quick and sharp. “That’s why you and Jey on high blood pressure medication right now. Both ya’ll hotheaded asses be getting yourselves all upset over nothing. Probably why you’re going gray too.”
There may be some element of truth to what he’s saying, but it’s also irrelevant to the issue at hand.
“I’ll figure something out,” he mutters, and it’s the truth, because that’s what Roman does. He figures shit out.
He always figures shit out.
The SUV is barely parked when Roman flings the door open, slamming it shut behind him, not knowing exactly what he’s about to walk into.
“What happened?” Roman’s demand is accompanied by his powerful stride into the Warehouse, Nia immediately rolling her eyes and pointing to Naomi.
“Ask her. She was the last one to interact with her.”
Naomi is unsurprised by both Nia throwing her under the bus as well as Roman directing his fury in her direction.
“What the fuck happened?”
As someone who’s been involved with the Bloodline and their family members for over a decade, she’s used to both Roman’s anger as well as being on the receiving end of said anger. So, her response is calm and to the point. “Like I told Nia, we trained, and she was fine. She actually did well today. I had another training session after her, so we agreed on the next date, and she left for the locker rooms. That’s it.”
Naomi’s answer is unhelpful, but he believes her. Knows she’s being honest. It’s just that her honesty doesn’t do shit for him.
“Clear the place.” It’s directed to Nia even if his focus is still on Naomi.
Nia steps forward, irritation undeniable. “Roman, seriously? We have matches lined up—”
“I don’t care. I want it cleared now, Nia.” She’s about to protest again, but he lifts his hand, warning, “I’m not in the mood, so don’t fucking test me.”
Nia isn’t stupid. She might be able to teeter the lines some days with her cousin, but this clearly isn’t one of those days. Grumbled protests stay within the confines of her inner dialogue as she turns on the edge of her heel to start emptying the Warehouse.
The twins step forward, asking, “what you need us to do?”
Nothing. He doesn’t want anyone to do anything aside from leaving him the hell alone, but that’s not an option. So, he moves quick to find a task for them. Naomi as well. “Check the cameras. Something happened, and I want to know what.”
“What if—”
“Check the cameras.” At this point, Roman’s about to kick them all out if people keep questioning him like he isn’t the fucking Tribal Chief.
Control has always been a big thing for Roman.
When one doesn’t have much, or any, as a child, they overcompensate, and then some, as an adult.
He recognizes that fully.
As all parties move to follow through on his orders, Roman heads toward the locker rooms, ignoring the complaining of the gym goers having to prematurely leave against their own volition. He’s not focused on that, just on the panel near the doors, a panel he’s never had to use until this day.
A panel only he can operate and use as its his biometrics and only his. Again, a man who likes control.
It takes less than a minute for him to gain access, the door automatically opening. Roman steps in and closes it behind him.
“Solana.” He’s certain she won’t answer him, won’t magically do a 180 and feel well enough to step out, but he does feel like at least making his presence known to her will minimize her fear and surprise.
Because one of the first things he notices and hones in on is sound, listening for any and all sounds that could lead him in her direction, and it’s a bit on the easy side considering there’s only the sound of running water coming from one area. And if he had to guess, one specific shower stall.
Carefully, his steps take him from one end of the room to the other, moving in the direction of the woman he needs to find.
And he does find her.
He finds her sitting on the floor of the shower, naked, enclosed in the corner, her legs pulled up to her chest, staring like she’s in a state of shock, like she’s not aware of where she is or what she’s doing. Like she’s not aware of the heat of the water bearing down on her body.
“What the hell?” Roman’s first reaction is a modicum of shock, the heat from the steam alone almost instantly suffocating him. Naturally, he moves toward her, to cut it off, but her scream of terror stops him prematurely.
“No!” It’s been a while since Roman has heard that level and depth of fear in someone’s voice, in the hefty depth of their sorrow. She’s petrified. “P–please don’t.”
It’s for that he actually hesitates, doing his best not to shout at her because that’s clearly the last thing she needs. “Solana, I’m not gonna fucking touch you, but you’re burning yourself!”
While he does his best to keep his eyes focused on non–inappropriate areas, he can already see the reddening of her arms and back. If she already hasn’t burned herself.
Again, he tries to reason with her, which is such a strange experience. Roman doesn’t negotiate with people. He does whatever the fuck he wants and cuts down anyone who has something to say about it. But this, this is a completely different experience he’s not entirely sure he knows how to navigate in a way that won’t fuck this girl up even more than she already is.
“I’m just going to shut the water off.” Announcing his intentions seems like the next best thing, even if it seems to do little to calm her. So, he bites the bullet and moves fast enough to where she can’t protest until it’s already done.
Which is exactly what happens.
“No! I—I need—I need to get clean. I need—” She starts crying again, hugging her legs closer to her body. “I can still feel—their hands—”
“Did someone touch you?” Interrupting her isn’t a good idea, especially with the way anger naturally floats into his tone. It’s almost impossible for it not to. If someone fucking touched her….“ Solana….what happened?”
She gasps, shaking her head, pleading almost. “Please….please don’t m–make me t–t–talk about it.”
There’s a distant look in her eyes, one that’s both uncomfortably but extremely familiar to Roman. He knows what it looks like for someone to be physically present but mentally elsewhere. That’s what Solana is right now.
She’s not talking about today but something else, something much darker that whatever happened today only triggered.
Roman slowly starts to crouch down in front of her but she jerks back. “I’m not going to touch you, Solana,” he again reiterates. “But you can’t stay in here.” He starts to remove his jacket, reaching it over to her. “We have to go back to the house.”
Again, she’s panicking, protesting. “I can’t—I can’t go out t–t–there.”
“I had the place cleared,” he explains. “There’s no one out there except for the twins, Naomi, and Nia.” Truthfully, he’s starting to wonder if he should have asked them to leave too. He didn’t know she'd be this frazzled.
“Come on," he encourages.
Eventually, she accepts his jacket, and Roman stands back up to his full height, turning around and allowing her the privacy he’s sure she’d want. She steps forward, Roman seeing she’s hugging herself keeping his jacket covering her body.
She keeps her head down, obviously still shaken up, still messed up from a lot of things. He honestly doesn’t know where the trauma stops and ends with this girl.
Roman directs her. “Get dressed. Meet me outside.” He looks down at her, needing some level of acknowledgement. “Okay?”
Solana surprises him by glancing up, nodding softly, walking away to what he would guess is the locker where her clothes are.
Pleased that she’s at least well enough to be left alone to follow through on a simple task, Roman exits the locker room. He approaches the desk, the twins immediately standing up. It’s not lost upon him that Naomi and Nia are nowhere to be seen. If he had to guess, Jimmy sent Naomi home, not wanting her to bear anymore of Roman’s wrath. And Nia left to avoid unleashing her wrath on Roman, neither of which he’s entirely upset about.
He has no interest in seeing either of them right now.
Jimmy speaks first. “We found something.”
“Send it to me.” Roman is smart. Always has been. It’s not difficult for him to connect the dots to see that someone clearly fucked with Solana. And he’s almost certain whatever footage the twins found will confirm and show exactly how she was fucked with. The same way he’s entirely certain that managing his anger seeing as such is damn near if not wholly impossible.
And she doesn’t need that right now. She’s already a hot mess. Being exposed to his explosive temper will only exacerbate that, so being sent the footage for him to view when he’s alone and can respond as violently as he wants is the best route.
Especially with his next order.
“Whoever it is, bring em’ to Asylum.” He adds, as if it needs to be specified. “Tonight.”
Jey nods, and Roman notices there’s an edge to his voice. The same way there’s an edge in Jimmy’s expression. They seem pissed. “You got it.” And for some reason, Roman has a burning guess that it has to do with whatever they found rather than it being directed toward him.
Waiting for Solana to exit the locker rooms, Roman blows out a deep breath and scratches his beard. This day has been a shitshow for a variety of reasons, but this reason in particular, this thing with Solana, it ranks pretty high up there.
He hasn’t a clue what he’s doing to do with this girl.
“Jimmy.”
“Whassup?”
“Text Paul. Tell him I want Solana’s medical records. All of them.”
Roman knows now he needs answers, specific answers regarding exactly what he’s dealing with. And Solana is clearly in no position to share these things with him, not that he’d even want her to.
She’d probably have to be admitted somewhere if he tried that shit.
Jimmy looks understandably confused but affirms, “I gotchu.”
And with that, Roman also pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts, selecting the thread and typing out a message he doesn’t really think twice about.
Roman: Dwayne. Change of plans. I’ll come when I can, but now’s not a good time. I have shit here I need to handle first.
Roman: In the meantime, take my name out their fucking mouths.
————
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
And just like that, Solana knows that he knows what happened. Knows about Austin and Grayson.
And it turns her stomach.
Roman took her back to the house. He left her alone, giving her time and space to come down from her breakdown. And even in sitting in her room, writing out her feelings about the day's events, she knew. Solana knew that it wasn’t that simple. That Roman wouldn’t just leave what happened today at that.
That he’d want to know what happened, what triggered it, but naively, she tried to convince herself he’s too busy of a man to deep dive and find out on his own. To push her for answers.
She’s wrong.
She’s wrong because that’s the first thing to leave his mouth when he finds her in the kitchen.
Roman’s question, however, is valid and understandable, even if just the thought alone of having this conversation makes Solana physically uncomfortable.
Still, given everything that’s happened today, she can’t blame him for wanting answers.
She just doesn’t have them to give.
Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” His tone is full of mockery and frustration that she also can’t blame him for but physically finds herself feeling unsettled. “Bullshit. I want an answer, Solana.”
Her skin feels hot, stomach starting to knot. “I just—I don’t—”
“I can’t handle problems you have if you don’t fucking tell me that you have a problem in the first place.”
“I’m sorry—”
At that, Roman snaps, unintentionally, but also a build-up from all of the day’s events. “Stop fucking apologizing!”
What he doesn’t expect is for her to jump back away from him, so much so that she falls to the floor and hurriedly moves back against the cabinet, as she shouts in a panic, “I’m sorry!” Her arms are crossed in front of her body, a defensive position, like she’s waiting, bracing.
Waiting for him to hit her.
Roman’s been in this position countless times. Standing before people as they begged for mercy, begged for him to not enact his vengeance, to rule out his judgment as judge, juror, and executioner. And it’s always been a thrill for him, a boost to his ego, a reminder of his power.
And not once has he ever felt bad for causing such a reaction.
Not until this moment.
With slow, careful movements, Roman also moves to the floor, one leg outstretched, the other hiked so his foot is planted on the ground. His arm casually resting on his knee. “Solana….do you remember what I said to you that day at your job?”
She's still waiting for the inevitable, waiting for him to lash out, for him to hit her. But, she’s confused by the fact that instead of him doing so just yet, he's sitting on the floor opposite of her. And somehow, she finds it in her to focus on his question. He said a couple of noteworthy things that day, but somehow, she knows exactly what he’s referring to.
“My…..my clumsiness.” Clumsiness he told her she wouldn’t have to worry about, but she’s been more than worried about it, more waiting for it, expecting it at some point or another.
“And I meant that shit.” His head is leaned back against the cabinet, and Solana suddenly feels even worse. He seems so stressed out from all of this, from her. “You’re my wife now. I’m not going to let anyone lay a fucking hand on you. Not your dad. Not your brother. Not fucking Theory and Waller.” There’s a bit of a pause as he adds, almost quietly, “and especially not me.”
Solana is unsure what to make of what he’s saying to her. Not sure how to process and take it at face value. It’s hard for her to digest the fact that one of the most dangerous and violent men in the country wants her to believe that he’d never put his hands on her. That he’s not someone she needs to be scared of.
And she doesn't understand it, can’t comprehend how he can not be like every other man in her life. “W–why?”
“Cause unlike your piece of shit family, The Bloodline has morals. I’m not a good man, Solana, and I don’t pretend to be. But, I’ve never hit a woman, and I never will.” Roman never pictured himself having to explain to a woman why he has no desire to beat her. Yet, here he fucking is. “Real men don’t do that shit.”
Solana doesn’t know what to say to that, is still not sure what to say to any of it. But then, Roman is speaking again.
“It’s no secret. I have a temper, and that’s not going to change. I’m not going to change. Not for you, not for anyone.” Solana knows this, knows this very well, and understands it just as much. She would never expect him to change his ways, especially for the likes of her. “But, I—I’ll try to be mindful of it around you.”
That…..throws her for a loop. Why? Why would he do anything for her? What has she done to make him even feel like he should? Except stress him out and cause him unnecessary problems.
Roman continues, asserting, “but, you’ve gotta start fucking telling me shit. I need you to meet me halfway here. I need you to communicate with me. You can’t spend the rest of your life writing what you refuse to say out loud.”
She licks her lip, a nervous action, replying as best she can, “I’m not—I’m not used to—” She’s not used to people caring about her, caring about her wellbeing, and maybe that’s too strong and too inaccurate to describe what Roman is saying. It’s certainly how it feels though. “I—I’ll try.”
He seems pleased by this, probably not fully satisfied but enough for him to drop the subject. And she appreciates that, and is thankful for it. This day has already been a lot, too much. She’s so fucking tired.
Roman says nothing else, not that she needs him to, not that he needs to. But, as he stands up, turning to leave, she finds herself asking him, “where—where are you going?”
His answer is simple but ominous. “I told you. No one lays a hand on you.” He grabs his jacket off the sofa, sliding it on as he vows, “I’m gonna make sure everyone understands that shit from here on out.”
—-------
Asylums, historically, have been places of horror. Where the lives of so many end in cruel and undeserved ways. Screams and pleas falling on deaf ears, memories of terror forever etched in the walls and halls of a building that’s only seen suffering.
It’s a fitting name for Roman’s location for interrogation.
Torture. Because there is no being interrogated by the Tribal Chief. It’s just straight up, unadulterated torture. And truth be told, it’s a bit of a last, or maybe second resort. Killing someone in the moment is much easier, preferred. A shot to the head, a knife across the throat, even the snap of a neck. All much easier than methodical, drawn out ending of lives.
But some instances, some circumstances call for something more, something sinister, something lasting.
And that’s exactly what Theory and Waller are going to get.
By the time Roman walks into the building, sliding and tossing his jacket to the side, the twins have done a decent job roughing them up. One of them—he could never tell the difference—nor did he care or will it matter in a few hours, has a black eye that’s swollen shut. The other’s nose is crooked and bleeding, most likely broken. Their clothes are already stained with sweat, blood, and dirt.
They’re both tied down by their wrists and ankles that he can see have started to dig into their skin. Their chairs are situated opposite each other. Good. That’ll make this even better. Calmly, Roman walks over, snapping his finger as Jimmy and Jey step back, visibly pleased with their warm up.
He crouches down between them, looking back and forth between both with a smirk. “Gentleman, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” One of them, the taller of the two looks scared shitless while the other is glaring with idiotic defiance. Like he clearly thinks he and his friend are going to leave this building alive.
They’ll leave.
Just in pieces.
“I’m Roman.” His voice is slick ice. “Roman Reigns.” There’s a rush of adrenaline that soars through Roman’s big body seeing the fear flash in both sets of irises. Good. They should be fucking terrified. “But, I do know someone you have met.” His voice goes cold again. “My wife.”
“Actually, I saw you meet my wife, but you didn’t just meet her, did you?” Roman smiles, shaking his head. “Naw man….ya’ll did a hell of a lot more than that.”
Roman doesn’t need to have footage of just what happened in that locker room. He can paint the image all on his own, and it’s an image that makes his blood go cold. The footage of them in the hallway was damning enough. “You cornered her, didn’t you? You waited until she was alone and vulnerable and you harassed her. You sexually harassed her. My wife.”
Roman shrugs, looking between the two. “What ya’ll think should happen?” Their mumbled and grumbled voices are incoherent against the gags in their mouths. Laughing quietly, he continues, “now, now, I’m a fair Tribal Chief.” Roman stands up, walking over to the wall of tools and weapons laid out. He settles for the hunting knife. “So here’s what I’m gonna do, I’m gonna let you tell me which body part goes first.”
He motions for the twins to remove their gags and upon that removal, the defiant punk is the first to speak, “what the fuck is wrong with you!”
The other one, however, is damn near in tears. “Pl—please. We–we’re sorry.”
“Shut up, Grayson! He–he’s bluffing.” Theory, he thinks, decides to prolong his torture even longer by reiterateing, “we didn’t even fucking touch her. The bitch is ly—”
Roman sees red, again, most likely a buildup of the day's events. But, it’s pure rage that fills him as he slams the Buck 119 down against Theory’s left hand, cleanly slicing off four of his fingers.
Theory’s screams fill the room as the twins chuckle, Jey taunting, “who’s the bitch now, huh?”
Roman grabs his chin, vowing, “I’m gonna make you suffer the longest.”
“We didn’t hurt her, I swear.” Grayson is now crying, clearly ready to beg, plead, and whatever else it takes to get him out of this hell. “Austin just—he had her up against the locker, he–he pinned her, but we didn’t rape her. I swear!”
Grayson unintentionally paints a picture in Roman’s head of what he already figured is what happened, what he figured is what sent Solana into her traumatized state.
Big mistake.
Roman brings the knife down on both of Grayson’s thighs, intentionally aiming for near the top of his knees, his quadriceps, effectively rendering him permanently paralyzed. His screams of pain are music to Roman’s ears. Roman grabs him by his jaw, screaming, “who the fuck do you think you are! She’s mine! You hurt her and think I’m not gon break every bone in your fucking body? You don’t ever fuckin touch what’s mine! You understand me!”
The younger man is practically hysterical at this point. “Please….” Roman looks down, hit with the stench of urine, seeing that the one with the accent has pissed himself. Disgusted, he backs away, hitting the pathetic son of a bitch with a blow across his cheek that sends teeth flying out his mouth.
He turns back around, eyes focused on a now teary eyed Theory. “I was going to be fair, let you decide in which order I dismember you, but now…now I’m just gonna make you watch as I kill you both, piece by fucking piece."
He looks over at his cousins who seem completely unaffected and almost indifferent to the gruesome scene unfolding before them. “Jimmy.” Roman doesn’t hesitate, a sadistic smile on his handsome face. “Give me the saw.”
—------
Blood is such a pain in the ass to get out of almost everything.
Roman showered a good twenty minutes before leaving the Asylum, and he can still see specks of dried blood, or maybe it’s bone, or flesh.
There’s a sense of satisfaction that fills him though, that almost calms him as he imagines the look of pure terror and fright on their faces as he methodically took their lives, piece by piece. Well fucking deserved in Roman’s opinion.
And he’d do it all over again if he could.
Minus the blood and guts and shit, because that's just fucking annoying. Roman readies to take another shower, hitting the light switch near his bedroom door when he immediately notices the brown journal sitting in the middle of the bed.
There’s a second to pause and another second for him to realize he’s seen a similar book before. Solana. He’s seen her writing in one very close to the one on his bed.
Less apprehensive, Roman walks over to see it’s open to a page filled with neat writing he knows must belong to Solana.
Lifting it, he reads what she’s written.
Roman,
I know you don’t want me saying sorry anymore, and I know you want me to talk to you, but it’s really hard for me. I’m not used to this. I don’t know how to talk to you.
And I know you said I can’t write, but writing has always been the only way I can express myself, so I will try to talk to you more, but….until then, can I just write?
Solana
Right off the bat, Roman’s first and initial response is no.
Because why the fuck would he write like something out of a damn movie when she could just fucking talk to him?
But, that’s the thing, that’s exactly what she’s trying to express to him, that she can’t, that it’s too hard for her. Right now, at least. Because there’s also a promise, a promise to try to transition to more verbal communication, Roman’s preference.
Granted, he hates talking to most people in general, but it’s preferred over writing damn letters like the 1700s.
And then he thinks about it, recalling earlier today and the pure terror in her voice, the fear wracking her body so much so that she didn’t even realize she was this close to third degree burns. He has to be realistic here, realistic about what she is and isn’t capable of.
As frustratingly slow as it is, she is trying, in her own way. He can’t fault her for that.
Regardless of how he feels about it, this is the best she can do. For now. And he’ll hold her to working towards that, because growth doesn’t happen in comfort zones. She has to get used to being uncomfortable with new things. That’s just how it is.
But this….he can meet her halfway.
Grabbing a pen out his nightstand, Roman writes out his response, taking and laying it out on the kitchen island for her to see first thing in the morning.
Solana,
I recognize communication is challenging for you. If this is what works for you, I’ll do it. For now.
Do you work this weekend? If so, call off.
I’m taking you somewhere.
Also, there's nothing you can't tell me.
I promise you that.
Roman
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