Chapter Fourtytwo – She´s Messing With Your Mind, Brock! Be Careful!

⚠️MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING⚠️ Contains graphic description of murder, domestic abuse, blood, knifes and trauma! Please don’t read if you’re triggered by this. I don’t want to ruin your day!⚠️

Rumlow’s pov:

He hears the door to the bedroom close. Then he turns around. Looks at the closed door.

What the fuck are you doing Brock? Why do you always do this? Close yourself off? Deny your feelings? Just walk in there, hold her, kiss her, make love to her…

He almost laughs of his own thoughts. «Make love». She made you into a softie, Brock. Be careful!

She could have made a move if she wanted to, you wouldn’t have stopped her. If she’d asked you to join her in the shower, you would have. Why is it always you, who has to take the first step? Why is it that the responsibility always falls on you? Just because you are an Agent, that doesn’t mean that you don’t need love and affection once in a while. Fuck! Why didn’t you tell her that.

Why the fuck are you asking, Brock? You know why. You’re scared. Scared that she’ll leave. Scared that she fell for the rough, hard, Brock. Deep down inside, you know that’s not you. You’re 46 years old. You should have started a family a long time ago. You just never found the right girl. Now you have, and you’re about to push her away. Does she even want a family? You know nothing about her background. And she knows nothing about yours. Where are her parents? Does she have any siblings? Why haven’t you asked her this?

Who are you kidding, Brock? You know the answer to that as well. You know why you react the way you do when you see women being treated badly. You just don’t want to tell her that. That trauma from your childhood, is something you pushed aside a long long time ago. Promised to never let it reach the surface again. And then she came along. She’s messing with your mind, Brock! Be careful!

He lies down on the couch. Hands behind his head, stearing up at the ceiling. A tear escapes his eye. He closes his eyes.

You promised you would forget that day, Brock. You made a promise to yourself. How is this girl capable of dragging all these memories to the surface, when you haven’t even talked about it?

Young Brock. He had made something at school that day. An angel made of clay. His mom loved angels. So when they were asked to make something for mothers day. He knew exactly what to make. He can still remember how exited he was to show his mom. She would most certainly make him his favorite food, and place the angel between them on the table. Then she would ask him how school was. And all the time she would look at the angel, admiring it. He had a special bond with his mom. She always took care of him. Despite of what was happening at home, she always made sure he was safe. Sacrificing herself, for his safety.

Fuck, why are you thinking about that day, Brock? Push it aside. For fucks sake, PUSH IT AWAY!!

There is no use. The memories flashing over him like a tidal wave. The open door when he reach the house. The furnitures knocked over. The blood on the wall. The broken picture frames. How quiet the house was. How his mom lied on the floor in the kitchen, knife still in her. Lifeless. How the world became black that day. He was 10. Already then, he decided to not feel, anything, for the rest of his life. That day his dad killed his mom. The day he became an orphan. His dad had run away off course. He never saw him again. Not until… Don’t go there, Brock!

He can’t lie on the couch anymore. He has to do something. Go for a run? No! He can’t leave you alone. A shot of whiskey. And a match. That’s what he needs.

He turns on the TV, and chugs down glass after glass. He knows it’s not a good idea. He hasn’t gotten drunk since that day.. DON’T BROCK! Just don’t!

8 years after his mom was killed, he in-listed. He needed to get away from everything. And the military seemed like a good way to do that. That’s where he met Rollins. They shared similar backgrounds. Not that they talked too much about that. But some information was shared. About a year in they were both drafted into a secret branch of the military, that eventually became SHIELD. The training he got, made him an expert marksman, sniper, one of the best fighters around. And then he trained as best he could with knifes. All the way, up until the point, where he felt that the knife became a part of him. There was nothing he couldn’t do with that weapon.

He quickly moved up, determined as he was. 10 years ago, he became head of field operations, with Rollins as his second in command. That position inside SHIELD gave him access to information he’d wanted since he was 10 years old. Where his father was!

When he found him, he took a month of work. Rollins feeding him information, as he drove across the country to track him down. He’d had him under surveillance for a week before he made his move. Drinking like crazy, to work up his courage. Then, he kicked his door in. It wasn’t much of a fight. That old guy had used years to almost drink himself to death every single night. Killing him was a piece of cake. It was the aftermath that was the hard Part. So he shut it off. Every single feeling he had. And then…. She came along.. She’ll make you bleed, Brock! Be careful!

The Last glass of whiskey is half empty, when he hurls it at the wall. It breaks into a thousand pieces. FUCK, Brock! Fuck her, fuck you, fuck Pierce, fuck SHIELD, fuck fucking everything! You don’t have feelings, remember? You’re dead inside! Keep it that way! Let her go, she’s not worth it. Or is she? Is anything worth going through this again? Will she understand? Should you tell her? Will she even listen, after they way you’ve been treating her today? She’s too good for you, Brock! Be careful!

He drank too much. It’s gonna be hard getting up tomorrow. He sets the alarm, and lets his hands rest on the back of his head. The last image he sees before his eyes before he drifts off, is his mothers smile….