I do not own anyone but my own scenes and characters! This doesn't EXACTLY go along with the timeline, so please don't hate. Also, comment this shit UP! If you wanna say something please don't hold it back! I want to hear your honest opinions! That'...
A/N: Hey Guys! Sorry I went off the radar for a while! I'm good, almost healed up! Let me know how you're enjoying or not enjoying this book and what you'd like to see happen!
Pain. And cold. And more pain.
That's all I could feel.
It's been siX days since I've had to take this deal.
Six days of repeatedly getting my ass beat... over. And over and over.
Every morning, 5am, we're downstairs training in physical combat for 4 hours, no breaks. Then, we move to physical training, running, exercise, weights. After that? Target practice. And by dinner time, I'm too weak to even eat. My bones ache. My head throbs. My muscles are being ripped apart inside of me. Not to mention, all of the mental training as well. The mind games. Those are the worst. And at the worst possible times. By the worst possible people.
"Think you were good enough for someone like Steve Rogers?" Agent 13, aka Sharon Carter says as she gives another violent blow to my already bruised and aching sides while I lie in the fetal position, just begging for it to be over.
"Enough! Please! No more!" I beg her as I clutch my ribs in pain.
"You're done when I say you're done. ON YOUR FEET!" She shouts as she drags my nearly limp body up by my jacket.
Another fist to the face. Blood flies from my mouth. My eye is sore and swollen. One to the jaw, nearly knocking me unconscious. I stumble backwards, falling down in a blur of tears, pain, and exhaustion.
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"I said GET UP!" Agent carter demanded again as she stomped my bad thigh as hard as she could, causing me to scream out in pain.
"Stop!" I cried as tears and blood stain my face.
"Then fight!" She shouts again.
It's always like this.
It's always the same thing.
They tell me to fight but I don't know how.
And when I don't fight. I get my ass kicked twice as bad as the day before.
Usually until I'm unconscious or someone, rarely shows me mercy.
I'm dragged again by my jacket, back to my room where I try my hardest to clean myself up. I skip dinner, too embarrassed at my poor frail and weak body to be seen eating with trained CIA agents. The same agents that do this to me, day in and day out. I sneak out, it's 2am. Nobody is awake here. I sneak off to the basement where the training equipment is and I start on the punching bags. Wailing on them as hard as I can. Imagining that it's Agent Carter, the one who usually leaves me in the worst shape... she never stops. Not until she nearly crosses a line. She is ruthless. I punch and punch until my knuckles bleed. As I go in for another weak punch, a pair of hands catch me. One on my waist, one on my arm.
"You'll never do any damage like that. Only to yourself." I hear Everett's voice quietly speak behind me.
He wore sweat pants, a black t shirt and a pair of Nike shoes. His hands were wrapped for fighting.
"It's no use.. I'm only hear to be a punching bag with a face.." I put my head down in defeat.
"Look," he started as he gripped my waist tighter, "stand firm. Start from here, put all of your body weight into it. And fold your hands like this, so you don't hurt yourself." He instructed as he followed my hand to the bag.
"Good, now try it again, harder." Everett said and took a step back.
I did as he said and the change made all the difference! For a moment, I had a glimmer of hope..
"Alright come on, I wanna show you some things." Everett said as he picked up some hand pads.
"Okay.." I raised an eyebrow.
"I'm gonna teach you some techniques that you'll find useful. They're basic really. But it'll keep your head up in a fight." He said as he got into a fighting stance.
We worked at it. For hours. Until we were both exhausted.
"You know what I don't get Ally?" Everett said as we sat down on the cold gym floor to take a break.
"God I fucking hate that..." I muttered.
"What your name?" He questioned now.
"What don't you get E?" I ignored the question.
He sighed and wiped the sweat from his face with a towel.
"I don't get how, a bright, shining happy girl like yourself, turned into this.." he motioned to me.
"What do you mean this? What's wrong with me?" I questioned.
"You realize no matter what I've called you by since we've met, you have this look. This look that you wish whoever owned that name was dead." He said almost sadly, but more fatherlike.
"She is dead." I scoffed.
"Why..." He asked simply.
I put my head down..
"Unable to or unwilling to answer that?" Everett chuckled.
"Both?" I swallowed hard at the subject.
"Tell you what... then what do I call you? You tell me? Is it Stark? Rogers? Ally? Alanna? Grace?" He listed off names.
I turned my face sour at every single one of those god awful names.
"Anything... just give me something to call you by that isn't going to rip you apart when you hear it." Everett said now even more worried.
I looked at him for a long moment, then shook my head and said,
"Murphy."
There was a brief pause.
"Just Murphy?" Everett questioned as if the answer was encrypted.
"Just Murphy." I nodded slowly.
"Right.. well... pleasure to meet you, Murphy." Everett stuck out a hand to shake, causing me to chuckle a little.
"You too Agent Ross." I shot a small smile before cringing in absolute agony at my own body making the slightest of movement.
"Alright alright, let's get you back to your room Murph. Do me a favor? Take an ice bath when you get in. It'll help the pain and bruising, trust me." Ross winked as he walked me down the hallway back to my room.
"How did you know I'd be in the gym?" I asked as he nearly carried me back to my room, one strong arm guiding my waist while my weak thin arm dangled over his shoulder.
"Because.. that's where I was when I first started." Everett said with a half smile.
