Chapter Eight – What Do You Want Me To Say, Brock?

Fuck! You’ll never hear the end of this. You fall stomach first down on the bed. Shit! He’ll mock you for this the rest of the fucking trip. You turn to your back, close your eyes. You can see him in your mind. Using the magic wand on you. Playing with you. Bringing you up and up, and then taking it away. What the hell is wrong with you?

– Get out of my head, Brock!

You say to yourself. Put your hands on your head.

– Why do I keep thinking about you like this?

Why do you keep talking to yourself? Go to sleep, YN. The car will get fixed tomorrow morning, and then you’ll be back on the road again. You’ll be in New York in no time. And you have your music and your books to get away from his mocking. Although, you have to admit, you kinda like that he pays you this much attention. Oh, fuck you, YN! Who are you kidding?

You can’t sleep. Tossing and turning. Thinking. You try to read, but you’re too tired to manage. Why, why, why? Continue to hate him, YN! That’s easy. You have no idea how long you lie there trying to get some sleep. But your guess is that it’s almost morning when you finally drift off.

The sun peaking through the window wakes you up. God! No! Not now.. You want to sleep. You need to sleep. You check your phone 6.30am. THE CAR! You’ll get the car fixed today. Like right now. Then you can hit the road. And hopefully get to New York in a day or so.

You get dressed, and walk across the hall. Knock on Rumlows door. No answer. Is he sleeping? He told you that you were going to get the car fixed today. First thing. And you need to get to New York. You bang on the door as hard as you can.

– Brock!! Wake up! Get up, get up, get up!!

Nothing now either. Did he like have twenty drinks last night? Did he find a girl? Maybe he isn’t even in his room. Of course he found himself a girl. You lean against the door. Lucky girl. No, no, YN. You are not going there. Stop, right now. You look down on the floor. A newspaper? This hotel actually gives you newspapers? Wow! You sit down on your knees, picking it up.

Then Rumlow opens the door. You look up, and look straight at a very exposed, and extremely awake little Brock!

You put the newspaper in front of your face.

– For Gods sake, Brock! Cover yourself up!

He looks down on you. Looks like he is totally unaffected by the fact that he is completely naked.

– Well, nobody told you to get to your knees, YN!

He takes the newspaper from you. You lift your hand to cover your eyes.

– Jeez, Brock. What if I was someone else!

He laughs.

– Please, YN. I think the whole floor heard you.

You get to your feet. Look at him angry. This was exactly what you needed. To see him naked. This will in no way put a damper on your fantasy.

– Get dressed, Brock! We have a car to fix.

He still just stands there, exposed.

– No, YN. First breakfast, and then, car. I’ll be right out!

He closes the door. You take a deep breath. Ah.. Tripple fuck! Great.. Perfect.

– I’ll…

You start to say. But then the door opens again. A pair of jeans loosely over his hips, and a white shirt, that gives the word biceps a totally new meaning. You stare at him. He clears his throat.

– What are you looking at?

– Just.. I… Found some clothes I see!

He smirks at you, before he moves towards the elevator. God! He fucking loves this! Is he doing this on purpose? Is he hitting on you? Oh, for Christs sake, give it a rest, YN!

———————————

– Want some coffee?

He puts a cup down in front of you. You look up at him. The coffee smells good.

– Thanks.. I guess…

He clears his throat.

– You guess?

– What do you want me to say, Brock?

He takes a sip of his coffee. Looks at you again.

– I don’t know. Nice package, perhaps.

He chuckles.

– God! Brock. Can’t you be serious for like ONE second?

– I’m dead serious!

You take a bite of your fruit salad.

– Fuck you, Brock. I didn’t even look at it!

Again he chuckles, and teasingly lets his tongue glide over his lips.

– Really? Well, then I feel bad for ya…

– Seriously, Brock. I’m like two seconds away from throwing my coffee in your face!

He lifts his hands up in the air. Surrendering.

– Hey.. Kill me while you’re at it, why don’t ya!

You don’t say anything else. You just continue to eat your salad, and drink your coffee. Occasionally look up at him.

The car has already been towed to the garage, when you finish breakfast. It’s not a long walk to the garage, so you decide to follow along. Everything is better than lying in bed, fantasising about him.

The hood is up, and a guy is working on the car. This does not look good. Rumlow approaches him.

– Hi! Did you find out what’s wrong with my car?

The guy stands up. Looks at Rumlow.

– Mr. Rumlow I presume. Your starter is wrecked. You’ll need a new one, or this car is just as useful as an empty beer-bottle.

– Well. Is it possible to put a new starter in?

The guy looks at you, and then back to Rumlow.

– Yeah.. That can be done. But I’ll have to order the parts I need.

– Order?

Rumlow sounds a tiny bit on edge.

– Yeah. And it’ll probably take a day or two for it to get here. Outside of this Town it’s farmland as far as the eye can see. Stuff just don’t fall out of the sky in these parts of the country.

– No chance you could speed it up?

– No can do sir. But I’ll get a discount for you and the Mrs. At the hotel.

– Oh.. I’m no…

You start to say. When Rumlow comes over to you. Grabs your behind.

– Did you hear that sweetheart? Two whole nights together at the local hotel. Thank you, sir!

He says before he drags you with him out from the garage. When you’re outside listening range you stop.

– Just what the HELL was that?

– What was what… Mrs. Rumlow?

He laughs.

– Aaargh.. Screw you!!

You push him out of your way. Then you walk away from him.

– See you tonight, baby!

You hear him shout behind you. You’re so frustrated you almost start to cry. You really don’t want to have these insane feelings for him. But it’s impossible to push them away. And he isn’t making it any easier for you, with his jokes, and his smirks. And this morning, when you…

You walk as fast as you can, until you reach your hotel room. You quickly get inside, and lock the door behind you. Then you sit down on the floor. You’re 33 years old. This is childish. Stupid and childish. Is it because he was your first? Is it really THAT kind of connection? Does that first person really mean THAT much? You don’t know, and it’s not like you can compare it to anyone else. It’s only one person who can be that first one. And for you… For you.. That person was him…