A/N: Hey guys! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in forever. The last couple of weeks have been hectic. First it was my mom's birthday and then I got food poisoning and missed three days of school and then last week I had to get caught up with all of my school work and take care of my mom and twin sister, so yeah I haven't really had the time to write. But atlas, I am back and my mind and heart has been refreshed with the new marvel movie Deadpool which I saw today in theaters. It was amazing and I highly recommend to go see it if you haven't already. I surprised my parents of how well I understood the sex jokes and sexual references that were in the movie. There was also this little girl who was like seven watching the movie with her mom. God, that poor child is probably scarred for life. Anyways, uh… lets get to what you've all been waiting for: Chapter 3. -xxxUnknowngirlxxx
Getting Clint out of the kitchen's dark corner was difficult. He kept apologizing and sobbing wet tears all over her shirt. Not that she minded, she was actually just relieved that this was the extent of his mental breakdown. She really couldn't deal with him trying to hurt himself like someone had in her past.
After struggling and failing to pull him out from the crevice, she went on her last of very few options.
She knew it wasn't exactly a smart decision, but when was the last time she made one?
Going to the sink, she filled a glass with water, then proceeded to walk back over to the sobbing man, and pour the ice cold water on him.
"What the fuck!"
Putting on a shocked face, Brooklyn feigned innocence, "Why the hell would you do that Clint? Pouring water over yourself like that. Have you always made decisions as rash as that?"
"What?" Clint shook his head, standing up and towering over her pathetically short figure. "You just poured that water on me. Why the hell would I pour water on myself?"
She shrugged her shoulders, thanking the god she didn't believe in that those silly acting classes she took when she was twelve were finally coming to use.
"I don't know, you were like a fucking robot. Do you seriously not remember doing that? Wow and I thought not remember what you had for breakfast was bad."
Taking a deep breath, Clint shook his head deciding that arguing with the strange girl wasn't the best choice.
"So," Brooklyn started," As fun as this was, I must get going. I need to feed my cat."
Not waiting for his answer, she waltzed out the door dramatically adding a door slam for extra measure.
She walked back to her crummy apartment and realized to things: one; she didn't have a cat, and two; she had left her purse with her medication that she would desperately need in the morning in the mystery man's apartment.
Fuck.
As much as she hated the idea of going through a day without her meds, she hated the thought of going back to the vigilante's apartment more.
Brooklyn sighed, though her health was way more important than avoiding embarrassment, she had never really made a good decision and she was defiantly not going to start making them now.
Coming through the thin door of her "home", she grumbled to herself. She was not looking forward to seeing Clint again. Not because he had hurt her or because he had had a mental breakdown afterwards, but because she scared that if she saw him again, if she let him in, he would see how broken she truly was.
And she wasn't sure she would ever be ready for that.