/ self-harm trigger warning towards the end /

Agent B's point of view

"How did it go?" Agent J asked as I got on to the helicopter. I threw my gun on the floor and took my seat, not bothering to look at him. "Well?"

My silence threw him off.

"Are you just going to sit there are ignore me?" He asked as the helicopter took off. "Agent B, I am talk-"

"I couldn't do it." I yelled at him and then held my head in my hands. "I-I didn't do it, is that what you want to hear?" I asked and looked up at him.

"Why not? You were so set on it." He said and took a seat beside me. "What changed your mind?"

"I don't-I don't know." I said and shook my head. "I didn't do it. I let him go."

"Did to at least get the information you needed?" He asked and I shook my head. "Then what the hell was the point of coming here?" He asked angrily.

"Sit down." I snapped and forced him to sit. "Just be quiet." I said and he ran a hand through his short hair. "I need quiet."

"I'm so disappointed in you." He told me and I took a deep breath, watching him walk away to the pilot. I blinked a few times and then looked out of the window, sighing to myself.

I looked out of the window, watching the city pass as another sigh escaped my lips. I wonder if any of them have to go through what I do, probably not honestly. I doubt any of then have gone through what I have.

I turned away, prying my eyes from the scene. I closed them and then set my elbows on my legs, threading my fingers through my hair. I kept my head down, a dull ache in the back of my head.

I question why I've gone through what I have sometimes, and it's not even in the form of self-pity. It's more of, what significance does this have in this life of mine? Why is this important?

Given, if there is a God, why had he decided to put me through all of this? Although it's selfish of me, why hadn't he given this life to someone else? Why me?

Why couldn't I grow up playing with monster trucks and dirt with my brothers? Why couldn't my parents be sane, middle class working, and actually care for us? Why couldn't I have had a girlfriend all through highschool, possibly college, and then get married.

Why didn't I live a happily ever after?

I rested my forehead on the palm of my hand, sniffling quietly to myself. Why. That's all I could ask, all I couldn't answer.

Why did they choose me to put a chip in? Why did they choose me to go into the military to kill, to watch people get killed? Why did I have to be this... this monster?

A tear slid down my arm and I squeezed my eyes a bit, biting the inside of my cheek to stop from crying. Why am I crying?

Why was I taught that crying is weakness, a sign of loss in strength?

Why. Why. Why.

"Agent, boss told me that if you costed this agency anything, you're-Are you... Are you crying?" He asked me and I didn't bother answering.

Maybe if I just pretend to be asleep...

"Why the hell are you crying Agent?" He asked me, seeming disgusting by my show of emotions. "Suck it up or I will not hesitate to tell boss."

"Oh shut the fuck up." I said lowly, my voice scratchy as I looked up at him. He seemed taken back by my swollen eyes and my response, but showed no sign of backing down.

"We do not cry."

"I am not like you." I said and laughed humorlessly. "I am not like you and I never will be okay? Don't tell me what to-what to do." I told him and he stepped forward.

"You took an oath-"

"I know I did!" I bellowed and held my head. "Don't tell me what I did-I know what I did, I know damn well Agent. Stand down." I told him and he looked at me before backing up.

"I know what I did," I repeated, more quietly than before as I looked down again. "What a mistake that was. How could I take an oath on my feelings, on what makes me human? Why did I do that?" I asked myself, getting choked up in emotions and regrets.

"Do you... Do you regret giving that oath Agent B?" He asked and I was silent. "I asked you a question!"

"Fuck off!" I yelled at him and threw a knife in his direction, missing by an inch. "Don't raise your voice at me Agent J, remember your place. I may be crying but I am far from weak."

"Then why couldn't you kill the man?" He asked me and my throat clenched at the mention of my failure. "Face it Agent B, you've gone soft. This job isn't for you anymore." He told me before talking back to the pilot, slamming the door shut.

-

"You're okay." Calum said, relieved as he saw me. He went to hug me but I pushed him off. "What the-"

I shook my head and went to the room, putting away everything I had taken out. I ripped the bandana off and threw my sunglasses at the wall, angry at myself.

I looked at the knife, the sharp edge shining. I held the handle tightly and then let it go, realizing I had no business with it in my hand.

I was confused. I was afraid. I was angry.

I was afraid because I was confused. I was angry because I was afraid.

I sighed and then took my jacket off, throwing it on my bed. In the reflection of the mirror I saw Ashton, and I held on to the desk, giving him a rather blank stare. "How long have you been there?"

"Enough to know you're not okay." He said and walked into the room. "What's wrong?" He asked me.

"Everything."

"Might as well just said nothing." He huffed and I shrugged. "You're really complicated, you know that? Is it so hard to just tell me what's wrong than make me guess?"

"Who said I was making you guess?" I asked and shook my head. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter." I said and he sighed.

"This isn't going anywhere." He told me as I threw my holster on the bed. "What happened over there?"

"Nothing of your concern." I said and he nodded. "Did you guys behave?"

"Yes." He answered and nodded. "We didn't really do anything for the few days that you were gone. The only exciting thing that happened was Rachael and Calum fighting."

"Why?"

"He heard her say something about killing and boys and now he hates her." He told me. "He never acts like that you know."

"I don't know that." I said and shook my head, my hair falling in my face. "Whatever you're trying to pin on me, I didn't do. I don't control your best friend."

"You influence him however. He thinks that showing he's afraid is weakness now. He's acting stone cold, like you." He told me and if asked, I would deny that I got a cold feeling over me.

"He's afraid, don't be fooled." I muttered and then sighed. "Look, I really need to be alone right now... please. I'll talk to him or something later, I just really need to be alone."

"Please do. I don't like this new Calum, Michael doesn't, Luke doesn't, no one likes it. He won't talk to us like he used to and it's really scaring me." He told me and I nodded.

"Yeah, I'll talk to him." I said and nodded, but how was I supposed to do that? If he won't talk to his best friends, how am I suppoed to crack his facade?

"It's probably a lot to ask of but you're the last person I could think of. He hung up as soon as Mali tried talking to him. He's just not himself." He told me.

"Okay, Ash, please. Can you-Can you leave?" I asked and he nodded as he sighed.

"Dinner will be ready soon." He noted and I nodded. I closed my eyes as the door shut and I felt back on to a chair, folding my hands together as I rested my head against them.

"I don't know what's going on," I said to no one, to anyone, to myself. "I don't know how to fix it. Please." I said and opened my eyes, looking at the desk.

My eyes caught sight of the knife again and I looked at it. I grabbed it and then ran my finger over the blade, watching as blood trailed down my finger.

I looked at my reflection in the knife and all I could see was myself crying, red faced, red eyes, tear stains. All of it I could see, though I know that's now how I look at the moment.

All I could hear is Agent J's words, telling me I had failed, that I've gone soft, that this job isn't right for me.

This is all I know, I was practically made for this job, that's why I had a chip in my head. This is why I'm top agent, I was made for this.

"I'm not weak." I said to myself and then took a deep breath as I wiped the blood on my jeans.

I took a deep breath and then held the knife tighter, bringing my wrist up. I bit my bottom lip and then took the knife, setting the top on the bare skin, watching as it dug slowly into the skin.

Blood dripped down slowly and I dragged the knife down, feeling numb to the feeling. I watched as my arm bled, sighing as I set the knife down.

It didn't help at all really.

Why did I think that'd work? I've been cut, scratched, hit, shot even, it doesn't even hurt much anymore. It's a pinch to me. A pinch won't make me forget about my problems. It won't pull me out of reality.

I looked at the knife and I had the dumbest idea ever, thinking that maybe it takes more than one pinch to help me forget. Like when you have one beer, but you don't forget much, so you have another, and another, and another until your stumbling and wondering what your own name was.

Maybe it just took more than one.

Like maybe it takes one more bullet in the chamber until lights out.