NFL Imagines

)•( Brock Purdy )•(

Title: Long Overdue
Warnings: Tiny mention of drinking, punches are thrown 3 times, mention of someone and a tooth getting knocked out (twice), hand injuries, bullies, man trying to force himself on reader (he just holds her by the wrists and won't let go) and all the feels and emotions
AN: Y'all let me have a proud writer moment for a second...This beats the word count of my Andrei imagine and I wrote this in TWO DAYS. Two days!!! And I'm in love with it. I hope my Brock girls out there love it too!

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You still remember what it felt like that day. The sun had been shining and the wind had been light. The playground was more alive than you had ever seen it. Your classmates had shoved their lunches down their throats so that they could rush to the playground, but you had decided to take your time.

You took one glance at the playground, eyes searching for that familiar red shirt. He had worn a red shirt to school today. It was his favorite color, but he hardly ever wore it for some reason. Today he had, and it had made you smile. You noticed other kids with red shirts, but none were the kid you were looking for.

There was a tree near the fence that the teachers had to watch like hawks. Wild children had escaped the fenced in playground by climbing the tree and jumping the fence before. Parents had argued for the tree to be cut down, but it had been here for so long that no one had the heart to cut it down, so that's where it stayed.

It was one of his favorite places to be alone. He would plop down on the dirt and sit with his back to the trunk, his bright hazel eyes taking in the world around him until lunchtime was over. Many of the other students thought he was odd, but you didn't. You found his quiet and distant nature to be interesting and it gripped your child curiosity and pulled you to him.

You weren't exactly friends, but you had some kind of relationship. You would skip out on the noisy playground to sit with him by the tree. Sometimes he'd work up the confidence to ask you why you did it, but you could never give a good answer. Most days, you would shrug and avoid looking at him. You weren't sure why you did it. He didn't mean anything to you and you didn't mean anything to him, so why did you join him every day?

You found him under the tree, but it was different. He wasn't looking around like normal. His legs were pulled up to his chest and he hid his face in his knees. You watched as his body jerked with every soft sob he tried to keep quiet and your little heart snapped in two.

"Why aren't you eating, Rock?" You ask, smart enough to know he probably doesn't want to be asked about why he's crying. Normally he would be eating and watching, but something had ruined his day.

He lifted up his head to look at you and you froze in place, not knowing how to react to his red and puffy face from crying. His bottom lip wobbled and tears kept spilling from his eyes. It was a heartbreaking sight and he looked so embarrassed that you were seeing him like this.

"Buford and his friends took my lunchbox..." he sniffled, vision growing blurrier. Another intense wave of tears was about to hit him.

"They what?"

He wipes at his eyes and finally looks up at you. His emotions might be everywhere, but he doesn't fail to miss how scary you look and sound. Not scary to him, but scary to who made him so sad.

"They know I'm not big and strong like them..." he tells you weakly, curling further into himself.

You bite your lip, keeping your anger controlled. He doesn't need to see you that way. He needs comfort and love and—he needs his lunchbox back.