The image of my claws finding the soft flesh of Mary Ruperts' neck plays on repeat that night, the terror in her wide grey eyes inescapable no matter what part of my mind I run to.
I wake up a sweaty mess, my damp skin stuck to the now torn white sheets. My nails must have shifted during the night.
The sky is still dark and my head hurts but I get up anyway, heading for the shower to rid myself of my own perspiration and the violent thoughts in my head.
It makes a change to experience a new horror, and not something dug up from the archives of traumatic memories locked away in my brain.
I'm not sure which is worse.
Once I'm dry, I dress with difficulty thanks to my still throbbing shoulder before arranging myself by the window, leaning against the bed. I know I won't get back to sleep now, so instead I stare out at the city, allowing the mass of buzzing lights to calm me down as I wait for the sun to crawl it's way above the first skyscraper.
As I wrap my arms around myself, I can't help but think back to last night on the roof, when they were Bucky's arms at my middle. A weird jolt of electricity simmers in my veins at the memory, my heartbeat suddenly faster than it was before.
Despite the smile trying to lift up my lips, I shove the feeling away, rebuking the intrusive idea that seems to fill my head completely.
I'm not going there.
It was just a friendly gesture.
A small voice in the back of my head laughs.
It feels like an age before the first rays of sun breach the horizon, the beams pallid and weak in the October sky. There are very few clouds to break up the great expanse of deep reds and pinks that gradually fade into a gentle blue, a beautiful gradient of pastels. As lovely as it looks, I don't doubt the day will be bitterly cold with no cloud to act as insulation.
Stifling a yawn, I use the bed for support as I find my feet, my left arm still excruciatingly sore but not as much as a few days ago. I haven't bothered with the sling since I was first discharged from the infirmary floor, the fabric too restrictive and annoying for me to tolerate it.
Upon opening the bedroom door, my stomach sinks as I catch voices coming from the main living space. I'd hoped to be able to avoid everyone for a little longer at least, but that doesn't seem like it's going to happen.
I try to force the anxiety and guilt from my body as I walk, hardening my features. They knew what they were getting with me as soon as Tony offered me the deal.
All heads turn in my direction as soon as I appear at the top of the stairs, any conversations ceasing. I take in Tony, Natasha, Rhodey and Bruce in turn before dropping my gaze and forcing myself to continue into the room. I kick myself for the disappointment I feel when I don't find two blue eyes among them.
"Morning Nyx." Stark calls, sending me an easy smile before turning back to the Colonel.
"Morning." I mumble back, slightly surprised at his lack of reaction to my presence.
But while Tony seems unbothered, Rhodey is exactly the opposite. His narrowed eyes find mine and stay there for a long second, lips set in a thin line. My gaze is calm as I stare back, meeting his gaze defiantly despite with uneasiness bubbling in my stomach.
"I'll talk to you later Tony." He mutters, eyes still on me and not his friend, before he turns on his heel and marches from the room.
YOU ARE READING
The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)
Fanfiction"I didn't mean to hurt you. I could never hurt you." He whispers into my neck. I stroke the back of his head with careful fingers, chin resting lightly atop his skull. "I know." I soothe, pulling him closer still. Sobs escape from his chest, rattli...
