Whirlwind | W.M.

4

One of the many, many perks of regeneration is also the impossibility of hangovers.

I woke up like any normal day, well- I don't know if I could even deem more than eight hours of sleep normal but at least the brain squeezing headache was gone, it was like it never even existed. But of course, I should have known everything came with a price because what took the place of a throbbing head was the memories of hours prior, flashing in my mind with desperate intensity as if to slap the mess I've made onto my face, over and over. Wanda, Steve, Nat, everything came back against my wishes.

Even the way I felt.

I tried with all my might to wash it away under another burning stream, to scrub so hard I could peel off my skin trying to get the lingering remnants of such vulnerability washed away. God, I hate remembering, I hate everything that happened.

Wanda's face was most prominent in my head, her words echoing like an alarm clock I couldn't throw against the wall and make go away, especially not when she walks into the training room, a bag slung around her shoulder and a small smile on her lips.

"Hey." She utters with a hint of hesitance as I still the punching bag swinging rapidly before me. This could go one of two ways, depending on how I play my cards but there was only one way it should go, even if it was painful.

"I can't do today." I say without taking the time to properly look at her, my only view being her reflection in the mirror plastered on the wall past the bag.

"What? Why?" She tries to question, attempting to mask just how much my reply had taken her aback. The hope in her voice was excruciating to hear, like she was expecting something different from me.

"Not today, okay? I'll talk to Steve; he can go back to helping you." I huff, tending back to my rapid punches, feeling the hard surface collide with my fists and leaving Wanda standing there, confused.

"I just... thought we were getting somewhere." She says, deflating and frail as my chest tightens once more.

I give the bag another hard punch, watching it fly off Its hinges and fall to the ground a few feet away with a harsh thud as I spin around to face the expectant witch, beads of sweat rolling down my forehead as she looks back at me, stunned and frozen. I needed to forget, I needed things to stay like they were, with her hating me, looking at me with uninterested revulsion instead of that unbearable pity, I'd take her loathing any day than to look into her eyes and see the same thing I've been seeing since anybody figured out what my life was made of.

"Where is that, exactly?" I seethe, heaving from the exertion I put into my punches. She looked uncomfortable, retreated, maybe even defeated under my daggered gaze.

"But last night-"

"What are you talking about?" I cut her off, my incredulous tone burning right through her as she stood speechless, at the receiving end of my intolerance and lies.

"But you said..." She tries to begin again, clearly stumbling over her thoughts as I silence her with a scoff, walking over to the bag and hanging it back in place.

"I was drunk, Wanda. People say shit when they're drunk, don't tell me you were stupid enough to believe anything I said?" The words left a vile taste on my tongue, my heart sinking at the way she looks back at me in disbelief, in hurt, in betrayal.

"You're supposed to be smart, not naïve. People come to you with emotions and you just roll over and show your belly? You'll never make it like that. Look, I don't even remember what happened last night and it'd do you good to forget it too, because it meant nothing." There was a part of me screaming for her to see through my unforgiving lies, but all at once I knew it had to be done.