Natashas story

The Truth

I lay in bed my thoughts and saddness drowning me. I'm helpless to stop it. I think about the events of the battle 2 days ago, and the moments of temporary happiness I had when I over took an opponent. But any of the positive memories are disintegrated quickly by the memory of seeing Steve's face dripping in both sweat and defeat while sitting over Visions dead body, knowing half of my friends are dead along with him. And my baby. I would have named he Lily. When I was younger and being trained in Russia, every night When I sat in bed, right before I fell asleep I imagined what my life could be in 20 years. I always imagined my self with a tall , strong, blonde guy with blue eyes and a little girl maybe 3 or 4, tall with blue eyes like her dad but thin and red headed like me. She'd have my smile but squint when she laughs like her dad. She'd love dressing up in pretty dresses and wearing my makeup but always have shorts on under so she can "kick butt" if she needed to. But instead of preparing for that life Im lying in bed mourning in a puddle of tears and emotions. I then remember I still haven't told Steve, I don't know how. I know I'll have to and that even if I plan what to say I'll probably just blurt it out anyways. Still I can't bring myself to say it yet. Thinking it and knowing it even saying it to my self is one thing but telling someone else is a whole other. Bringing someone into the mess I am, just feels wrong. Like as if im drowning with my head in a bucket and instead of lifting my own head out I pull someone else's down in with me.
I roll over on to my left side and see the framed picture on the side table. I only own one framed photo, and there are only 2 things on that side table, a lamp and that picture. It's one of my faveorite things I own. It may just be a photo that I could make infinite copy's of but this specific copy in that specific frame means so much to me. I'm not exactly sure why it means that much. It's a photo of me and Steve. Steve, Clint and I went on a walk around New York City one evening and Clint took a picture of Steve standing behind me with his arms around my neck and shoulders. Steve said something funny and witty as Clint took the photo so we're both laughing. Clint knew I liked that photo so for my birthday last year he printed it out. My thoughts of happiness and good times get cut off by the sadness again. The pain of loosing half of everyone I care about wash over me, leaving me paralyzed in my emotions. Just then I hear a soft knock on my door, snapping my body back into my control. Steve's head pokes out from the other side of the door he looks like he may have been crying too. He's wearing the fake smile that people give you when your sad. You know, the one where they smile because they feel they should but not because they want to. The one filled with slightly condicending pitty and is always paired with eyes of concern, real or fake, and a furrowed brow.
"Hi..." he whispers, pulling the rest of his body to follow his head to my side of the door. I blink hard trying to forget why I'm sad so I don't break down. I push my body further into the mattress.
"How are you feeling. I know, obviously not good not even "just ok" but is there anything you want to talk about?" He said, back at a normal volume while pulling up a chair and sitting next to me. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees
"...No..." i whisper barely audible so that I don't totally fall through the floor with the weight of my sobs, he still heard it. I contemplate turning around, turning my back to him. I can barely stand to look at him for more than a couple seconds knowing what he doesn't. I hate secrets I just don't understand why people find them necessary, but I can't even think about it without breaking down so I definitely cant talk about it. And yet, as I guessed I can't hold myself back and with out warning I blurt it out, making him jump.
"I WAS PREGNANT" I basically yell at him, just loud enough that it was startling but quiet enough that no one else heard through any walls. He looks at me with more confusion than I have ever seen on a human before. I can't tell if it's because of the word "pregnant" or "was". Either or it made me uncomfortable and mixing that with he rest of my emotions and sayin that out loud, my internal sods become external and uncontrollable
"Hey. Hey. Hey. Shhhhhhhh... your okay." He consoles me, grabbing my hand with one of his and stroking my hair with his other. His words and actions are comforting but his face and tone are still confused and quite off putting. Still,  I calm my tears and he asks
"...Was?"
"Was." I repeat calmer than I expected
"Was." he repeats back. He moths the word a couple of times, rolling around in his head along with the word pregnant.
"Was pregnant. Were  pregnant?" He puts emphasis on the word pregnant obviously still confused at it's existence in a sentence out of my mouth and correlation with him.
"Yah" I say expecting to sound as calm as last time but and quickly disappointed as my voice cracks with tears. His face brights up with comprehension and understanding for a second before a the tiadal wave of sadness that follows an understanding like that came crashing down on him, dragging him under.