affliction

sixty-five

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my @ is jamesbuckystan

Beth's POV

I don't have a lot of core memories.

I learned about them in a lot of my psychology classes. I had to get special accommodations to do my entire college online since I was still incognito in New York, but I was still set up on a virtual feed where I could watch the entire classroom. Whenever core memories were brought up, many of them would raise their hands and talk about something they remembered from when they were really little. Some of them even dated back to as little as 3 years old. I guess the trauma of what happened to my family kind of wiped a lot of those memories from me, but I still have a few. Not as many as the average person, though, which is upsetting.

But there is this one I remember like it was yesterday.

My family wasn't poor. My dad was a dental surgeon, after all, but they were still really strict with how they spent their money. They wouldn't buy me anything I didn't need and never gave me or my sister very many presents for the holidays. They wouldn't dare buy each other anything, either.

Christmas of 2011, though, that was the day of my most prominent core memory.

My dad was more into saving the money than my mother was, but she always went along with it. I got the usual Christmas morning; socks, an outfit, bathing supplies.. you know, the necessities.

But that night, my mom snuck into my room right before bed and handed me a box. I remember her whispering 'Merry Christmas' to me so she wouldn't wake my sister who was just a room over. Now that I think about it, she may have also been whispering so my father didn't hear her.

I had always loved art, even as a small child. When my family would go walking downtown, the murals and sculptures lined down Main Street always intrigued me. I always wished I could do something like that.

So, when I opened the box and found a sketchbook and drawing pencils, you could say I was overjoyed.

I remember looking up at her confused. "I thought presents were just for giving each other what we really needed?" I had mumbled to her.

I remember the bright smile on her face and she whispered back. "Everybody needs a passion, Rose."

I was so happy that day. I hid that sketchbook from my father every single day. I'd draw all the time in school, I'd stay up late at night when my father would be asleep, I was addicted to drawing. My mother always said I had a gift for it.

I loved that sketchbook with everything in me. I loved my mother every day for going against my father and gifting it to me.

That day is definitely number 3 in the list of my all time happiest moments.

Number 1 is the day I got my memories back and Bucky told me he loved me.

Number 2? Well, that's right now.

A hand is waved in my face. "Man-slayer, you still in there?"

I continue to stare at the 2 men in front of me, not uttering a word.

Bucky grabs my shoulders and leans down to where his face is directly in front of mine. "Beth, baby. You're scaring me. Say something."

I finally meet his eyes. I can barely speak, my voice is lost. "You're serious?"

He nods.

My eyes flick over to Tony's. "And this isn't a prank?"

He rolls his eyes. "I might be a dick, but I'm not Satan. I wouldn't lie to you about this."