Possession

That Funny Feeling

Time had run its predictable course on your relationship with Wanda. The years sailed by, every annum passing you like a rust forming on pre-tarnished jewels. You'd grown to accept your life without Natasha. You reminded yourself of its shameful origins and devoted yourself to Wanda's happiness. Despite feeling as if that fateful hole that Natasha had filled remained in your very creation, you taught yourself to pay it no eye. An epiphany - that it simply, didn't matter.

Four years have since drifted from the date of your engagement to Wanda, though you like to think of it as your final encounter with Natasha. Between your own denial and the happenings of the mob, the wedding itself had been continuously delayed. Not that you were complaining. You grieved your separation from Natasha like a child who'd just misplaced their favourite toy. Briefly, but intensely. After that had passed you were somewhat able to see things for how they truly were. A fucked up multitude of family issues that you, quite frankly, thought was idiocy at its finest.

You were sat in the overly-illuminated bedroom that you share with Wanda. Some boxes remain in the corner, undone yet half empty because of your fairly recent relocation. A much larger house, further from everything in the city. Your mother accused you of trying to escape, which you denied fiercely - all while being completely aware that she was correct. You sat perched on the edge of the bed, your hearing becoming absent to the racket in the halls and adjacent rooms.

Realising you were only pondering such details of your life due to nerves, you slid a cigarette from its box and lay across the sheets reaching for a lighter. Surely you should be more...joyous? It's your wedding day after all.

You hadn't seen Wanda since early evening the day before. She'd been ushered away from you by a crowd of friends and organisers and stayed in a separate room for the night. Much to your annoyance, Pepper insisted that tradition be followed. Therefore, you were prohibited from seeing the dress.
Very suddenly, the door handle to your locked room was being rumbled by an outsider.
"Who's that?"
You call out while pushing yourself from the bed and making your way to the balcony, displaying no intention of actually opening the door.
"Oh, Miss Stark? I'm terribly sorry, I thought your wife was in here."
You listened to the footsteps of the worker scurry down the hall while sliding the glass doors open and stepping foot onto the balcony.

"She's not my fucking wife yet."
You whispered into the cigarette as the light caught its end.
Taking a particularly long drag, you exhale and close your eyes, leaning against the fence of the outer balcony. Here you are, as alone as the day you were engaged. How ironic.

The door to your bedroom opened gently behind you, which drew your attention forth immediately. Shutting it with care was an older lady, dressed in worker's clothes holding a black bin bag. She dropped the bag before walking towards you.
"I'm sorry but how the fuck did you get in here?"
Completely startled by her entrance and unannounced presence, you stubbed out your practically full cigarette before closing the balcony door.

The woman stood less than a foot away from you, her body uncomfortably close to yours. She was significantly shorter than you, so you found yourself looking down to catch her view. Her eyes, they were so familiar.
She lifts her hand and tucks it behind a lift in her hairline. Confusion washed over you, yet you found yourself unable to look away.
As she tugged at herself, the 'skin' became a digitalised material that came with her pulling fingers. The mask dropped to the floor as the figure pushed ruffled strands from her forehead, revealing herself to you.

The words are there, yet sit stickily between your teeth.
"Aren't you happy to see me?"

Natasha held her arms out in a distinct egoism, waiting for you to embrace her - and that, you did. To feel her arms tucked round behind your waist, her muffled laughter into your chest as you pulled her feet from the ground and hauled her onto the bed - you couldn't have missed it more. Her fingers became tangled in your hair, that familiar sense of home resonating within you after all these years.
"Is it really you?"
She held your face in her hands as your bodies remained intertwined with one another.
"Of course it is."
You sat up, slapping her shoulder once, twice, three times for good measure as she retracted from you.
"All these years, Nat! And you make a show on my fucking wedding day!"

Her smirk and joviality broke down at the reminder.
"I tried my best to stay away."
Even through the years of separation, you very quickly realised how your feelings hadn't diminished in the slightest.
"I never wanted you to stay away, Nat."
"You know that's how it had to be."

She lay her head against your shoulder, running circles up and down your forearm, gently with her fingertip.
"You know I tried to come back. No one can get anywhere near you these days, it seems."
Silence fell. You had no reply to gift her. The momentary bliss had flatlined as you simultaneously realised that this sweet nothing would come to an abrupt halt just as quickly as it had commenced.

"All these years, Nat. Nothing. Yet, I still feel the same."
She stood, shaking herself from you as a doubtful demeanour stained her expression.
"Maybe this was a mistake. I'm disrupting your peace."
You went to grab her hand, stopped by a familiar commotion outside your bedroom door. Wanda's voice echoed a little among the chatter of others. Your alarm hitched.

You rush Natasha onto the balcony, holding her by her hips and begging her to wait it out. You assured her Wanda wouldn't want to look outside, you'd distract her, get her to go. The clatter drew as close as danger, the door handle being keyed and turned.
You held her arm longingly as she turned to face the balcony's edge.
"Please, stay."
Her sorry sage eyes gave you a pre-written answer, her verbal translation was unneeded.
"You know I can't."