Secretive - Bucky Barnes

18 || Routines

[James]
The next morning, first thing on the agenda for me is taking another walk with Coco. It is actually really calming down my nerves, something I got used to over the last weeks. We would have the same route always, through a nearby park, and I would jog all the way with her catching up sometimes, other times minding her own business. Fresh air blows onto my face, the sky in warm colours as the sun rose above the crowns of trees on the other side of the park, introducing a wonderful day in the midst of April.

Just we would not be here to enjoy it.

Not that I actually could enjoy anything at all at the moment.

When I am back and fed the dog, I go for a cold shower. I got used to it, starting when I needed anything to get my mind off Nova in the beginning. With recognizing the wakening effect of it, it soon became daily routine, too, and although my sleep schedule is not exactly healthy, I am entirely woken up the moment I step out of my shower. Coco is ready, too, and after getting dressed, both of us are making our way into the kitchen. We are always the first ones to enter it, and I am very grateful for it.

Because in the morning, it is the worst.

Thoughts of her ghost rush through my mind with the memories of my dreams. They shifted a couple days after she left; it is not me anymore who takes the seat in the chair for deleting anything one could remind, but Nova. It is always Nova. Screaming, scratching the people, killing one or two on the way but not strong enough. I may can hold the contents of my dreams back during my run, sprinting whenever they try to catch my attention and set my lungs on fire rather than my heart, but the moment it becomes so awfully quiet in the morning with nothing but Coco's nose pushing the crumbs of her food through her bowl and the crack of it in between her sharp teeth, they come back. Images of Nova in that said chair, of her dark brown eyes becoming all blank and attacking me without sense, just because someone named the same trigger words that used to function with me. And still do.

One of the worst parts, next to her clear suffering, is me not being able to help it. I stand on the opposite of the room, unmoving. Not able to reach her, or even take a step, or bend a finger. There is no way I could get to her, free her out of this misery. I have to watch her die night for night a little more, night for night seeing the light darkening that earlier had been so present, illuminating everyone around her. 

It is no body torture anymore my dreams ride me through, but a mind one, and I cannot do anything to change it. 

Sighing, I grab a bowl and put in some cereal, then milk. I wonder who buys this stuff for us; Steve and I eat like bullocks, but still, there always seem to be new supplies. We are never running out of anything, which, admittedly, is quite an improvement from what I have been used to.

I gave Tony his apartment back long ago, moving all my belongings while Nova had been on mission with Sam and Steve. Some part of me wanted to force myself to tell her, starting with the fact I did not own a flat in the first place, but it came differently. Nonetheless, I am happy I do not need to go shopping anymore by myself; the lingering or scared looks always terrified me. I never wanted to be the centre of attention, as long as I have been Nova's. 

When I hear silent footsteps erupt through the corridor, I already am leaning on the bar just like yesterday, shoving my meal into my mouth and not even needing to look into the door frame to see who had approached. After living in here for months, I know the rhythm of every of their paces; Tony's faster but lighter than Steve's, Banner's like he was on tiptoes, and Natasha's, the ones I heard now, the lightest of them all. Like she still tried to sneak round, although she is not even on a mission. It must have become a habit of hers.

»Good morning« she greets, voice a little raspy as it would be the first thing she said today. She moves along behind me to the shelves, and from the corner of my eye, I can make out jogging pants and a black top, her red hair falling openly around her slender shoulders.