Hate to love you

Chapter 4

It was the sharp sunlight hitting your eyes that woke you up the next morning. You blinked, motionless, feeling pliant and warm against the soft, cotton sheets. Taking in a deep breath, you allowed your body to stir slightly before you rolled onto your back, eyes focusing on the unfamiliar ceiling.

It took only a moment to register where you were before the heavy feeling came back again. The same feeling that had been weighing you down for weeks now. You sighed, not bothering to move as you replayed the conversation of last night in your head.

With enough sleep and a clear head, you were able to properly process the words that had been exchanged, something you hadn’t done yesterday. Bucky’s face flashed in your mind, the hurt and anger, the tears in his eyes. You felt your jaw clenching at the memory, body going slightly stiff.

That’s what you always seem to do. Run away from your problems.

You remembered then, almost as vividly as it had happened yesterday, packing a bag with your most important belongings. A memory from many, many years ago. The clock had just struck 2, the window outside showing nothing but darkness, a lone street light doing nothing to illuminate the path below. You remembered the tears that streamed down your face, hands trembling so hard you could barely close the zipper.

You had flinched when the bathroom door had slammed shut, followed by a brief silence before the sound of running water reached your ears. You had lifted the suitcase in your hands, not wanting to drag it across the floor and make noise. Gently, you had placed the key to the apartment on the coffee table in the living room before walking to the door, closing it behind you.

Maybe you had run away. But you had a very good reason to.

You doubted that Bucky would have noticed you leaving even if you hadn’t been silent, considering that he was blackout wasted. You could have kicked the door down on your way out and he wouldn’t have budged.

Maybe you should have waited until he was sober to leave. But you hadn’t been clear minded at that time. You were emotional, hurt, angry. All the worst combinations put together.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you slowly returned to the present, noticing the complete lack of sound from anywhere in your current apartment. You turned your head to look at the door, as if waiting for it to open and someone to step through. Nothing happened. Slowly, you lifted yourself from the soft mattress, your bare feet coming in contact with the cold marble floor. You puttered over to the door, slowly easing the handle down and opening it so it wouldn’t make noise. Maybe Bucky was still asleep.

The door to Bucky’s room was open, showing a perfectly made bed and no living being in there. The hallway was empty, as was the living room. You frowned before moving to another door towards your left, stopping in  the doorway.

It was a kitchen, sleek, marble counters and a shining cooking range. Bucky was sitting on a stool at the counter, a steaming mug of coffee and an empty plate before him. He was holding a piece of toast, mouth slowly moving as he chewed. His focus, however, was on the tablet in his hand, eyes moving over the lit screen.

He was dressed in a dark grey suit. The first button of his white shirt was open under the suit jacket, and there was no tie. His long hair was once again slicked back, a single loose strand hanging over his eye. You cleared your throat.

He looked up at the sound, chewing stilling before he resumed it again, turning back to the screen.

“Morning.” He mumbled. “Coffee’s made.” He pointed to the coffeemaker next to the stove, dark liquid visible through the clear kettle.