"Let me see your arm," Natasha said, the two of them already settled, and Natasha tending to Nadia's cut. Nadia extended her arm, and Natasha worked swiftly.
"We're gonna have to dye your hair," Natasha informed her.
"I'm not doing that," Nadia resisted, pulling her arm away from Natasha's grasp.
"You have to, Nadia. This isn't a game. We're on the run," Natasha's voice escalated.
"I'm not doing it," she replied in a low whisper.
Unfazed, Natasha continued, "Fine, if you don't want to dye it, we can just cut it—"
"You're not doing anything to my hair!" Nadia shouted.
It took Natasha a moment to grasp the significance, recalling a specific night in the Red Room when she was forced to witness a young girl getting her head shaved as punishment for attempting to escape. It was a cruel tactic meant to strip them of their identity.
"I understand now. It's okay," she reassured.
Nadia nodded silently, tears streaming down her face. It was evident to Natasha that Nadia wasn't like the other widows; she displayed emotion. Natasha, unsure how to comfort her, softly placed a hand on her back and shared something she wished she had heard during her own escape.
"They're not gonna get their hands on you ever again, okay? You're safe."
After Nadia calmed down a bit, Natasha rose and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Nadia sniffled.
"To buy some wigs and eye contacts for you."
Upon Natasha's return, Nadia remained in the same position, staring into nothingness. Natasha called her, but there was no response. She called a few more times, but still, nothing.
She shook her. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"Huh, what," Nadia said, snapping out of her thoughts.
"You weren't answering me. What were you thinking about?" Natasha questioned.
Nadia's hand subconsciously went to her neck, touching the scar from her Red Room days.
"My past," Nadia said.
"The Red Room or Hydra?" Natasha inquired.
"Both," Nadia answered.
"Wanna talk about it?" Natasha hesitantly asked.
"Talk about what? How they used me, abused me? Took away my mother from me? What should I talk about?" Nadia said, feeling annoyed by Natasha's persistence.
"Well, you can talk about how you got that scar, for starters," Natasha calmly responded.
"Just usual training," she shrugged.
"I think it was more than that," Natasha urged.
"Forget it," Nadia said.
"If you just talk about it, you—"
"I said forget it. I don't want to talk about it," she dismissed.
"Fine," Natasha said blankly.
"It's getting late, so I'm gonna take a shower. You can go after," she added.
"I'm tired. I'll take one in the morning," Nadia said.
Natasha nodded and headed for the bathroom.
"Wait, Natasha," Nadia stopped her.
"Yea?"
"I need handcuffs," she said.
Without a word, Natasha went into her bag, retrieving a pair of handcuffs. Understanding what Nadia needed, she restrained one of her hands to the bedpost. In the Red Room, they were always handcuffed to their beds when they slept. Natasha's first night free from the Red Room's control had been exhausting. She had craved the security of the handcuffs. Over time, she learned to be without them, and she hoped Nadia would too.
The next day, Nadia woke up to the smell of food. Trying to get up, she realized her hand was handcuffed to the bed.
"Right," she muttered, sighing.
"Natasha, I'm up," she shouted.
Natasha entered the room and unlocked the handcuffs. Nadia rubbed her wrist and got out of bed.
"Shower," Natasha said, tossing a towel at her.
Nadia's POV
"Shower," Natasha said, throwing me a towel.
I went to the bathroom, got out of my shirt and pants, leaving me in just my bra and underwear, then turned on the shower. As the water cascaded down, I stared at the mirror, examining my reflection. All I could see was a monster assassin. Now free from Hydra's control, I remembered everything—every life I took, every person I hurt and deceived. The bruises and scars on my body were constant reminders of the torture I endured, the prominent scar on my middle back, a result of experimentation.
The Red Room taught us there was no room for weakness. Hydra molded me into a killing machine. Yet, somehow, I let Natasha in more than once. What was wrong with me? How could I be so weak? Anger toward myself grew, and I resorted to the only coping mechanism that had helped me in the past.
Content Warning: Self-Harm Begins For readers who may find such content distressing, it is advised to skip the following section.
I curled my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms. It hurt, but I didn't wince. I deserved this—for being weak, for being worthless, for crying in front of Natasha. The pain offered solace, so I dug even harder. When I looked at my hands, they were bleeding. Maybe if I dug hard enough, I'd be forgiven for showing weakness. Natasha's entrance interrupted my thoughts. I quickly covered my hands behind my back.
Conclusion of Self-Harm Scene
"Sorry, I thought you were already in the shower. I just came in to give you—" she stopped herself, her eyes widening as she looked at my body.
"Get out!" I yelled.
She left the room quickly. I shouldn't have yelled at her; I just never wanted her to see that. She probably had similar scars, but they all had to have healed by now. She's going to pester me about this. I know it. But right now, my focus is on taking a long hot shower.
YOU ARE READING
Lost Widow
FanfictionMonths after Natasha Romanoff was arrested by authorities and escaped, she is now on the run once again and runs into the second most deadly assassin. When Natasha Romanoff was seventeen she was chosen for a special assignment. To birth a child. Dr...
