Cherry || b.barnes

28 || The Beauty and the Beast

The following night, I sleep everything but well. Images of what was incoming lay in my front, capturing every colorful particle my brain could come up with instead of frequent nightmares getting the best of me and my lungs.

It doesn't feel like it's supposed to. Throughout all the years that have passed by ever since I vowed to kill Captain America, not only to my mother but to myself, the anticipation was a hot-prickling thing roaming inside my chest, then and now crawling up to the surface. While normal people my age were excited about incoming concerts or another season of their favorite TV show, everything that kept me going was the vivid vision of mine pointing a gun right to my father's head.
And tonight, as the few last hours pass by before reaching that goal, I wonder if the feeling of satisfaction would set in the way I always assumed. I often heard that death of the responsible person wasn't equal to inner peace, but then again, I couldn't imagine it doing nothing. And if it was the tiniest part of me that could finally find some calm, finally exhale after weeks and months and years of holding its breath, it would be worth it.
I just can't think of anything bad that could result of it, should my plan succeed. Sure, I would be going to prison or watching death penalty right in the eye, but that's nothing too bad to me. I long ago accepted that fate, because like I already accepted, too; people wouldn't see me as the savior I am to them. They wouldn't see how I would cage the devil's soul right into the abyss it belongs, stopping it from wandering freely about and hurting and murdering innocents.

All they would see was a failed brat that had some more or less major psychological issues shooting her own father. And yes, I also expect them to know the truth, then.

Because in this battle, I may not be able to contain my blood inside my body, won't be able to evade even the smallest scratch. And if they recognized it was me who did it, they sure as hell would to anything to figure out the purpose of it. Not that I would talk. So, they need other methods, starting with identifying me and thereby trying to dug out truths long buried.

Of course, there is the possibility that it doesn't work. That something goes wrong, that Hydra dances behind my back. Although, I must admit, after the final meeting with them tonight, it seems pretty clear that we're currently on the same side. As much as it disgusts me. After all, I'm sure they're incapable killing of Steven Rogers themselves, and therefore anyways have to wait until I did my part.

Rolling onto my back in the soft-cushioned bed, my gaze focuses on the white ceiling. It's merely lit by the moonlight pouring in from the window, the night trying its best to spread Melatonin in my body, but my body has other ideas. Instead, and as much as I try to avoid it wandering off, I can't escape that thought forever. I can't spend hours with getting through my plans for each one of the present people, or repeat my monologue in front of Hydra's assigned soldiers, each word of my instructions.

After all, the thought wins, clouding the sky of my mind in dripping crimson. I lied when I said I had no bad consequences should I succeed.

Because there's one bad consequence, and it lays asleep a few levels higher, and went on three dates with me during the last week.

I can't believe I let it win. Can't believe I let my own feelings become major enough to push the strongest promise inside me back, with each time they flatter around more effortlessly. I don't get how I could tremble into him weeks ago, how he managed to open me up both mentally and physically. What is it about him?

Maybe, I'm just taking him because I know it would hurt Steve. Would hurt him to know that I had his best friend wrapped around my finger. As hard as it sounds and as much as I inflict agonizing pain to my chest, I know it would hurt him should he know that I had more than just one opportunity to kill James. The only thing he has left that means something to him, really. That I could threaten him with this closeness. That I have his life and heart in the palm of my hand.