Cherry || b.barnes

29 || Still

I sleep dreamless that night. Because I know, inevitably, I will destroy every chance of dreaming I ever had and am going to have the next day. All that will be left are monstrous nightmares.

I also sleep without having nightmares. Because even they are too scared of someone who doesn't even let love stop her devilish plans. For once, they don't haunt me, because I'm haunting them.

The second I close my eyes is the same second I open them again. At least, it feels like this. My entire body aches, every muscle in every limb painful with the perspective of the day. I feel a naked chest heaving beneath my right cheek, a warm body so close to me I kicked away the blanket at some point the night to have nothing, nothing else but him heating me up. To have him be my everything; everything I need to sleep safely, properly.
Maybe the visions of today weren't the reason my nightmares stayed in their pitch-black caves after all. Maybe it was his presence that is shield enough for me, as I am for him.

Because he didn't scream either. Didn't get nervous. Didn't wake up sweat-coated as he claims to due to his past. I wake up in his arms and am held like a lover, by a lover, held close enough I would declare it cheesy if I wasn't enjoying it so much. His warm arms, the left one accostumed to my body temperature over the past hours, both closed around me, lifting half of my body onto his. Face snuggled into my hair, as if he is scenting me in his sleep for therapy; resulting in his oh so peaceful expression. He's still deeply asleep, eyes unmoving behind pale lids and I'm so happy to have him deny me a glance of his arctic paradise.

Because I'm undeserving. And I won't ever deserve to look at them again. And I would, I would take it selfishly, egocentrically just as I took everything he gave me to now knowing I shouldn't.

Maybe it was the danger that made him catch my attention. Maybe I'm already crazy enough to like dancing on the knife's blade for weeks.

And he made me weak, so fucking weak. I can't even prevent myself from a last glance, can't avoid my eyes wandering over his lean muscled torso, my hair scattered about his cleanly shaved chest and dogtags laying right in the middle between his peachy nipples on the bone separating each breast. Can't avoid my hand stroking over the too-soft skin for a too-rough man, can't avoid it stopping right above his strong heart, beating so powerful it's inhuman. But still my favorite rhythm. I can't avoid the somersault my heart takes as he grins in his sleep when my other hand glides along his strong jaw, through his hair, eyes examining his long lashes casting shadows over his cheeks, his perfectly fitting nose, dark brows. I inhale every detail of him, once more try to memorize this moment, this very last moment of ours he's not even a participant in.

Because I don't let myself hope for nothing. He, like everyone else, will see me as a demon as soon as today meets the break of dawn. He won't thank me to force him to go away. Won't thank me to spare him from the sight of his best friend dying by the gun of his own daughter who he doesn't know a single thing about. He won't thank me to have ordered him to get himself his favorite meals in the kitchen, to force him to choose a cozy place and take everything he needs with him. He won't thank me that I won't abuse him, won't slap him, won't use him for anything else but getting away in that state. He won't thank me to send him away to have him avoiding Hydra getting the upper hand over him again.

I'm not delusional.
I'm realistic.
Also, I would never forgive that person either. Much more, I would want to be their death.

Maybe I should grant him that relief. I will have to die anyways, be it death penalty or some psycho fan of Captain America's, some extraordinary confident prisoner. Maybe, just maybe, I will make up for what I'm about to do by simply offering him my life. Placing a gun in his hand and have him shoot me.
That's what I would want.