Easier Than Lying

17

A day or two passes, at least I think it's only been that long. There are no windows in the supply closet so I honestly couldn't say if one day has passed or three. Klaue doesn't come back to see me, but one of his cronies has been assigned to watch over me and make sure I don't try anything. The one pathetic escape I tried to make ended in a sprained ankle and a black eye. Every once in a while, a scrap of food is tossed into me, or a single bottle of water. After a lot of banging and yelling, I get a bathroom break every few hours, but I'm starting to go a little nuts.

While I'm staring blankly ahead, imagining all the scenarios in which I am miraculously rescued by my knight in shining armor and the bad guys are taken away, the door swings open and an angry Klaue walks in.

"Get up," he growls. I stagger to my feet and he yanks on my arm to pull me out of the room to the middle of the warehouse where a lone chair sits.

"Clearly our little plan didn't go the way we wanted to, so I think we need to find a new way of bribing Barnes into coming to find you."

"Are you sure you gave him the right address? New York is pretty big and you were pretty vague in your messages to Fury Agency. I heard you talking to what's-his-face over there who's been watching me." I say, tilting my head back to look up at him. He glares at me.

"Shut up." He nods at his man and the guy pulls out his phone to record. Klaue steps closer to me and I see the glint of the knife as he slides it out of his waistband holster.

"W-what are you going to do to me?" I stutter out, my eyes not leaving the metal. He just smiles evilly.

"James needs to hear your voice Ms. Tomlinson, why don't you say hello?" he asks softly, which is a thousand times scarier than having him yell. Before I can react, the knife is plunged into my side and I scream.

"I'm not playing Barnes. You better come get your girl or there won't be anything left of her when you get here," Klaue says, looking into the camera. Tears drip down my face and the pain in my side is indescribable.

"Bandage her up and put her back," Klaue barks at his companion. He pulls me to my feet and I let out a yelp, letting him pull me back to the closet.

"You're fine. It didn't even go that deep," he says before pushing me inside and locking the door behind me. I fall onto the floor, clutching the bloody wound.

After a moment of trying my best to not move, I know that if I stay lying here I'll bleed out. I pull my t-shirt over my head and using my teeth, rip it into strips that I can tie around my waist to help staunch the blood oozing out of my skin. I take a deep, shaky breath and lean back against the wall, the cement cool against my skin. I have to get out of here. I can't keep waiting for someone to come rescue me. Bucky is in Wakanda, Nat is probably on her way if she's not there already too. Who knows where the rest of the agents of Fury are and what they're doing. If I keep sitting here, all they're going to find left of me is my corpse.

Klaue didn't zip tie my hands together this time, he must've figured that stabbing me was enough to incapacitate any escape plans. With the bleeding stopped, I slowly get to my feet, sucking in a breath every time any sudden movement results in flashes of pain. It takes a long time, but I am finally able to stumble over to the shelves of cleaning supplies to look around for something to help aid my escape.

After a few minutes, the pain is too much and I sink back down onto the floor. I take a breath, trying to focus on my breathing and not the immense pain I'm in. Tears sting my eyes and I can't stop them any more. I sit like that for a while, crying and bleeding and wishing that someone, anyone, would come find me and get me the hell out of this place.

Thinking of escape, though, inevitably gets me started on thinking of Bucky and I just really want to get out of here so I can go find him and hopefully never have to be away from him again. As much as it pains me to admit it, I love that man. I think I have for a while now. When we first started training, when Nat first told me that she had a friend who'd be willing to take me on as a client, I really expected the relationship to remain professional. Bucky soon proved that impossible. His endless determination to help me get better, his constant teasing and nitpicking, hell even his nagging about my form not being absolutely perfect both got on my nerves and made me want to get better not for myself, but for him. So that he would praise me and tell me how well I was doing and so I'd get at least a sliver of hope that maybe training would turn into something more.