Cherry || b.barnes

48 || Troublemaker

»What? What are you talking about?« Steven asks, his voice several octaves higher than usually. The confusion in his face is brighter than a Christmas tree. »I'm pretty sure we had-«

»Yeah, yeah. I don't wanna know any of that. Spare the details.« I interrupt, balancing my weight on the hard mattress. This is even more discomforting than I expected. »Let me finish, and then say something, okay?«

Intensive cerulean eyes make me uneasy, but I swallow down the little knot in my throat and straighten my back, readying myself to continue. Of course, I thought about telling him then and now, but my horizon in that has been limited. I never really thought about the how, majorly about his reaction. Really should've gone for that, too. 

Steven registers my lack of words, and that makes him nervous. He shifts in his seat, dark eyebrows narrowed, eyes a little squeezed, trying to make sense out of invisible things. He's supporting himself with one hand on the bed, finally, and the other on his thigh, fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm that soon are going to drive me insane.

»I am your offspring, obviously. And I obviously... developed in Maria's stomach. But I found something else that's quite disturbing, so it's good that you're already sitting.« He only blinks at this, and it is then that I realize how awful that attempt of mine to loosen the mood a little has been. »You know, with all my powers and stuff? With the... the sucking the life out of people, their powers?«

He nods again, his movement a lot less smooth and a lot more static than I'm used to. Finding another new position, his digits now drum on the white blanket beneath him. I have to give him that he doesn't say a word and really lets me finish, despite his suffering in unawareness. »Well, apparently... Uhm, I don't know how, but Hydra took your-« I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the fact that this is way beyond the usual topics you have with somewhat parents, because this is definitely not what I ever wanted to discuss with America's mascot, »your sperm and got an egg cell of some... some Anna Marie LeBeau and mixed it in the lab. Mum- Maria got it implanted, then. That's pretty much all I know.« Taking a short pause, I let that seep in, »I guess we have something in common now, at least. We're both laboratory experiments.« Blushing a little, I put forwards a couple strands of almost black hair in hopes he doesn't the color tainting my face.

Steven doesn't answer. For a whole while. He's plainly staring at me, well, right through me, almost like the few words spoken out of my mouth catapulted him back in time, into a whole other world. I feel invisible to him as one of his hands goes up to his face, rubbing his chin. Seconds, minutes pass with no counter, with no reaction. I fear my words might've frozen him like the ice for decades did. The only evidence that there's still life in him is the regular heaving of his shoulders due to his breathing, and the powerful heartbeat thundering in his chest.

Fiddling with my fingers, I feel myself swooped into a more and more unpleasant situation. I mean, I expected him to reproach me, to announce me a liar. To defend Maria. To maybe even cry for the lies he's been told if he believed me. I wasn't sure, doubted he would. I even assumed he'd just go for the door and leave me alone.

But he doesn't, and it is unnerving. At one point, I thought something might could come when his eyes flickered to the grey file on the nightstand to my right, but several minutes of utter silence followed, causing me to eventually get the word. I rarely have been so embarrassed in my whole life, and that state threatens to put a rope around my neck and pull tight, giving every now and then a little tug, a steady reminder that I still do not trust anything that he's doing, not even remote to completely.

I would feel much safer if I had a knife, although he just sits there, shoulders slacked, looking almost... vulnerable. But that doesn't need to necessarily mean anything. Carnivorous plants look innocent and decent for their prey, too. Not a single whisper spilling from their poisonous mouth until it's too late. Yet, I have never ever, not in a single note or newspaper, discovered Steven Grant Rogers speechless. »This must be a shock for you, I mean-«