𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡 | 𝗡. 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗙𝗙

»»» 𝔳𝔦.𝔦𝔦𝔦

trigger warnings : blood, ptsd

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𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Truth woke up sometime around two a.m.

It was pitch black in her room, a refreshing breeze combating the warmth of the comforter around her. She was alone in the room with Heidi next to her, her fingers threaded through her fur. Her head felt sore, and it seemed to hurt more when she thought about it so she bypassed that assessment quickly.

She would've stayed there longer, listening to Heidi breathe, safely under the covers, but a new problem quickly became apparent in fewer than a couple of seconds.

Her stomach made an offensively loud noise. Truth frowned at the interruption and attempted to ignore it.

Only, she hadn't been the only one to hear it. Heidi booped her with her cold nose, to which Truth made a face.

It took another five minutes before she sat up, frown deepening at the slight dizziness from the movement. Two more minutes, and she was standing, wrapping a throw blanket around herself like a burrito as she shuffled down the hall. 

It was a testament to her awareness that she did see the movement as it happened. Mental fatigue didn't hinder years of muscle memory.

But, it did slow down her reflexes.

And that was why when the knife was thrown, she fumbled, because her instinct was to reach out with her telekinesis but that wasn't an option in her state. All it took was a sidestep for her to keep out of its path, but if she didn't stop the knife it would embed itself in the frame behind her and, for some reason, all she could think of was trying to explain any broken objects to her brother at a later date.

Under more clarity, she would've known that Michael probably wouldn't care. In fact, if the frame had broken, she could've easily bought a new one and fixed any nicks in the paint herself.

And yet, she didn't think of that in the moment. She only knew that there would be quite the mess if she let the knife continue its course, and she didn't particularly want to deal with the aftermath.

With this reasoning, her hand shot out despite the late timing, catching the knife by the hilt as the continued momentum of the throw forced the blade to cut into the skin of her forearm. 

Truth's curse in Greek was what brought Natasha back to herself. She blinked, confused at the moisture in her eyes, and the darkened room. 

She'd been watching the rest of the movie when...

Disoriented, Natasha glanced over the back of the couch, fear creeping up her spine.

"Natasha," Truth murmured softly, her free hand out to placate her. She hid the knife behind her back, hoping not to incite another attack. "Natasha, it's Truth."