HEARSAY - Bucky BarnesxOC

seventeen: invisible string

CW: Discussions of suicide, hospitals, and descriptions of wounds.

Wattpad has decided that my image is not appropriate for their servers despite it literally just being pictures of fictional characters and NYC, so they told me to remove it. Eat my dick, Wattpad! 

MARGOT

NEW YORK PRESBYTERIAN

The walls are breathing and I swear to God there's a fucking centaur stitching James's face up right now. I want to tell him, but he's staring straight ahead with his eyes practically bulging out as the centaur doctor works on his face.

Okay, so, I think that mescaline was a little stronger than I originally thought.

The centaur finishes up, cleans up James's face, and walks away, and I lean over.

"He's not human, right?" I whisper. "You saw that too?"

"Yeah, he had tentacles," James murmurs. "Everyone in here is some kind of sea creature. Except for the ghosts standing at the back of the room— do you think those are people who died here?"

I look up and see a lineup of black figures standing along the wall and my heart starts to race. I know I'm high, but for some reason, it doesn't help matters much. Is there such a thing as a shared hallucination? Is that possible? Or is it just the power of suggestion?

My nails dig into my thighs and the centaur is talking to Scott, who seems to have grown a horn in the middle of his forehead. It's sticking out of his cap. Slowly, I exhale, my limbs tingling and my mouth dry. They haven't drug tested us yet— at least, I don't think they have. There's more mescaline in my purse, and Scott cannot find out. They'll send me to jail.

As tough as I thought I was, I don't think I'd do very well there.

Steve is beside us, getting stitches in his face. He's the only person in this entire ER who actually looks human. He's got two swollen eyes, a broken nose, and his t-shirt used to be white. Part of me feels just the tiniest twinge of guilt, but I have to admit, it was really fucking hot to see James stand up to him like that. Without thinking, I weave my fingers into his as Scott waltzes over.

"Margot, I've called your brother. He's on his way to the hospital. We're going to be taking Steve to the station and it's up to you if you want to press charges or not."

"What about me?!" Steve's pinched voice yelps. "Don't I get to press charges?"

"Against who?" Scott laughs. "You were the aggressor. My partner, Detective Fury, is at the nightclub right now. While you were getting your face stitched up, he radioed me and said that someone saw you storming toward the back door, talking about how you were going to kill James."

"Wait," I breathe. "My brother? You called my brother?"

I might be stoned and he might have a unicorn horn, but I'm cognizant enough to know that this isn't a good fucking sign. The only thing left to come out now is the truth, and I honestly don't know if I'm ready for that.

"Well, yeah. Margot, your file says you're on a particular kind of probation and... while this was self defense, your brother's your attorney—"

"No, I am," James cuts in. "It's... it's me and Matt."

"Well, either way, if you're pressing charges, your brother has to know what happened." His eyes volley between the two of us. "Why, is there something you're not telling me?"

I swallow and James sucks in a deep breath.

"Margot and I have been seeing each other for... the past couple of weeks. Matt doesn't know. It's extremely unethical and Margot's my legal assistant."