An unconventional trio

Don't...don't do this

Nova's POV:

The door clicks shut behind him, and the suite falls into an almost tangible silence. My smile fades slowly, replaced by a creeping unease that tightens my chest.

Alone.

I turn, dragging my feet towards my bedroom. The familiar space suddenly feels...foreign. Sitting at my desk, I boot up my computer and let my fingers dance across the keyboard until my playlist begins to play. The music, normally a comforting presence, barely penetrates the cloud of dread settling over me.

I move to the bed and sit, feeling the mattress sink under my weight. My eyes drift to the nightstand where a Redbull can and a bottle of water sit side by side. In my hand, the crinkled chocolate wrapper catches my eye, its message whispering at me: "You make everything lovely."

The feeling in my chest tightens, rising like a tide ready to break. I close my eyes, forcing the mantra through my lips, "Don't...don't do it, Nova. Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't. Do. It."

Images of this morning flicker in my mind like an old film reel, grainy and raw. Bucky's touch, tender and remorseful, as his fingers caressed my left side, his thumb grazing over the dark bruise. His lips followed, pressing soft kisses against my skin, as if he could erase the pain he'd caused. "No....no no," I whisper, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over.

*You don't deserve him*, my brain taunts, the cruel voice echoing louder than the music.

"Oh fuck you, brain!!" I scream, the words tearing from my throat as the first hot tear breaks free, soon followed by more. I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking with each sob. The weight of everything crashes over me, the tenderness Bucky showed, the guilt, the fear. It's all too much.

The voice in my head continues, relentless, *Tell me I'm wrong*. The tears stream down my cheeks, hot and unrelenting. *He's too good for you.*

My sobs echo in the quiet room, mixing with the soft strains of music, creating a haunting symphony. I rock back and forth slightly, clutching my arms around myself as if I could hold all the broken pieces together. The voice doesn't stop. *He's too good for you, Nova. You'll just drag him down.*

"No," I whisper, my voice trembling, barely audible over my crying. "No, that's not true." But the words feel empty, a futile attempt to drown out the voice that's been my constant tormentor.

Images of Bucky's face flash before my eyes—his warm smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, the gentle way he touched my bruised skin this morning. The gentle way he always touches me. The care he always shows me. *He deserves better*, the voice hisses, each word a dagger to my heart.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will the voice away. "He cares about me," I say, trying to find strength in the words, though they feel weak against the barrage of my inner critic. "He... he chose me."

*For now*, the voice counters, dripping with venom. *But how long before he sees the real you? How long before he realizes he made a mistake?*

"No!" I scream, the sound raw and desperate, tearing through the room. My fists clench, nails digging into my palms as if physical pain could drown out the mental anguish. "He cares about me. He cares about me," I repeat, like a prayer, like a lifeline.

I look at the nightstand again, at the remnants of his kindness—the Redbull can, the water bottle, the chocolate wrapper. "You make everything lovely." The words taunt me now, a cruel reminder of a happiness I feel slipping through my fingers.

The tears come harder, faster. *You'll never be enough*, the voice persists. *You'll ruin this, just like you ruin everything.*

"Stop it," I beg, my voice cracking, my vision blurring. "Please, just stop." I curl up on the bed, drawing my knees to my chest, rocking myself like a child seeking comfort. But there's no escaping my own mind, no shutting out the voice that knows all my insecurities, my deepest fears.

*He's too good for you*, it repeats, over and over, until the words are a part of the rhythm of my sobs. Until I'm too exhausted to fight back, until all I can do is lie there, broken and spent, wishing the voice would just let me be, even for a moment.

"Si... Siri," I call out, my voice trembling, barely audible between my sobs. "Te... te... text Tony."

"What would you like to say to Tony?" Siri's calm, mechanical voice replies, a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind.

I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself enough to form the words. "I can't... can't make it... to training. I don't... I don't feel good," I stutter, each word a struggle, as if the act of speaking could push the pain away.

Siri repeats the message back to me, her voice steady and unfeeling. "Would you like to send it or change it?"

"Send," I reply quietly, my voice barely more than a whisper. The word feels final, a tiny action in a moment where everything else feels out of control.

Once the message is sent, I fumble with my phone, turning it on do not disturb. The silence that follows is both a relief and a burden. I clutch my pillow tightly, burying my face in its softness, hoping it might muffle the sound of my sobs, hoping it might provide some comfort.

"Please," I whisper into the fabric, my voice breaking, "please, just shut up." I beg my brain to stop, to give me a moment's peace, but the voice persists, relentless and cruel.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the world, trying to block out the voice that won't let me be. The tears continue to fall, soaking into the pillow, and I clutch it tighter, as if holding on for dear life.

The minutes tick by, each one feeling like an eternity. The music plays softly in the background, a distant reminder of normalcy, but it does nothing to drown out the storm inside me. I can still hear the voice, still feel its presence, gnawing at my sanity.

*He's too good for you,* it whispers, over and over, like a mantra meant to break me. I curl into myself, wishing for the darkness to take me, wishing for the pain to stop.

All I can do is lie there, clutching my pillow, silently begging my brain to shut off, to give me a reprieve from the torment. But deep down, I know it won't. The voice is always there, waiting for moments like this, ready to remind me of who I am....and exactly what I deserve.

I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the storm inside. "Please," I whisper again, my voice hoarse, my heart heavy. "Please, just let me be."