✯⋆ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏɴᴏʀ ᴏꜰ ᴡʜᴏ ⋆✯

✯ ℭha𝐏🅃є𝘙 𝔰Ⓘ𝘟 ✯

There was no time to be scared to go into my own house.

But I still sat in the driveway, my adrenaline pumping, but my muscles not daring to make a move as I clutched my necklace like it was my life support.

My house just sat there, as pleasant and sturdy as it had always been, but it was one of the scariest things I'd seen in a while.

A day ago, I would've been relieved to see the white picket fence and blooming flower beds.

As long as I could remember, we lived in the same white house in DC, surrounded with beautiful blue flowers, a nice backyard with a large tree, and navy shutters.

It had two stories, the inside was adorned with oak, every single corner of the house having its due share. During golden hour, the sun would leak in through the windows, setting the oak a glow, warming everything around it, making the dust sparkle like it was a beautiful thing.

But now, I knew it was cold. The warmth wouldn't be there anymore. Because it was never the oak, the shutters, or the sun that made it magic. 

All I could think about while sitting in the driveway was all the memories. Him teaching me to ride a bike, gardening on lazy Sundays. Drawing in chalk under the shade of the oak tree, brushing away the red and gold fallen leaves that always happened to fall right on my drawing. I could almost hear his laughing voice on a spring day echo in my head.

It was gone. Stolen.

And then I remembered the person who took him from me.

Resulting in the haunting of my favorite place.

Any time now, SHIELD is going to show up and take me away. But for some reason, that wasn't enough to get me into the house to retrieve what Sitwell left for me.

But I just sat there, some force keeping me in my seat.

It took all the strength I had to pull open my car door and drag my feet up the sidewalk and to the front door. The experience was reminiscent of when me and Ben had to trudge through the mud.

Kicking over a nearby rock, I picked up the spare key, desperately trying to get it in the door.

And when I did, I still hesitated to open the door, knowing that going in could devastate me and hinder me from doing what was truly important.

My shaky hand lingered near the doorknob, knowing that any moment now, I would have to force myself through the door.

Right at this very moment, I was two halves of a person. I was a person of anger and drive, and I was a person of fear and sadness.

It's how it's been my whole life, but I was at a loss when it came to getting them to collaborate and coexist equally within me. They were always wrestling for dominance over me, scratching and tearing at my decisions to make for a chance to determine what I'd choose.

And they always knew better than the other.

So I let one or the other win. Usually the angry one always seemed to take the crown, but the sadness may finally take over one day and send me rubbing for the hills, where I felt I truly belonged.

Somewhere away. But not too far from the people I loved. Not under anyone's foot, but also not being the foot.

But right now, this was my house. It was my mind.

And it was my Dad.

I tore open the door, and immediately regretted it.

Right by the door sat my Dad's shoes, right where he had carelessly tossed them aside without thinking a single second thought about it.