Forgotten feelings

Part ~ 1

Is it possible to fall in love at first sight? I always thought it was some nonsense made up by people for more romantic films or books. "Eyes give away emotions," they always said, although that was partly my truth too. Every time I look in the mirror, I see that tortured, pain-filled gaze that has witnessed war, killings, cruelty, blood, violence — hardly anything pleasant. The smile was fake, dulling my emotions that increasingly wanted to break free, but all I saw were nightmares. Those pale faces that visited me, I begged them to leave me alone, but they swore they would still avenge their death. So, if someone sees me smiling, it's because I allow myself to be seen that way, nothing more. There's no hint of a positive emotion or thought. So, love...

It's either there, or it never will be. I no longer believe in fate; it always threw obstacles in my way. And saying that fate hasn't sent me love yet is just an excuse not to look for anyone. Not to dive into these feelings headfirst because I might harm them without even realizing it. I would truly never hurt a woman, but my psychological state seems to suggest otherwise. It's not that I lash out at people or show aggression. I still can't come to terms with the past and accept the pure, bright present. And it seems no woman would want to build her future with a 107-year-old war veteran who was a cold-blooded killer in the past. And I won't keep everything a secret, nor do I want to, because what's the point of a relationship built on lies and secrecy? Just so that you can share everything that bothers you every day, not be afraid to show your emotions, and express your thoughts. And then, after that, hear such blissful words of support that it feels like you're in heaven. Forget it..!

Forget everything I said about not wanting to seek out a relationship. I'm lying to myself. Do I feel a burning pain every time I pass parks, playgrounds, squares, streets? Places that seem to be filled with young people, seemingly so in love and devoted to each other. Children, joyful laughter, warmth. A feeling of shame, envy, misunderstanding eats at me every time I come home to an empty, cold, and uncomfortable apartment. And from every corner, they talk about family, the importance of relationships, and eternal love until the grave. Condemned to eternal darkness and loneliness. Even though I didn't choose this path...I don't need nobody!

— So, Mr. Barnes, why don't you want to talk to anyone? — The wrinkled female psychologist nervously scribbled something in her notebook. Dark strands of dyed, graying hair fell across her face. Bucky gave a fake smile, letting her know that he was more mocking her than truly seeking help from a specialist who seemed to be just automatically doing her job without even thinking about the patients' feelings.

— I do talk. — He replied, averting his gaze, one of the few signs of lying. The second and final sign was that he licked his lips and looked into her eyes for a long time. Now she was mocking him.

— Give me your phone! — Without any sense of tact, she immediately switched to informal speech. A rude woman who didn't care about anything except her job. Maybe she has a husband, with whom they have probably lived for many years, and there's no love there, it's all just for the kids. He shook his head somewhat aggressively, probably thinking about what he was even doing there, and pulling an old button phone from his pocket, threw it into her hands. She caught it deftly, without even blinking, as she went into the call history. After analyzing it for a few seconds, she smiled, as if asserting herself at his expense.

— In the last few days, you've only called me. You're lonely, James, you're alone. — This was the last drop in an already overflowing cup. She carelessly handed him back his phone. And James simply got up from his seat opposite her and headed for the exit.

— See you, Doc! — maintaining his composure, he left this room of torture and interrogations, keeping a serious and stern face. Though behind this mask hid the scream of his soul and body.

Alcohol, it always saved me. Although most would now say that it only numbs the pain during its action. Afterward, everything returns to its place with greater amplitude. Maybe I would agree with this statement, but not now. Alcohol doesn't affect me in the way it should. The serum slows down its effect with a fast metabolism. I only feel a slight relaxation and separation of mind and body. I'm not a drunkard and don't feel the need to stop; it still doesn't harm my body.

Today, it seemed the atmosphere inside the bar was different — special. Although Bucky had been visiting this bar for several months, almost every day, the atmosphere was always sticky, unpleasant, but in its own way soothing. The hall was half-empty, as it always was, at least something remained the same today. Behind the bar counter, where James's friend Nakajima always sat, it was empty. Most likely, the old man was resting at home; the hour was late, and he's not 20 years old anymore to sit all night and drink.

There was more light this time; he unobtrusively walked to the bar and sat down. And without saying anything, the bartender was already preparing him two tequilas, after which he would have some cognac, and then even the beer didn't seem so bitter and astringent. He was a regular customer here, so the bartender knew in advance what time he would come and what he would order.

Two transparent shots with a clear flammable liquid and a slice of lime and salt were placed in front of him. Bucky confidently downed it without even touching the lime, which would have altered the taste, and the feelings weren't the same. He stared at the lines of text in some local newspaper. Not even understanding the meaning of what was written, he just wanted to appear busy and stay silent. Something the very sociable bartender would not have allowed him to do.

Only when the light dimmed slightly, becoming less bright, and the soft sound of a guitar began to play, a quiet female voice started to sing a song unfamiliar to him. He realized what had changed and slowly turned his head to the stage, which had been empty a few days ago and had already gathered dust; no one paid attention to it at all.

Sighing heavily, his gaze slid over the bare ankles and knees, the young body of a girl covered by a light blue dress with slits on both legs that didn't reach the middle of the calves. Bare, delicate shoulders, puffed sleeves, and a bow on the chest. Pronounced collarbones, a slender neck leading to a sharp chin, tan skin with a bronze tint. A fox-like gaze — through thick lashes, full lips with pearl-white teeth. A tiny upturned nose, wavy brown hair almost down to her waist. Slim fingers that skillfully held the microphone. A quiet and calm voice; if people could see auras, it seems hers would glow blue — radiating tranquility. The girl was indeed very young.

She continued to sing, and he just couldn't understand what feelings inside him, seemingly long forgotten, were taking over. For the first time, James left the bar so early, and he didn't even want more alcohol. His heart was pounding madly; he even thought it might be a panic attack. But no, there was no panic, no fear — just excitement. As if he were a teenager and had fallen in love with his friend. But what love could be spoken of when she wouldn't even look in his direction, young and beautiful, with her whole life ahead of her.