Inspired By Taylor Swift Series

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toy

Summary: The rains that end your perfect, shining days whisper things in his ear that you'll never be entrusted with. But your boy only breaks his favorite toy.

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"Then maybe you're better off without me!"

No, you're not.

You're not.

You're not.

You fly up from the edge of your bed, doing everything to get him to see reason, to get him to see you, for once, "I never said that!"

"You didn't have to!" he booms.

Your hand reaches out to grip his bicep, but he wrenches his arm away.

And standing in your highest heels, in your best dress just for him, you chase after him, "I just want you to talk to me! I want you to not push me away!"

He snatches his tux jacket up, shrugging it over his shoulders, "I don't want to talk!"

"You don't want to talk or you don't want to talk to me?"

"Both!" The words are so casually cruel. He says it without pause, without remorse. He doesn't even notice the pained look that his words leave on your face like all the wind has left your lungs.

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing as she hears the argument echo through the walls of the Compound. "Oh, here we go again..."

The moment he whips open your door, you know what this night will look like.

You'll be his perfect doll, his trophy for the night. He'll smile, hold your hand, and won't speak more than a word to you the whole night.

He'll leave you wondering what went wrong, what you did wrong, what sent him spiraling into the abyss all over again.

And he'll wake up tomorrow like nothing ever went wrong.

"Steve!" You reach for his hand, but he drops your hand and keeps walking without so much as a second glance. "Steve!"

"Steve!"

He doesn't turn back around.

As you watch him walk downstairs, you feel a warm hand rest on your shoulder. "You okay?"

You nod, trying to keep the tears welling in your eyes from falling down your cheeks. "He's just - in one of his moods, I guess."

"A mood?" Nat quirks an eyebrow. "That's the excuse?"

You suck in a breath. It's a shitty excuse. And it only sound worse with every time that you have to use it.

You sound like a broken record, a broken toy. You practically beg Natasha to pull the string for the latest excuse. "You know how he gets."

He only runs because he loves you...

"It's ironic that he always does this right before you've got to put on your best face in public."

You let out a long, deep sigh, "Nat..."

She raises her hands in surrender, "I'm just saying. You look amazing tonight, but tears don't go with the dress."

The urge to defend him bubbles within you.

It doesn't matter how much he breaks you, it's you he chooses to break.

You're his favorite toy.

He only runs because he loves you...

After a few moments to make sure the rivulets don't descend on your plastic smile, you go after him.