MANIPULATING THE MANIPULATOR

CHAPTER EIGHT

I should have stayed in my own business, just kept in line and avoided any possible harm, like a normal person would have in a place like HYDRA. Yet again, no one can be normal here, it's practically not an allowed basis. However, for the next few days, I chose not to delve in it.
But it was hard not to let my findings stay out of my brain, they always lingered. I was beginning to have my theories, but nothing certain.
My mother was once an immortal asset to HYDRA, and that she must have gotten out of it or escaped it enough to be in her life with me and my Dad. I have no idea how she could possibly be immortal, but if that D.O.B date was correct, then she must have been special in some way.
As for the 'GIVES IN' acronym, I still didn't know what that meant or how to decode it. I was left with it, and the only hint behind it was the Russian words I also didn't understand.
Now, I was submerged into something I wasn't sure if I wanted to be in or not. I felt an odd sense of thrill, somewhat knowing all these little secrets, ones waiting for me to slot every final piece into its correct place. But I also felt fear, fear of being caught and only earning more suffering as a consequence.
More of The Chair and its electricity seeping into my veins.
I barely saw Kage, Alexander was constantly talking to him or he was training other HYDRA members, and I was getting conditioned and experimented on. We saw each other come morning and night, had our talks, but my life came brigaded with mess. All of that, and yet I still felt the same as I did when I first got here, timid and uncertain.
Training became the majority of my life.
I trained with random HYDRA soldiers and trainers day by day, and I still felt like I was only getting worse down to the second. Alexander must have noticed it too, because he wanted The Winter Soldier to train me instead of anyone else.
Punch after punch left my knuckles raw, pain practically flung to my thumbs with every shot as they were enclosed by my fist. Every punch was sloppy, discoordinated, some even missing the punch-bag as it swayed slightly when I accidentally missed the direct punch.
At this point, I was never going to be 'The Necromancer' my Mum once was, I couldn't even hit a proper shot to a punch-bag. I felt The Winter Soldiers gaze burning holes into my side, and it pushed me to prove I wasn't some sloppy college idiot.
Soon enough, my punches straighten, but not enough. Every punch was a shot of painful adrenaline up my arms and to the rest of my body. My knuckles begin to lightly bruise with a flourish of pink, blood soon making itself aware as I forced myself to hit harder.
"Your fists placement is wrong."
I hear and for once it isn't my own voice. My head snaps towards The Winter Soldier, my punches only slacking at the deconcentration. I stopped my charge against the punch bag, my fists unclenching as my eyes panned to my now calloused knuckles.
I used my palm to slick off the beads of unconscious sweat on my forehead and moved the stray hairs from my high ponytail back into place, wiping the remaining sweat on my clothes, the same ones from my first day, only washed clean.
I wore this same outfit every day, it got washed every day. It was easier, no one worries about fashion in a murdering facility.
"What?"
My voice was worn and heaved out from all the constant abuse towards the punch bag. The Winter Soldier also always wore that same thing as I first saw him wear. Or, maybe he didn't, I just never saw him that much. He pushed himself off the place he was leaning against the wall and walked towards me. Right in front of me, towering me.
He took both of my wrists in his hands forcefully but not harshly, my skin crawled but I let it happen.
He closed both my hands into fists but left my thumb sticking out and then tucked my thumb under my fingers, but not encased in my fists. He was close, too close. My breath was threatening to pick up, and my heart was already doing so.
"If you keep your thumbs in your closed fists, it will only hurt more to deliver the punch."
He explained simply. I finally looked up to meet his gaze only to feel the steady in and out breath through the holes of his muzzle, any closer and our noses were close to touching. Well, my nose and his muzzle, but you get the idea.
"It hurts either way."
I retorted. I had my smarts, I never had to worry about tactical actions or fighting other people. Therefore, all these rules and sequences were giving me a serious brain aneurysm. It was probably stupid for me to argue, but something about me wanted to test his patience and limits. See just how far The Winter Soldier could go. His face morphs into a scowl like expression, his hands on my wrists tightened just a smidge.
"Careful, кукла."
He says simply, but his voice is lower than normal, huskier. More threatening. He lets my hands go, my fingers remaining in the same format that he had put them in.
He takes my legs and spreads them by putting one of his own legs in between mine, positioning my legs so that my feet were positioned in a backwards L position - a fighting stance.
"Hands in front of your face. Two punches, back to formation, repeat."
He commands, and reluctantly I move my enclosed hands in front of my eyes, but there is enough path to still see in front of me. He steps back a good few steps, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, giving me the expanse of every tense and relaxing in his bones and veins. He nudges his head in the direction of the punching bag, signalling me to continue the exercise.
So I did, over and over until I was sure I was wearing my skin to the bones. His words became a mantra in my head. One of the only things that pushed me to continue, the only thing that gave me reason to inevitably fall in line. Every punch beaded more and more sweat to caress my body. The sweat made me feel weak and weary, as if punching a goddamn punching bag was the workout of the century. I must have continued for about ten minutes on a full rage set automatic before The Winter Soldier came and stopped the bag from swaying with his metal hand, wordlessly telling me to stop. I did, my breathing not too far from gasps.
"Hurt less?"
He asks, his voice monotone but I could almost swear there was a peek at some sort of concern before it completely diminished. I wait till my breath finally evens itself out before speaking.
"Yeah, I guess it did."
I said, rolling my wrists and shaking my hands to try and regain feeling back into the nerves inside of them after punching so repetitively.
"Good work. That's all for today, they'll take you back to your cell."
He nudged his head towards the two HYDRA soldiers waiting by the door, standing in formation and staring blankly at the wall as if they were cremated statues. He begins to walk off out of the training room, but the post-it notes message crosses my mind again. The lightweight of it in my pocket suddenly burning a hole through the fabric now it had come to mind.
"Wait, I needed to ask you something."
I finally said, making him pause and turn around to meet my gaze. In a few quick strides, he was right in front of me.
"That being?"
My eyes went from his own to the two soldiers. I knew it would be a bit suspicious if I suddenly asked what I wanted in their presence. This needed to be somewhat private. I looked back at him after a good second.
"In private?"
I asked. He seemed to majorly hesitate, looking over to the soldiers in a seconds worth glance before nodding firmly and looking back at me. I walked off into the changing rooms in the second part of the training area.
Luckily, no one seemed to be there. I could hear the slight footsteps of his. They were barely traceable that it almost made me jump when I turned around to see him right behind me.
When he didn't speak, I fished inside my pocket until I found the folded post-it note and unfolded it, holding it up from him to see and pointing to the Russian hieroglyphics.
"What does that say?"
I ask in a lower tone, watching as his eyes narrow slightly to better see the dialect.
"She gives in to HYDRA."
He stated what was also on the post-it note, but not the part I wanted to hear.
"What is this?"
He asks again, but from his mouth it always seems more like a command.
"Just tell me what the Russian part says." I order lightly, even though I am in no place to. I see his uncertain look, and speak again. "Please."
He closes his eyes, as if he was contemplating so hard he really had to close them, then opened them again.
"It says 'Room 444'. Why do you need to know that?"
"I just do."
I gave a weak reply. I didn't want him of all people getting involved in this, considering it was out of the rules in HYDRA and he practically washed the ground they worked on. One wrong word, and I would be back on the Chair again.
"That's not good enough."
He says gruffly, handing the post-it note back to me and crossing his arms tightly over his chest, making his muscles and veins pop, well, his flesh arm. His metal arm seemed to creak under the pressure.
"It's personal."
I gave another weak excuse.
"Nothing is personal in HYDRA." He stated, taking a fair step closer to me, purposely towering over me in a resemblance of better dominance. "Tell me."
"I can't." I blurted. "You'd tell someone."
His normally stoical eyes changed to question, one of his eyebrows rising.
For a good moment, it's simple silence between us. The type that makes your skin crawl from both anticipation and anxiety. That was till he finally spoke.
"Why would you assume that?"
He asks, his voice still as gruff and firm, but tinged with irritation. As if he was hurt in an odd way that I would assume he couldn't keep things to himself.
"You're loyal to HYDRA. You'd tell them anything."
I said slightly more quietly, as if I regretted saying them. Deep down, I knew the Winter Soldier was a person. Somehow. Maybe he even had a life before all of this, a place to call home, a family, friends. Like I did.
Or, maybe he was born here, this was all he knew. So, in turn, to him, this was all he ever knew. He didn't know the lovely or awful twists and turns the real world could throw at you.
Maybe he didn't know how to be human.
Maybe he didn't know how to feel emotions.
Maybe he didn't know how to smile, laugh.
Just...
Be.
He took another step towards me, this time antagonisingly close, to the point the only reason our bodies hadn't flushed together was the fact I was holding in a tight breath. He leaned down so his head was at my level, his ice blue eyes sending cold shivers through my body that raised the hairs on the back of my head to immediate attention and sent the nerves in my brain on spitfire.
Was it always this hot in here?
This hard to breathe?
I wanted to look away from his eyes, look anywhere else, but there weren't many options. All other places seemed to be sectioned off by him. I was completely surrounded by him.
Therefore, all I could do was look him straight in the eye in return, despite the fact I could feel the tingles in my body getting more aggressive as his breath fans over my face, despite the muzzle.
The air was thin.
Too thin.
His metal hand flies up, but not to me. To the clasp on his muzzle. It seemed forced shut, as if a technological code was needed. But he crushed it in his fingers, just like he had crushed my phone when we first met.
As soon as the clasp lock was crushed, he reached to the end of the muzzle under his chin, pierced it upwards, and discarded it. Putting the muzzle on top of one of the lockers without ever tearing his gaze from mine.
His muzzle was off.
And he took it off.
That wasn't allowed. Right?
He was trying to spite me, and it was working. By accident, my gaze dropped to the lower half of his face. His full face was now on display, conceived by my eyes.
He had no hair or beard on his face. I could guess that HYDRA shaved it for him, I was surprised they actually cared, maybe it was for other unknown reasons.
His jawline was defined and set, almost as if I was looking at an angle board. I wondered if he had it clenched all the time, if he was always this uptight and tense. Honestly? Probably. In a place like this, it was good to be tense. To stay on guard. Then, surprises would no longer come as surprising.
Then, his lips.
I shouldn't have looked, but my eyes were stuck like pure glue. They were untouched. Un-kissed, for better wording. They weren't chapped or scabbed over. They were...
Not far from perfect.
My eyes snapped back up to meet his own, fighting off the rising flush in my cheeks. That was when I came to the realisation our noses were touching.
How did we get this close?
And why did I not care?
"Try me."
His voice was now low. Low in a way you just wanted to crawl into your own skin and hide away type low.
For a good moment, I had forgotten what we were previously talking about, that was until my brian decided to re-enter my skull and quit its trip into my stomach.
I still wasn't sure I trusted him, but nonetheless, I needed his help.
So this wasn't about trust, it was about rebellion.