Just Him&I: In a Universe of Cruelty

Part 12

Ой люлі-люлі
Налетіли гулі,
Сіли на воротян
В червоних чоботях

Ти, Петрику, не гуляй,
Піди гулі позганяй,
А щоб гулі не гули
І Катрусі спать дали

Her voice sounded very soft and gentle, and I slowly started to fall asleep, closing my eyes. Long, black hair like the night fell in waves on her shoulders and back, wrapping around her neck like snakes. Her eyes glowed—a light green, similar to emeralds. She rocked me side to side in her arms.
***

— Dad, will we go to the park? — a little dark-haired girl, looking about four years old, was swinging her legs from side to side. This was me.
I was sitting on a chair at the table, picking through the leftovers of semolina with nuts and jam on my plate. A little turquoise dress fit me as if it were tailored for me. And my black hair was braided into two pigtails.
Mom sat with perfect posture, cutting tiny pieces of cheese in some kind of sauce. She smiled at my actions, squinting from the sunlight. She had a small nose and sharp facial features. Her skin was pale as morning snow with a faint blush. She looked like a porcelain doll I'd recently seen in a toy store window.

— Did you clean up your toys in the room? — Dad asked, adjusting his blond hair. He was wearing a simple T-shirt and home pants. It was clear he had just woken up. Mom, like a morning fairy, had already prepared breakfast and was quietly reading the newspaper, finishing her meal.
I wrinkled my nose and stared at my plate. Then I thought for a few seconds and nodded in agreement, lifting my eyes to Mom.
She smiled slightly.

— Did you really think it through?! — Somehow, she always knew when I wasn't telling the truth, and it really annoyed me. When I asked her how she did it, she said it was... inta... indui... intuition!
Right, intuition—a complicated word and not very clear to me. Dad chuckled and continued to read his book with concentration.

— There's a new Hydra base in New York. — Mom's face changed, and her eyebrows knitted together at one spot...

***
I really thought I would die, but plans changed drastically. I opened my eyes; the first thing I saw was white, nauseating walls and an IV. My head was spinning, and I could barely turn it.

It was very difficult to do, as if I couldn't feel my body at all, as if it were separate from me. My throat was very dry, so I couldn't utter a single word. Someone was holding my hand. I gathered all the strength I could and clenched it into a fist to somehow signal that I had woken up.

I felt pain and burning start to spread through my body.

Someone quickly got up from the chair. A red-haired girl lifted my pillow higher so I could see her, offering me a glass of water.

I didn't take it in my hands; she just tilted it, and I took one big gulp to moisten my throat.

I was covered with a white sheet. The hospital bed was standard, but the sheets were soft. Dark blue bruises and bloody cuts were visible on my already thin arms. The veins seemed to shine through the thin skin of my arms and body. I wore a light, creamy sweater and pants of the same color.

All the horizontal surfaces in the room were filled with vases of flower bouquets. Along the walls were various medical devices. Judging by the dark screens, they were turned off.

A large window opposite the door. Slightly raised blinds allowed beams of sunlight to enter the room.

Her eyes were green, but not like mine, more of a swampy color. I looked at her dark skinny jeans, simple top, and black leather jacket. I behaved cautiously around her, though I couldn't do anything.

— Who are you? — I croaked this out, wincing at my own voice and the pain in my throat. My temples throbbed, and I closed my eyes, waiting for an answer, pulling the blanket a little higher.

— I'm from Steve; my name is Natasha. I'll be looking after you today, and then he'll come himself — her voice was soft and quiet. She tried not to scare me and to calm me down. She probably noticed how I behaved and how I felt about her.
If she knew who I really was, she wouldn't even talk to me. I cleared my throat, trying to say at least something else.

— What happened to me? — I turned my head towards her as much as I could and squinted my eyes, as if listening attentively. She had soft facial features and very full lips. Watching her intently, I unconsciously licked my own dry lips.

— You have a traumatic brain injury. Internal organ bleeding. And they also pulled a bullet out of you—a 9 mm caliber. It's not very big, and the shooter wasn't very accurate. Either that, or you were born lucky. That bullet hit just to the right of the heart, so you almost didn't suffer, just a bit of shock. Also, minor bruises, but that's not too bad compared to everything else. — She listed everything as if it were nothing extraordinary to her. It was as if we were sitting over coffee in a cafe, chatting heart-to-heart about some new guy who was a jerk. I definitely liked her as a person, even though I'd known her for barely 20 minutes, but there was something about her that attracted people. Which was the opposite with Jean. Maybe my intuition does work after all.

And she was also very beautiful; I was almost a little envious of her. It was impossible to take my eyes off her.

— Maybe you want to eat? — I turned my head in her direction again; every movement was followed by a dull ache in my muscles. I didn't know how I was still alive.

— Where's James? — Her face turned more serious, even angry. I couldn't find an answer to my question and almost resigned myself to his death.

— He's on a mission — at that moment, my heart seemed to stop, then beat faster than before. I was so happy, words couldn't describe it. I tried to hide my smile, but unfortunately, I didn't do it very well. Yet, I still couldn't understand her reaction.

At that moment, I remembered what Brock had said while she was feeding me chicken broth. It was incredibly tasty; I eagerly ate it despite the mild nausea.

No matter what, I still don't know how to use them; they just come and go at the most unexpected moments. So far, it happened once with Pierce, but I'm not sure I can do it again. I don't even know whom to ask for help. There's so much I don't know, and it confuses me even more.

I feel like they're hiding something. I'm glad Barnes is alive, but what kind of missions are we talking about? Only if he didn't join the Avengers team. This is all extremely strange; why didn't he visit me himself? Where should I go? These were rhetorical questions.

I have very poor orientation. Yes, I lived here my whole life, but I only went outside with security. Exclusively near the house, so it may sound absurd, but it's true. I'm almost socially inept; I haven't really learned to communicate with people. But I promise myself that I will do everything in my power, learn to connect with people, start life with a clean slate.

And I won't forget about him, even if he doesn't want to communicate with me in the future. Or just forgets me, after all, he has his own life.