Monster

Nine

If I could pick my perfect housemate, it would be Steve Rogers. He didn't stay every night, but whenever he did, my house always ended up magically cleaner than when he arrived. He was quiet too. We talked in soft voices because we could never think of what to say and didn't want our discomfort overheard. But he cooked, he cleaned, and when he was upstairs, he didn't stop around and shake the light fixtures.

My ex-boyfriend, Agent Oscar Harmon, was the exact opposite. Whenever he came to stay, which was often, he would leave behind a trail of garbage and dirty laundry. He'd walk around upstairs, stomping so hard the lights would rattle. I could never think straight with him there. He didn't cook. He didn't clean. And he sang. All. The. Damn. Time.

He was the only boyfriend I'd had since I was discharged. He was a SHIELD agent. Although, technically, he'd been Hydra the whole time. I didn't know that then, obviously. But no one did. I'd still seen something in him–a hunger for control. Something felt off. And not just because he stomped around my house like a triceratops, singing at the top of his lungs, but because he'd shoved me into the fridge over an argument about dirty laundry and would have fully punched me in the face had I not grabbed my pink knife first. I suspected he never actually wanted to love me at all, just own me. Or maybe just break me. Turn me into his perfect little subservient housewife.

So I'd pinned him to the floor with my pink knife at his throat. I knew he was better trained and could very easily toss me aside. I was Special Forces and a medic. I was trained and I thought I was damn good at it. Once. But he was a Marine and much bigger. He wasn't the least bit threatened by my bedazzled pink switchblade. He just laughed in my face, and I had to resist the urge to prick his skin and make him take me seriously.

It wouldn't have been the first time I'd battled that urge. But it was undoubtedly the first time I didn't act on it.

I made him leave, and he went right to SHIELD to file a complaint about my "aggressive" and "violent" behavior. They made an inquiry, concerned about my tendency to snap under pressure. But they allowed me to keep my gun and my knife and told me they'd be keeping an eye on me. Nothing ever came of it because he never came back, and I'd been single ever since.

After Hydra fell, he disappeared into the wind. Our breakup happened long before then, but he was the one who started the running joke about my bedazzled switchblade. I always kept it on me just in case I ever saw him again. I thought I could have shot him without feeling any remorse. Still, the thought of him dying with my sparkly pink knife sticking out of his chest was comforting. In a hypothetical kind of way.

Aside from him, the only other person I'd lived with outside of the military was my family. My parents were always obnoxiously loud, but Clara was a relatively easy roommate. She tended to mind her own business. She complained a lot, but she didn't bother me.

Really, I just didn't know a whole lot about living with other people.

Having Steve in my house was more of a blessing than a curse. Even though he was always worried about overstepping and intruding. He was nice and kept his distance. And even though he was a terrible cook, I wasn't going to complain about free food. He only used the upstairs bathroom to shower, never touched my things, cleaned up after himself, and washed his own dishes. He was basically a unicorn.

We never clicked enough to be comfortable with affection. Both of us were already quiet and withdrawn as it was. Technically, we had a lot in common, but we weren't supposed to talk about those things. So our conversations always fell short. We both hoped no one was watching us. Or if they just attributed it to a romantic rift.

Steve was sitting at the kitchen table again, but wasn't any less tense than usual. His shoulders were squared, and his eyes were alert for danger. He spent the entire day with me for once, even going outside for a while, so anyone listening could hear us laughing together. But, even then, he always had his eyes on the shadows.