Animo - Avengers {Completed}

Chapter Ten: Prison Cell

*Well, here we are again! I'm soooo sorry for the slow update! I've got four stories going (stupidly, of course) and I've stretched myself pretty thin. Silly me. Anyway, I've been crazy excited to write this chapter! I hope you love it just as much as I do!

Oh, and has anyone else been thinking that this story is lacking in some...mischief? (wink, wink) (nudge, nudge)*

Chapter Ten: Prison Cell

          I stormed around the room, throwing the pillows off my bed and kicking them as hard as I could until they hit the wall. Then I tore all the blankets off and let them fall into a pile on the floor. I could hear muffled voices outside the door, no doubt talking about me and my sudden tantrum. But dammit, they really shouldn’t have done that!

          I couldn’t explain the turn that my emotions had taken, but they were far away from calm. My temper, it seemed, had reached an all-time high, and I didn’t even know why it bothered me so much. It was just Stark being stupid like always, and a drunk kiss from Barton that wasn’t even that good.

          The anger faded just as quickly as it had flared. Shaking slightly, I pulled myself onto the bare mattress and rested my back against the headboard, pulling my knees up to my chest.

          The tips of my fingers ran lightly across my lips; my eyes stared at something I couldn’t see. My thoughts were all muddled together, but one stood out from the others: that was nothing like how it sounds in movies and books.

          “This is bullshit!” I exclaimed suddenly, jumping at how loud my voice sounded. I stopped for a minute and listened. There were still hushed voices in the other room; they must not have heard my outburst.

          I shifted positions and fell onto my side, resting my head on my arm, glaring at the door. Really, though. Books and movies must over exaggerate everything, because angels did not sing, sparks did not fly, and I was not head over heels in love with Clint Barton. I had just been deprived of my storybook first kiss.

          I call extreme bullshit.

          I contemplated over that for a bit longer before asking myself why I even cared. Why did it bother me so much that my first kiss was stolen by a grown man that I’d only known for almost two months? Oh God, that made it sound like Barton was some creepy pedophile! He was just drunk! It wasn’t his fault!

          Rolling around and pulling on my hair was not sufficient enough to express my frustration with my train of thought. You don’t care, Mo. You don’t care. I chanted this over and over again in my head, but there wasn’t much of an effect.

          I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed at one of the blankets with my toes. It took a few tries, but I eventually succeeded in dragging it up onto the mattress with me. The pillows were too far away, so I went without them, wrapping myself up in the sheet and using my arm as a pillow instead.

          The answerless question weighed heavy on my mind and tired me out, so I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. As still as I was, and as quiet as everyone else was, it was, regardless, over an hour before I drifted off.

*

          Bright light woke me abruptly the next morning. I sat up with a jerk, tangling myself further in my sheet. A towering figure stood in the doorway, his hand still hovering over the light switch.

          “Thor?” I gaped. What was he doing in my room?

          “Are you awake?” the blonde god asked, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him.