Hell Bound

Thirty-Five

When I returned home, I found Graham attempting to bake something in the kitchen. I wasn't sure what he was baking so early in the morning, but he was wearing a mysterious apron and oven mitts for some reason. I didn't own an apron, so I wasn't sure where it had come from, but I wasn't going to question him.

"Hey, where'd you go?" he asked from the hallway after I let myself in.

"Um—I just had a meeting. Where's Bucky?"

"I think he's in the shower. Mostly because he came down here, got the plastic wrap, and then disappeared again. At least, I hope that's what he meant to use it for. He didn't say anything to me. But he glared a few times." I laughed and rolled my eyes. Then I headed up the stairs to find him.

Graham's assumption was correct. The shower was still going when I reached the top floor, so I followed the sound to the bathroom. I wondered if I should go in and let him know I was there. Or if I should just take a few minutes to gather my thoughts. I decided on the latter. I went back to my room, kicked off my shoes, and faceplanted onto my bed.

I didn't know what to do. There was still a possibility it wasn't real. My mind could just be trying to process things. Maybe I really was just working through guilt. But it felt so real. Just as real as the dreams about killing my friends. I didn't know what to think anymore. I didn't want them to be real. I didn't know if I had what it would take to deal with it. Bucky probably wouldn't take it very well, but maybe honesty was the right choice. I had to say something. If he remembered it without my help, he'd probably panic and leave. At least this would give me a chance to talk to him about it.

But he could also tell me it wasn't real at all, and I'd be able to know for sure if my mind was playing tricks on me.

The shower shut off, and I groaned. I didn't want to talk about it yet. I could easily avoid it again, but Bucky was right about that too. Honesty could lead to a resolution. I just didn't want to put more distance between us.

I sat up and pulled a pillow onto my lap. Then I waited for him to come back to my room. He'd left his backpack full of notebooks on the floor. So I knew he wouldn't start the day downstairs without them.

The door opened, and he stepped into my room. "Jo," he said softly.

He was dressed, but his hair was wet. He shut the door and sat on the bed before me. He didn't look anything like the man in my dream. There was too much vibrancy and warmth in his eyes and expression. He looked concerned. I pushed a strand of wet hair out of his face, taking in the subtle shift of his features. They softened, but he still seemed concerned. He knew something had happened during the night. And that it had to do with him.

"What did you see?" he asked. I shook my head and dropped my hand back to my lap.

"You know, the usual," I said with a shrug.

Then I could no longer resist the urge to wrap my arms around him. I dropped my head onto his shoulder, and he gripped me tight. He smelled like my soap and shampoo. His body was warm, even with the metal under his shirt. The dream wasn't really Bucky. Even if it actually happened. It wasn't him. I sighed deeply and shut my eyes.

"What did you see?" he repeated, sliding his fingers over my back to tangle in my hair.

"You were digging up information on me before you knew who I was, right?" He nodded. "So you know I was almost discharged?"

"I saw something."

"Do you know what I did?"

"Assault. With a knife. Earned you a nickname."

"It didn't say why?"

"No."

"Of course not."

"I figured he deserved it." I took another deep breath. His shirt was damp, and his chest was warm. His heart was beating steadily. I didn't feel afraid. I just felt safe. And cared for. "What did he do, Johanna?"