Almost Dusk {A Black Widow Story}

CHAPTER EIGHT

(Eva's Perspective)

I watch the soap bubbles swirl around me as I scrub at my cheeks.

The accumulation of dirt and sweat that had almost become a second layer of skin by now melted away into the tub, leaving a trail of murky water in its wake.

The bath water was steaming and it was quite numbing. I let myself sit there for a long time, letting the water erase the evidence of my journey.

Keeping my eyes shut tight, I lie back and breathe. It's as if all the anger has been drained out of me and now all there was left was a hollow feeling in my chest.

I would apologise to Nat for my actions, but I have no words for what came over me in those moments back there. Besides, she already understood me enough to excuse my behaviour.

But something gnawed at the back of my mind. I had never done such a thing before.

Yes, I had been angry or upset before. But I never let that rage control me.

I felt like there was something really wrong inside of me. Like I was broken in a way that I could possibly begin to understand.

My head throbbed just thinking about it all.

Stepping out of the tub, I watch all the dirt and grim spiral down the drain; a comets tail in a sea of soapy water.

The room I was to sleep in was small, at least small compared to the shared rooms back there.

There. I didn't even want to utter the name in my mind.

Inside the room was a clutter of bits and pieces. Mainly just storage items, but there was a bed and that was enough for me.

Natasha had brought up some clothes for me. They lay in a pile at the end of the bed.

I slipped into the nightgown, the soft cotton material feeling gentle as it hung on me.

When showing me to my room she had told me they kept clothes of all sorts around just in case so I wasn't surprised to see that everything fit me.

Once I was clean and dressed, I refolded the clothes that I had worn before. And out of the jacket that I'd bundled, I pulled out my stuffed turtle, hugging it to my cheek. The soft toy soothed me; it felt like home.

Home wasn't a place I came from or a building I was forced into. Not even this new and safe place could I call a home. Home was the soft reassurance and familiarity of a favourite old toy. That was home.

I take the turtle with me when I go back downstairs to the main floor.

From my point of view I can see Natasha at the kitchen table, organising papers or documents of some kind.

I announce my entrance with a small shuffle of my feet on the floor.

Natasha looks up at me curiously.

"Not tired?" She asks gently as if one loud voice could send me spiralling into another fit of rage. But there was no more fire left in me.

I shook my head, seating myself beside her.

In truth, I was exhausted. But I knew I couldn't go to sleep yet. There were still questions I had, there were still things plaguing my thoughts.

And I wanted to wait for Clint to come home.

"What are you doing?" I murmur, looking at the files on the table.

"All the information I have about me." She says eyeing the papers.