BLACK WIDOW

equanimity

equanimity
(n.)
mental calmness, composure, and evenness of temper, especially in a difficult situation

•••

"it's hard to forget your past when it's written all over your body."

•••

Natalia was outside the small apartment that she and James shared in London. It was during the summer and the air was hit and thick with humidity. The sky was dark and heavy with clouds. The bottom was falling out. Natalia was soaked to the bone with rainwater.

Usually she and James would meet in the park on a different bench each time (so that no one would notice them). Today it was raining, so they went straight home.

She tugged her poncho closer to her chest as she pulled open the door to the apartment complex. Inside, it was not much better. The roof leaked and there was no air conditioner. At least there wasn't a downpour.

She jogged up the stairs, eager to get in her room and shower off. She took her keys out of pocket and opened the door. The apartment was pretty much how she left it. It was only two rooms.

A tiny, bathroom with a shower and toilet and a room with everything else. They had a loveseat, a cheap, metal-framed bed, a refrigerator, sink, radio, oven, and one cabinet. It was really plain. Neither of them were much for decorating. James was actually better at it then Natalia. He put a snow globe on the table next to the radio. He had also brought home a thick, handwoven quilt that one of the men's wives that he worked with had given to him. It was very colorful and beautiful.

"James?" Natalia called through the house, checking to see if he was home.

"I'm in the bathroom," he responded. Natalia smiled silently to herself, glad the he was home. She took her raincoat off and put the money she had made that day in their jar in the cabinet. It was pretty full. They could go do something together soon...

She took off her apron and peeled off her wet clothes and replaced them with a robe, ready to shower off the days cleaning and rain off her. The bathroom door was cracked, but she knocked anyway.

"James?" she asked. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he answered. "Come in."

She pushed open the door to see James sitting cross-legged on the toilet lid in his boxers with his right arm under the faucet. In his left hand, his metal one, was one of his daggers.

She could help but stare a bit at the skin he showed. He had grown so much healthier in the time they spend away from Russia. And with that, he had grown to look really good. Not that he already was. It was just... now he was filled out and buff. It was always something to look at.

When he gaze traveled up to his eyes—her favorite feature of his—she noticed that he was transfixed by whatever was happening to his arm. His gaze was unmoving and his eyebrows were creased together and his jaw was dropped.

"What are you doing, lyubov moya?" asked Natalia, approaching James. She looked at his arm to she that he had made two inch long, deep cut on his outer arm. He was running water over it, washing the blood away. "What happened?"

"Watch," he insisted, nodding towards the cut.  He reached over and picked up a half eaten head of lettuce and bit into it like an apple.

Natalia gave him a strange look, but looked down at the cut. She realized that he must have been amazed by the speed of which it was healing. She found herself lost in the way the skin formed together again and formed a purple scar that turned red that turned to nothing.