Iron Will (sequel to Iron Soul)

Chapter Seven: The Unforgiven

        I glance at all the options in my drawer in front of me. Memories float back with every single piece of clothing in front of me. I slip into my NaNoWriMo sweatpants, remembering the hectic month that I managed to write a novel in. I slip on an old dance t-shirt, the memories of my last dance show coming in a wave. I blink back the tears and pick up one of my dad's old sweatshirts. I pull it close to my chest, tears falling freely onto my hands and arms. I lay on the bed and curl up around the sweatshirt, sobs coming from deep inside of me. It feels like I am experiencing his death all over again, all the memories of him coming back to me at an alarming rate. I remember my mother and cry even harder. I just want them back. Mom, dad, please come back. Please, I need you. I'm lost, I'm confused, I'm gone. I need you guys. I need dad's stupid jokes. I need mom's knowledge. I need you guys so much more than I ever thought I would. I know I'm a monster now and I know that you are probably so ashamed of me. Mom, dad, please, please. I miss you. I hear the door open and feel Steve wrap his arms around me. He sits down on the floor with me in his lap. I sob into him, loosing my parents becoming so much harder than it has even been.

        My mind switches to memories of Jaylinn, the good times and the final bad ones. Is killing people the only thing I can do with my life? Is that all I'll ever be good enough for? Ripping family members out of hands of the innocent? My body shakes as the tears continue. Steve holds me close, rocking me slightly and kissing my head. The pictures of my dad dying right before me resurface and the wound reopens. His final sentences, the promises we made, his last smile, strong and sure, before his chest stopped moving forever. And then the blinding rage. How so much hate was packed into my small body. I let off a beam a little too strong, taking Jaylinn out of this world forever. How I screamed, the suit falling off of me. How Bucky and I soon became fellow monsters.

        Bucky! I remember all of Hydra, the people begging for their lives as I held my hand up high ready to blow their brains out. How I felt so proud and accomplished the first month, bragging about how many people I killed, how many lives I stole from this world. How could I have done that? How sick was I? How lost was I? I feel too disgusted with myself. My father would disown me. He would never speak to me again. How can I be sitting here in Steve's arms feeling sorry for myself? I am a monster, a lost cause that does not deserve sympathy. My anxiety sky rockets, my stomach twisting and turning. I push myself out of Steve's arms, suddenly feeling nauseous. I sprint to the bathroom and to the toilet. I let out anything that was in my stomach. Acid burns my throat and mouth as I reach, tears still falling from my eyes. My anxiety leaves my hands and body shaking in an alarming way. Tears continue to fall down my face as I lean up against the wall behind me. Steve walks into the bathroom with a cup of pills and a glass of water. I take them both in my shaking hands, spilling water on myself. I swallow the pills quickly, setting the water down.

        The tears don't stop, overwhelming depression and anxiety overtaking my mind. I can't think of anything but how terrible I feel. I curl myself up into a ball, Hydra memories making their way back into my mind.

        "Jet. Please tell me what's going on in your head." Steve begs, wrapping his arms around me. Where would I even begin? I shake my head, pushing myself away from him. He looks hurt as he bites his lip. Great. See there I go again, causing the people who love me pain and suffering. "I'm going to go get Bucky." he tells me as he gets up and walks out of the small bathroom. I shut the bathroom door and lock it. My hands shake as I search for it, for the one thing that has never failed to end my pain. My eyes settle on a razor blade and I pick it up in my hands.

        I push up the sleeve of my sweatshirt and stare at my blank wrists. I take a deep breath and push the blade into my skin. A small yelp of pain escapes my lips as the blood drips to the floor. A familiar sensation creeps back into my mind. I push the blade into my wrist again, more blood dripping. It becomes easier with every cut, my forearm soon filled. There's a light knock on my door and I drop the blade. Bucky's voice comes from the other side of the door, quick and alarmed, but I can't make out the words. He knocks more furiously as I try to wipe the blood from my arm quickly, trying to cover up what I have done. The door bursts open, Bucky's eyes full of panic falling on the cuts.