Words On My Skin

Chapter 21

Author's note: 

Hey, all! Sorry this took a million years to post! I went through a bout of writer's block, as well as a bunch of adulting bullshit LOL 

Anywhoo, enjoy! 

-Kristin

------------------------

Thank god Bucky fucking left, you thought to yourself as you leaned back in your desk chair, turning to the window to watch the snow start to fall from the sky – creating a little winter wonderland around the compound. You loved the guy, but holy shit was he getting on your nerves.

For the last few days, he's been one supersoldier-sized ball of guilt – starting immediately after you'd left your mom and dad's apartment. Though... it was understandable. He assumed that he was the one responsible for the freak-out your father had, before he'd kicked you both out. He was the one who called your father out on his bullshit... so Bucky said, as he was blaming himself into

Therefore, he wouldn't leave you alone, kept apologizing, and kept asking how you were feeling. Multiple times. Talking about your feelings hadn't been something you'd been good at, before Bucky. Though you'd made a promise to tell Bucky what you were feeling and communicate with him... you didn't want to talk about it. Not yet. Not until you, yourself, made sense of what the fuck was going on.

You were just stuck in the cycle of never wanting to be without him, but also getting annoyed by his presence.

Usual relationship stuff, right?

...Right?

It's not like you were mad at Bucky.

It wasn't his fault that your father was hiding something, or that your mother kept trying to fuck with your relationship.

You still hadn't forgave her for making the abuse allegations public, even if she was going to try and act like it hadn't happened and lie about it.

Forgiving your father was also off the table, after he laughed in your face when you admitted to having panic attacks about guns, because of the cabin.

A good dad would've been concerned.

A good dad would've helped his daughter fucking figure out why the fuck she was having fucking panic attacks about something he was fucking involved in.

You weren't fucking crazy!

Something fucking happened!

God, why were you so heated?

Jesus, your chest was burning...

What the heck...

Why was your heart pounding so hard?

Holy mother of god, you were going to have a heart attack.

A legit heart attack.

Why the hell was your anxiety skyrocketing?

Bucky...

Snatching your phone off the desk with trembling hands, you pulled up his contact and tried texting him – thankful when he texted you back, right away – before you ended up calling him, and he came home worried.

Y/n: You're stressing me out! Holy shit, take a breath before I keel over!

Bucky: Sorry.