Spiderson Oneshots

Empty--Natasha

I'm doing something a little different this time. As much as I love Peter, there were some things that I couldn't write with his backstory. Instead, I used Natasha. I really enjoyed writing her, so do expect more of her in the future. I like the mystery that surrounds her, and I really love making people's stories.

I know it doesn't fit with what this book was originally intended for, but oh well. I hope you enjoy this take on Natasha.

Warnings: Some suicidal ideation, mentions of torture, anorexic character, and mentions of self-harm.

Natasha's P.O.V.

There were so many parts to it. I was just training. Just relearning what I'd forgotten. In the Red Room, they'd taught us to go without food, to go without water, to go without anything that could stop us from completing a mission. For them, it was always the mission. The mission before you.

It was like an addiction. It held itself in my thoughts all day. It wouldn't leave. The Red Room haunted me. I never wanted to be like that again. I didn't want to be what they wanted me to be. But in doing that, I had done just that.

I'd let their words sow themselves inside me. They wouldn't go. They grew. They were taking over my mind.

In the academy, they wanted us to be like a siren. To be more deadly than they saw. To be beautiful. To be dangerous. To lure our victims. To be beautiful killers.

I remember telling Madame B I wanted to be beautiful. She had smiled connivingly, seeing another opportunity to take over me. She had to sell my stomach as soon as I got it. The boys loved the skinny girls. The boys fell for the skinny girls. She said that it would improve me. I would be perfect if I ate a little less.

I knew that it wasn't safe. I knew that I shouldn't have danced with death. I'd avoided him thus far, I had no wish to invite him in. But the want to be that siren they wanted was there.

She had said that I couldn't make room for perfection without hurting myself first.

I'd known that world for so long. I had known pain for so long. She watched over me. She made sure I got better. They praised me for making myself sick. Praised me because I was perfect. But I wasn't perfect. I was broken. That's exactly what they wanted.

I didn't notice I was going back to it. Didn't notice that I didn't eat as much I did after missions. No one else did either. And when I looked in the mirror, I saw the hideousness that everyone else could see. I wanted to change it. I weighed too much. I was too ugly. How could they even look at me?

People said to not let the demons in. To clear your thoughts when they came. I was the most powerful assassin in the world, why couldn't I fight off demons? Of course, I could. What scared me was that I didn't want to. I didn't want to feel better. I wanted to be the siren. I wanted to be the beautiful one.

No one really knew me. They didn't know the me that hid in my room and tried to cry but couldn't. They didn't know the me that had endured torture for days on end. They didn't know the me who had killed one hundred forty-nine girls. They didn't know the me who just wanted to be the siren that they wanted. They didn't know the me who paused before snapping a neck, thinking maybe they didn't deserve it. They didn't know the me who went to the roof every night to step back and promise myself another day. They didn't know the me who had lost hope countless times about being enough. They didn't know the me who had searched for affection and found nothing. They didn't know the me who wanted to snap. They didn't know the thoughts that went through my head--how truly horrible they were. Nobody. Knows. Me.

I stared at the form in the mirror. So ugly. Her red hair was awry. Bags hung under her eyes. Her body had scars on it. Her skin was too pale. Her eyes were too ugly. And she was too fat. Her stomach protruded. It was ugly. How could anyone look at her without disgust?

I stared at the numbers on the scale. Too high. Too much. She ate too much. She didn't care about happiness because the skinniness would bring it. All she had to do was keep up with it. I had to go through with it. I knew I was not a coward. I would not step away from a challenge. This was not wrong. It was just discipline. Fear did not exist inside me. It made an ugly girl. I would be ugly no longer.

It was easy to pretend they were accidents. I slipped in the kitchen and fell against the hot stove. I got a paper cut by reading. The bruises were from training. Cuts were from past battles. It was so easy.

I was a paradox. I was too much, too fat, but I was too little, not good enough. I was hungry without an appetite. I used to hate math, now numbers were the only thing that mattered.