salvation ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟐

008. fast and furious

I COULDN'T KEEP my legs still as I watched anxiously out the window, waiting for something to go wrong, for Wretton to jump out of the shadows and catch us, turning this plan to dust before it even had the time to form anything of worth.

"What are you gonna do?" I asked nervously, my knee jumping erratically. The car slowed to a stop and I whirled her head to stare at Cara. "Why are you stopping? We have to go!"

Cara rolled her eyes and pointed in front of her. "It's a red light, Elda. We're not in a car chase yet, so there's no point waking up the kindly neighbors at ungodly hours of the night."

Shrugging, I looked at the clock in my truck. It was nearing two in the morning. I supposed she made a good point, but it didn't keep my heartbeat or my knee from moving quickly to an anxious beat. "I just want to be gone already. Out of their reach." I want to go find Bucky, I wanted to say, but I didn't waste my breath. With any luck, we'd escape this night with our lives. The CIA didn't quit easily when people of interest tried getting away from them. I knew that as much.

"Don't worry, we're gonna be out of here in no time, you just sit and relax."

Easier said than done, I knew. I frowned as I slumped in the passenger seat, willing Cara to drive faster, to get us out of this damned city. To hell with drawing attention to ourselves, I wanted to be somewhere safe where I could sleep with both eyes shut.

Scoffing gently, I shook my head. Like that'll ever happen again.

As the radio pulsed softly through the speakers, Cara humming along to a song I didn't recognize, I felt myself slipping into my innermost thoughts again, which turned out to be the most peaceful, yet most dangerous place for me to be. Although I was all alone in my mind, a sensation I craved to have every day, I was alone to think about anything and everything that had gone wrong in my life up to that point.

So, as usual, along came Bucky. With his goddamn good looks and long hair and one arm.

It had only been a few months since I'd seen him, but now I was having a hard time calling him to my mind's eye. The thought of him was always there, yes, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember everything that made him...him.

Like the way that his lips curled in a gentle smile when I pushed myself against his side during our movie nights. I could hardly remember the shallow dimples that carved their way into his cheeks as he looked at me.

Or the way that his eyes sparkled when he caught me staring at him, knowing full well just how delicious he looked in his white tank top and dark jeans. I could concentrate with all my being, but I couldn't picture just how much they glittered when he knew I was thirsting after him.

I could remember the way it felt to hold him, but that memory was beginning to fade as well. Each night since he'd been taken, I tried to remember what it felt like every time he stood there, enveloped in my arms. Sometimes he wept for a part of him that he could no longer grasp, and other times he just walked toward me and crushed me to my chest, as if he was still boggled by the fact that I was real, and I was doing this all for him.

The only memory that remained the clearest picture, though I willed it away, was the image of Bucky pressed to the dirt, his eyes screwed up in pain as he realized what all of this meant. My mind's eye played a cruel trick on me, forcing me to relive the orange substance in the syringe being shoved into his arm, his body falling limp as he was carried off to the vehicle and shuttled off to God knows where.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I saw it again, clamping the heels of my hands against my closed eyes. A shaky breath left my lips, and I felt myself sinking, right into the leather seat, down to the floor of the truck, out onto the concrete, broken beyond repair.