Scarlett War

CHAPTER TWELVE - APOLOGIES

Wanda Maximoff - Private

Pierson and I haven't spoken for a week.

I was still hurt from his complete lack of interest in what was going on with me, despite having done nothing but see and hear of it for two months.

And for him, I couldn't say why he ignored me.

With no one to tell me not to, I let myself dissolve into the man in my hand, wanting nothing more than the pain to be gone.

And it was.

There was no wincing, screaming, anything for a week. I thought I'd find myself in better spirits, with the voice being more welcomed.

I couldn't deny that I occasionally was. I joked around more with the boys and smiled more than usual.

And yet, at the same time, I slowly felt something eating me alive. Tearing away at anything good in me. I didn't know what to do or how to feel about it, but my mind simply didn't allow me to think thoroughly about it.

My throat was still bruised from the rifle being pushed against it, but it was fading now. It was sore for a couple of days, and I couldn't swallow anything, but I was alright now.

We were in the same place, still surrounded by abandoned apartment buildings. We weren't allowed to go up there, for security reasons, but I snuck away a couple of times.

Only to sit on the staircase, and to feel the lining of my body get sucked away.

There was one thing that stuck out about me - when I was too embarrassed to say anything, and in front of the right people, I was damn good at hiding my emotions.

I was giving up apart of myself to rid of the head-splitting pain. It didn't seem like too much, as I still felt like Wanda, but it was a good amount.

But it was worth the price. And it wasn't like I had a choice in it, anyway.

My mind drifted away, thinking of happy things to distract me from the inner pain.

Zussman joking around, holding me, smiling. Daniels and his country accent, slang, and laugh. Aiello and his dark humor, throwing punches.
Stiles and his sarcasm, Aiello's punching bag.

I smiled softly, knowing they were probably beating each other up now, especially Aiello and Stiles.

My mind drifted back further, to older memories.

Paris and its liberation, the dancing, and the music.
Opening up to Noah, whom I hoped was doing ok.
Pietro and his thick accent, laughing and teasing.
My parents, dancing alone in our kitchen.

My smile grew more fond. God, how I wished I could go back to those days.

"Pierson," my own mind continued without me knowing, "and our training, his genuine smile and the part of his hair."

I sat upright, eyes wide. There was no way that was what my mind thought of when I thought of happy things.

I scoffed in disbelief, putting my hair behind my ears. Right, if that was my subconscious speaking, why would it even say that?

I realized I had been in the building for too long, and decided I didn't want to get in trouble today and stood up to leave.

I pushed open the door to the outside, not caring if I was seen or not. We hadn't even talked for the past week and didn't leave on such good terms. There was no way I missed him that much.

"Maximoff, what are you doing?"

My back hit the closed door, and my heart stopped beating for a second. Pierson stood in front of me, eyes fierce.