Away We Go. (Avengers Fan Fiction)

Chapter 7

Main Character's P.O.V

I sighed in content as I stepped into the warm water, the phrase 'heaven on earth' coming to mind. I hadn't had an actual shower in a year, easy. Sure, I'd bathed in rivers, a few streams and maybe a dingy gas station bathroom, but nothing with hot, clean water. I was like a little kid in the candy shop when Natasha (also apparenlty known as Black Widow) had allowed me to use her bathroom to freshen up.

Her quarters were much larger than anything I'd ever lived in, even when things had been good. Almost everything was metal and that had set me on edge, but I guess it was something I'd have to get used to. 

I thought back to when we'd left the examination room, the blonde man whose name I hadn't yet received, quickly parting with us and disappearing down another hallway. For that, I had to admit I was a bit glad. He was bringing forth too many memories.

Coming back to the present, I watched as a steady stream of nearly blackened water began to swirl around my feet as the dirt was stripped from my hair and skin. 

After what seemed like an eternity the water ran clear. My skin was a shade lighter and the natural dark brown of my hair was revealed.

I took my time scrubbing the additional crud from my scalp and almost whooped in glee when I spotted a razor on one of the shower shelves. It's not that I had much hair to be rid of, (which I was really thrilled with, or else my legs would look like a pair of fur pants),  but the stubble did bother me, as I'm sure it does almost every woman.

I cringed a little when soap ran over the sutures of my bullet wound, the sting far from pleasant. From the looks of it, it would heal nicely, leaving behind nothing but a smooth scar. Several other scars littered my torso and my legs, though they were white and long faded. A rather gruesome looking patch of skin ran along my right hip, the shape of the scar obviously man made. I shuddered as I was catapulted into another flashback. 

"Specimen 6392 primed for branding," a robotic voice declared as the metal restraints tightened around my wrists and ankles. My shirt was rolled up to reveal my stomach, the cool air causing goosebumps to erupt across the skin. 

Tears began to stream from my eyes as I caught sight of the rectangular piece of steel that hovered next to me, protruding from the far wall. It was being heated over an open flame and the usual grey color of the metal was now a blood red, glowing in the dimmed lights. I bit down onto the cloth that covered my mouth, and began to shake. 

Slowly, it inched towards the right side of my waist, the air around it hissing as it was heated as well. When it was within five feet of me, it jerked to a halt. I let out a breath, thinking the machine had malfunctioned. I was sorely mistaken. 

In one swift movement the piece of steel had been pushed into my hip, my skin crackling and blistering under the heat.

I shrieked into the cloth, my nails cracking as they dug into the underside of the table. The pain was intolerable– torturous. I cried out in agony until my throat was raw, my feet pointed straight down in inconceivable torment. I dry heaved, my vision becoming blurred by blotches of black. 

I'd never experienced a pain like that. It was so undulated, so concentrated. At the time, I'd believed death would have been better than enduring that hell. 

It seemed like centuries later that the metal piece finally retracted, coated in charred blood and tiny specks of what could once have been called skin. The pain eventually lessened over time, though the sterilization and changing of bandages was nearly too much to handle. 

I must have been in the bathroom for over an hour, because by the time I got out my fingers had the textures of prunes.

I hastily dried off, relishing the feel of the soft towel against my skin. It was like a fluffy cloud infused with cotton. My body had dried, but my hair, reaching a little past the middle of my back, was still sopping wet, even after towel drying it.