chrysalism. n.
the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension...
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New York, New York. June 17th, 2017. 4:02 AM.
Malone's eyes flew open as she felt Bucky's hand fall to her side, hard. She raised her head, eyes not quite adjusted to the darkness as she looked around. She saw sweat prickling his forehead as he tossed and turned next to her, his metal palm grasping at her thigh before quickly pulling away as he turned over again. She had never seen him in the middle of a nightmare, but she knew he had them. Since he had moved onto their floor temporarily, she sometimes heard him wake with a gasp, sometimes a scream.
The first time, she swore she was hearing things, laying her head back down moments later. Then, a crash, sounded like glass breaking. She sprung from her bed and quietly made her way to the hallway, stopping at Bucky's closed door. She heard him mumbling expletives to himself while gasping for air. She froze, not quite sure what was happening on the other side of the door. From the noises alone, her mind raced with possibilites. Is he crying? Why's he even up right now? Oh, god, what if he's got another girl in there, he sounds like he's trying to catch his breath which is vague. God, no, he wouldn't have. Something has to be wrong. Fuck, what if something is wrong, like really wrong, and he doesn't want me to see? She didn't follow her gut that first night, slinking back into her room after a few minutes, defeated.
The second night, maybe a few days after the first incident, the same thing. Gasping, something breaking, a scream. The scream is what made her open his door hastily after listening for a minute or two. She came face to face with him, his hair wet and stringy with sweat, eyes dark, hands shaking. His head snapped up hearing the door open, he just stared at her. "Are you alright?" He shook his head, bringing a hand to his eyes to wipe tears before they fell. She took a careful step towards him, his eyes still not meeting hers. She approached him slowly, her hand tentatively touching his forearm. He jumped, causing her to drop her hand quickly and hang her head. "How can I help?" She asked in a whisper. He shrugged as he turned away from her, walking towards the window, staring out into the night sky. She sat on his bed, watching as his chest heaved while he tried to catch his breath, shaking. He turned and walked back to her without a word, carefully cupping her cheek with his hand, his eyes empty. She turned her head a little, kissing his palm and rubbing his forearm with her hand. He slowly leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.
"I'm sorry, honey," he had whispered. "Go back to bed."
"Buck, don't you want me to stay?"
"No," he shook his head, "please, go back to bed."
Now, Malone was trying to figure out the best way to help Bucky out of this current nightmare. She carefully placed her hand on his right bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze as she started humming 'Yesterday' by The Beatles just like her grandmother used to. He sat up quickly, making her jump. He gasped trying to catch his breath before frantically looking around, his face twisting when he saw Malone next to him, looking panicked.
"Are you okay?" He asked, frantically.
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
Bucky blinked hard once, trying to get his bearings, before his eyes fell to a red handprint on her thigh, slowly turning purple.
