Outsider

Thirty-two

A week later, a funeral was held.  We took hold of an abandoned church in a worn-down part of Manhattan.  Everything about the church was filthy and crumbling, but the coffin was new and gleaming.  Someone had inscribed the Crimson Night crest upon its front.  I was glad that Trish's father received a proper burial, though, unlike so many other people.  

In the front pew sat Trish, Tobias, Jasmine, Matt, and I.  Tobias and Matt wore suits with dark red collared shirts underneath.  Trish wore a long, black, spaghetti-strap dress and a red scarf, as well as her inherited gold chain.  As not to make it "too depressing," Trish dressed her daughter in a cherry red dress which made her look like Christmas.  I was expected to dress like all the other members of Crimson Night, in gang clothes that still represented mourning.  Plus, Matt didn't like my body in any of the respectable dresses I had selected originally.  I wore a wine red shirt with matching combat boots, black leggings with my knife strapped across my thigh, and a black leather jacket.  To that day I still wore Oliver's necklace, but I had a ruby red choker on as well.  Oliver had me promise to give his beautiful pendant to his family, but I had decided that it was too risky for me to travel to Europe in search of them.  Truthfully, I was terrified to face his parents and tell them that my irresponsibility fucking killed their son.  

To think that S.H.I.E.L.D. would give a daughter time to bury her father is a laughable idea.  Right in the middle of Trish's speech about Azazel's life, damn S.H.I.E.L.D. barged in, demanding we put up our hands.  Who the hell disturbs a funeral like that?    All hell broke loose after S.H.I.E.L.D. made their grand entrance, shots were fired from both sides.  The priority Matt and I shared was to get Trish, Tobias, and Jasmine out of the church without being followed or arrested.  Matt got them to the car, I fought back S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who were enclosing around us.  Fuck, they were still fucking looking for me!  "Get them out of here!" I hollered at Matt, who quickly ushered the family out the door.  My knife then pointed threateningly at a younger S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who was charging towards me.  Somehow I managed to lead him hostage-style to an untouched corner, where I hissed, "Who the hell is looking for me?  Who the fuck wants me?"

No answer.  My knife lightly poked his skin, to scare the guy a little bit.  I smirked and said, "I'm giving you an offer you cannot refuse:  A knife to the throat or giving me a simple answer.  Your choice."

"He's looking for you," gargled the agent.

"Who?"

"Winter..."

"Who the fuck is that?" I snapped.

Then, my knife fell to the floor.  The pieces became clear to me- S.H.I.E.L.D. was looking for me because the Winter Soldier was looking for me.  Either way I was going to perish.  I was going to die.

Using this as an opportunity to escape, the agent promptly delivered a swift blow to my stomach.  I fell to the floor, spitting blood.  Head pressed to the floor, I stared blankly at my knife.  Time seemed to slow, my heart thudded against my chest.  I was furious, since when does S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra have the right to control my life?  "My name is Sarah Callaughan," I murmured, "And I am loyal to Crimson Night."

I found strength to pick myself up off the ground, and I fought my way out of that damn place.  My knife functioned as a part of me, I released my hellish self upon S.H.I.E.L.D..  I never killed anyone, but sure as hell felt like it.  Each time I stabbed someone in their stupid bullet-proof vest, my anger was released with it.  However, I was also injured in this battle.  By the time I reached the streets of Manhattan, I was a bloodied mess.  A black eye, gash on the forehead, and an obvious sprained ankle.  Gingerly, I swallowed Criz.  The numbness felt so good.

It was not until nightfall when I reached the apartment.  Everyone at home was a sorry sight.  Jasmine sobbed into Tobias' lap, the poor thing had no idea what was going on.  She didn't even bother saying, "Sarah's home!"  To be honest, I missed that.   Trish was swearing a blue streak on the phone, Matt was bitter and silent.  I limped into my bedroom, and Matt followed me.  We quickly embraced.  "Are you okay?" he asked, kissing my cheeks, "Please say you're okay!"

Gently, I replied, "I made it out alive.  I'm okay."  All of a sudden, I was slapped in the face.  I fell to the floor, clutching my cheek.  As not to disturb the others, I whispered, "Why'd you do that for?"

Matt whispered angrily back, "You could've been killed!  You should've just gone with us when you had the chance!"

"Fuck you," I spat, "Don't ever touch me again!"  

Matt fell to his knees, I heard him sobbing.  And I saw his hazel eyes, full of gentleness.  He was always so sweet to me, and he cried, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry... I promise I'll never hit you again.  I'm so sorry, I just don't want to lose you.  Please, Sarah, don't put me in that situation again.  I can't fucking lose you!"  My arms wrapped around him in a hug, and I soothed, "I'm sorry too, Matt, I'm sorry."  We sat on the floor, Matt's head in my lap, and he stroked my hands until he fell asleep.  Seeping through my curtains was a bit of silver moonlight, just like how I remember watching it with Oliver in Hydra.  A lump swelled in my throat, I could barely swallow without tears spilling down my cheeks.

No matter how many times I tried to bury the past, it was always coming back to haunt me.