Therapist, Audrey Edwards, has a new client. She's worked with ex-soldiers before, but none quite as intriguing as the enigmatic James Buchanan Barnes.
"i found love
where it wasn't supposed to be,
right in front of me."
- I Found, Amber Run.
Sl...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"so i'll try to talk refined, for fear that you find out how i'm imaginin' you." - Talk, Hozier
☾
During my flight home, my mind goes over and over Bucky's last words, going back and forth, unable to decide whether he truly meant what he said or not.
My first instinct is no, he didn't.
He was just scared, like Sam said.
Because Bucky has never spoken to me like that. And we've never been under threat before. It makes sense that he was looking out for me. He's done so the whole time we've been away from home.
Him saying he didn't want me there can be taken either way. Did fear and worry have him lashing out? Or was he speaking his true thoughts? The look in his eyes was very convincing. Until the end though, when they looked hurt and regretful. Or maybe that's what I wanted to see in them..
Right now, I truly don't know. And I just get more and more frustrated. To have the knowledge and awareness of how the mind works, but be able to do nothing but witness my own destruction while I attempt to decipher the truth.. It has me vexed.
We'd become so close, Bucky and I. I thought I knew him well, yet now I'm doubting everything.
Maybe he did like me to begin with and then I just became annoying. A headache, like he said. But then why protect me, if I annoyed him so?
Perhaps he just didn't want to add to his guilty conscience.
Bucky's joke when we first met, about me having a session with myself, switching seats to be therapist and client, suddenly comes to mind. The fond memory makes me chuckle, before the small laughter turns to more tears.
At this rate, I'll be shrivelled up into a dry old prune by the time this plane lands.
I try to pretend my problems are that of a clients to help conjure an answer, but it doesn't help. I analyse every possible angle, turn every stone, until my mind is ready to explode.
I tend to keep coming back to Sam's angle; Bucky didn't mean it. He was just scared and wanted me to be safe.
It doesn't appease me too long, as I begin to wonder if it truly is the right angle, or if I just want it to be.
Safe to say, I'm exhausted.
Because when I'm not over analysing his words and behaviour, I'm sick with worry. Hoping and praying, that he and Sam are okay.
The plane finally lands late evening in New York. I disembark and wander through the busy airport, keeping my hands in my pockets.
As I walk on, I notice almost everyone looking at their phones. Which isn't necessarily out of the ordinary, only everyone appears quite fixated. And there's multiple groups of people, sharing the one phone screen. People discuss what they're watching in hushed tones.
