I'll wait for you (Clintasha)✔️

❤︎✧21✧❤︎ Shattered dreams

Shattered.

Her heart was shattered.

Her world was shattered.

A tremendous earthquake of infinite magnitude swept through her already failing heart. It destroyed everything that was left, the little hope and faith that she managed to find amidst the cruel and hopeless world, tearing apart all the tiny pieces that painstakingly held on to keep the fragile organ beating another day.

She couldn't be put together again.

But Natasha didn't cry. No, not yet. The tears haven't found their way to the tear ducts yet. They were lost, just like her, undecided, directionless.

Despondency knew her by name.

Mrs Romanoff caught Natasha staring into space, with her phone still clutched in her hands.

"Honey, why don't you call Clint to tell him you've woken up?" She said as she walked in holding a cup of coffee.

"He's...busy. I-I...don't want to... disturb him." She tried to sound normal, like there wasn't anything wrong at all, but the far-away look in her eyes gave her away.

Mrs Romanoff didn't let her suspicion show. She did notice how her overly-ecstatic daughter from a few moments ago had grown quiet, too quiet.

"I'm tired, mom."

"Have some rest then, sweetie." She proceeded to tuck the blanket snugly around Natasha then gave her a kiss on the forehead.

After sensing that her mother had moved away, Natasha rolled onto her side, facing the window.

Then the tears found their way, making their silent escape down her face in rivulets.

They didn't stop. They just kept going, soaking up the pristine white pillow case where she hid her face.

She hoped no one would see the slight convulsions and tremors that swept across her body while she sobbed.

She hoped no one would hear the faint gasps escaping her mouth as she gulped for more air between whimpers.

She wanted so badly to fall asleep and wake up again realizing it was all a bad dream and Clint would appear before her telling her that everything was alright.

But it wouldn't happen. The unwelcome thought resurfaced in her mind, amplified. The weekly letters stopped coming a few weeks before, she now knew why - he had forgotten about her, given up on her, moved on.

Who was she to live for now?

Melancholy has a way of transcending time, of shying a person away from reality. Unknowingly, Natasha had slept through the entire afternoon.

She woke up to a dark room, with the city lights distant and blurry through the window.

For a moment, her mind was clear. She was a clean sheet of paper, eagerly anticipating the wonders to be imprinted.

But then the ink came in giant splotches, as the pieces came back to her. The whitish surface was marred by fears, vandalized by sorrow, defaced by uncertainty and doubt.

Ravaged.

A creak in the door drew her back to reality. A streak of light entered the room and shone onto the window before her, causing her to squint.

A comforting hand landed on her shoulder and she stirred, signaling that she was awake.

It was her father. He sat down on one side of the bed and she turned to his side, still lying down.

A calloused hand slid onto her cheek.

"Natasha, we've spoken to the doctor and he has approved of your heart transplant. The operation will take place next week...and you'll be well again...My healthy girl." A hint of moroseness permeated his voice. Natasha sensed apology, regret and fear.

She had never seen this side of her father before - so fatherly, tender and caring.

"Dad, what if I don't..."

It was an unspoken understanding.

"Promise me you'll do."

She hesitated, then smiled and nodded.

In the dim light, she caught his smile - genuine and trusting, as he stroked her hair lovingly.

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