This Is Stella's Reality

March 7, 2015

I knew I was being obnoxious. My laughter screamed and reverberated off every wall which only made me laugh harder. Tears brimmed in my eyes as it took both Bucky and Steve to get me downstairs. My face hurt from laughing. Tony and Natasha were encouraging it, pointing things out to me or making comments that would send me into another bout of uncontrollable laughter.

Bucky held my waist with one arm while his other hand held my heels. Steve's hand rested on my upper back, and my hands held their shoulders for support. I shook their large frames every time my stomach cramped from a fit of giggles.

"Can you get her the hell out of here?" Sharon's shrill voice grated against my ear drums. I laughed harder. I hate her so much. As if I were sober, I tore out of the boys' grasps and stormed towards her. I heard their feet scrambling behind me, wanting to catch me before I ripped her throat out.

Steve stepped between us as Bucky's arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the ground. My hands fisted Steve's jacket, pushing him to the side so I could glare at Sharon as I screamed at her. I don't remember what I said, probably drunken idiocy about how annoying she was.

I remember her words. Laced with venom. "His death is on your hands. I hope your fifteen minutes of fame were worth it."

I remember the impact of her body hitting the bar as Steve's hands shoved her backwards.

I remember her scream as my magic caused her drink cup to explode and send shards of glass into her skin.

I remember Bucky wordlessly carrying me to the exit. Steve's footsteps echoed behind us.

My feet hit the floor, cold and bare as Bucky didn't trust me to not break my ankle in my heels. His arm steadied me, and Steve opened the door for us. We all walked to the valet driver. Cameras flashed in our faces, dizzying and blinding in the pitch darkness. I was too drunk for this now. My stomach churned, and I clutched Bucky's arm tighter.

The inside of the car was quiet. Bucky's hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned ghostly white. Steve simmered with anger in the back seat. My mind reeled, still recovering from the bright lights still swimming behind my eyes.

His death is on your hands.

"Stop thinking about it," Bucky said finally as he started the car and pulled away from the party.

I turned the radio on, hoping to distract myself and possibly sober my mind a bit by focusing on something. The world was blurry, and Steve and Bucky's thoughts were loud in my head.

Steve was still fuming over Sharon's comment about Bucky's blood being on my hands. In that moment, he had wanted to see her dead. He hated her now. He never wanted to see her again. And when Steve Rogers wanted something, he stopped at nothing to get it.

Bucky's thoughts were a roller coaster. He was still elated with our new found freedom. He bristled with happiness, but it was muddied by Sharon's premonitions. He tried to push them away and focus on me sitting beside him.

I saw myself through his eyes, relaxed in my seat, staring out the window and fiddling with the buttons for the radio. He adored me, could watch me do the most mundane tasks with a smile on his face. I blushed, hearing how much he loved to look at me.

My drunken brain had no concept of time or space. We pulled into the garage of the compound moments later. Steve and Bucky opened their doors, offering supportive hands to me as I climbed out of my seat.

"Steve," my voice sounded more feeble than I hoped it would. I felt both of their thoughts shift. It was like a wave crashing over me. They liked to hear me tremble. I swallowed past the feeling rising in my chest. "Did we embarrass you earlier?"