Saving Steve (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter 5 - Bullies

71...72...73...

"Y/n?! Oh God...Y/n...Y/n are you okay?"

74...75...76...

"Y/n?"

Your vision blurs as a gentle shaking around your shoulders moves your head. It makes it difficult to count those tiny sticks of pasta. Had you been at 75? 76?

"Y/n!"

The tone of urgency from somewhere nearby catches your attention. In a daze, you look up to find a frightened hazel gaze looking back. It's familiar, but your thoughts are fuzzy. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus in on Blair, but when you do your anxiety spikes. You're having a bit of trouble concentrating, and Blair's distress is confusing.

"Bee?" you ask quietly, in a daze. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" she repeats, tears in her eyes as she kneels before you and takes in your disheveled appearance. "Y/n what happened? Did he...did he...?"

"Did what?" you ask, still not completely understanding her question.

It isn't until Blair reaches out and pulls the strap of your bra and tank top back up on your shoulder that you suddenly feel sick. Your eyes widen as a sudden wave of nausea hits, and you reach desperately for the mop bucket in the corner of the room, pulling it in front of you and getting violently ill.

"Oh honey," Blair says, rubbing your back and holding your hair away from your face. 

Tears push their way through as you void your stomach. Once nothing is left, Blair stands to get rid of the mess you've made and clean the mop bucket. But you start shaking as your mind seems to tune back in, beginning to remember what just happened. You start trembling on the floor, not letting go of Blair's arm. 

Blair looks down at the hand that desperately clutches her sleeve, then simply pushes the bucket outside the door to stay with you instead, holding you tightly for God knows how long. She hushes and ricks you gently, promising you're okay as she dabs at your neck with a rag from nearby. Each time she pulls it away, a bit more blood stains its edges.

A sudden movement near the door causes you to jump in Blair's arms. You look up to find a pair of worried blue eyes peering down at you.

"Is she okay?" he asks Blair, his voice soft.

"No, obviously she's not okay," Blair hisses, causing the man to press his lips together tightly.

Azure eyes flit from Blair to you. He scrunches his nose and sniffs the air, grimacing when he turns to find the soiled bucket near his feet.

"I'll take care of this," he says quietly, picking it up and walking away.

As he leaves, you suddenly feel exposed. Vulnerable. "B-Bee," you say, gripping her arm tightly as your voice shakes.

"Shh, I'm here," she says. "Do you want me to call your mom?"

You shake your head vigorously. Your mother lives across the river in upstate New York. There's nothing she can do for you here in New Jersey. And you don't want to frighten her.

"Okay," Blair says quietly. "Do you want me to call the police? We should file a report...we should-"

"NO!" you shout, your breathing intensifying. The last time you had called police you had been punished once they left.

"Okay, okay," says Blair softly. "W-we won't call."

"She needs to go home."

You and Blair both look up at the blue-eyed stranger, once more standing in the storage room doorway with a freshly cleaned mop bucket. Immediately you feel safe once more. Guarded. The gaping space in the doorway filled by his frame.