Secretive - Bucky Barnes

35 || Hurting Mentally

[Nova]
After fetching clothes and several private belongings on pre-midday, James helps me to bring them into one of the spare rooms on the living level, it being on twelfth floor. I never have been allowed to pay it a visit before, so I walk in, admittedly, with a lot of curiosity. 

James and I have barely talked driving back to my flat and grabbing things. The tension between us stretches my nerves, and I feel getting irritated by things smaller than ants. It does not do well for me. Especially, since I have no one but James to talk about the recent events. I definitely cannot tell my friends they have met with an assassin all along, and I did not tell them yet to keep them safe. Particularly, after my boyfriend has not been safe at all.

I glance at him, his side profile, to make me memorize the laceration at his temple that knocked him out. I may not have swinged whatever against it, but it is definitely my fault. I do not know if I am ever able to forgive myself for this. And I still wonder how he manages to be so calm about it, as if he was not surprised at all. Had he ever thought about it? Perhaps even expected it? Did he know my face from somewhere?I have not been covered in all of my missions, and one definitely could identify me if necessary, as Tony did. Did James do researches on me? And if so, did he find something? Why would he not be honest with me?

But then, I kept it a secret from him, too, was not entirely honest, on purpose, and perhaps this has been enough. Perhaps he really did not know. And perhaps I should not be angry with him if he knew.

It must have been heart-breaking, nonetheless. To find out the partner you thought you knew inside and out, you thought you knew better than the back of your hand, keeping such a huge thunder inside, such a huge darkness. How does he get along with it, and how much time do I have until he leaves me?

Consumed from the turmoil of worries and possibilities, my curiosity is taken aback. I did not even pay attention at where Steve leads us, or how my environment looks like.

Then, my attention is drawn back with me entering a large room. The left half of the opposite wall is made of glass, revealing a beautiful glance atop New York. Right of it, the white wall leaves a thirty centimetre and perhaps three metres long window at the top, kissing the ceiling. In front of the wall leaning on the right wall in its middle, there is a double-sized bed, already prepared with grey blankets and sheets, and a shelf on its left. On its right, next to the door, is a huge, dark grey wardrobe. On the wall to my left, there is a television above another shelf, this one dark grey as the wardrobe, and next to the panorama, there is an open door, revealing the view upon a washbasin. All in all, it seems modern and expensive.

James drops his box, including a lot of my clothes, in front of the wardrobe, whilst Steve intends to go wordless. But I am faster, making myself an obstacle on his path leading outside the room. »Can I talk to you for a second?«

He lifts both his dark brows, eyes still talking of his disappointment. James, though, is faster than him in decision-making, and gently presses his lips against my hair when leaving the room.

»I'm sorry, Steve, honestly.« I say as soon as the door is shut close. »It has been disrespectful, I know that.«

»But you'd do it again.«

»Not if there are other ways.«

His arms sink, and he leisurely walks to the edge of the bed, sitting. »Why did you do it? There surely could have been other ways.« Now, he sounds rather upset.

I nod, shrugging. Where is the point in lying to him? »I could have bugged you, or put a knife on your throat, or pinned you on the wall and slowly zipping through your stomach. Sure, I will respect your words when I am in need, again.«