HIS OBSESSION

23

AN: Once again thank you for the encouragement, support and comments.

WARNINGS: mentions of rape, suicide, violence, torture, injury, angst, fluff (smut next time, I promise xx)

Megan

In the end it took another couple of weeks to get out of the hospital. A couple of weeks of hospital food, a hospital bed, no sex, no privacy and no being sandwiched in between to super soldiers. But then to be honest, I have lived through this shit show, so how can I complain.

Then another couple of weeks has been spent at the compound, well, at home. It is my home, which makes me smile. Dad is living in a house not far away; he's working things out so that he can take an early retirement and has been given some kind of diplomatic residence order...or something, so that he can stay in the U.S. I'm overjoyed at it and we talk on the phone or see each other at least every other day.

The food is much better, which I haven't really been eating. Eating doesn't interest me much, neither does sleeping. It's so hard to sleep, so hard to concentrate on anything. My mind in consumed by the fact that Alex Parson's is dead, that Rumlow is still out there somewhere. Nat has made it her life's mission to find him, I almost feel sorry for the bastard. Almost.

However, there still hasn't been much privacy and definitely no sex. Some sandwiching and the bed is ridiculously better, but no sex, or sex of any kind, kissing yes, and Steve is completely unable to keep his hands to himself, but definitely no sex. And nothing from Bucky past a chaste kiss here and there.

It's starting to worry me. Actually, it is really worrying me. It's making me think that he doesn't want me, or this relationship that the three of us kind of fell into. I mean it was quick, I realise that. He might be thinking that it's too quick. I feel like more than that though he's thinking that I'm a horrible person. They will both most likely think that if or maybe when they find out that I pretty much stabbed myself. I hope that he hasn't finally realised that I asked too much of him. Or that I won't be enough for him and Steve. Maybe he doesn't like the person that I am underneath everything.

The conversation that we had in the hospital comes back to me over and over. What I said wasn't right I don't think. I shouldn't have told Bucky my thoughts. One good thing is that I didn't tell him that I practically threw it in Alex's face that Bucky would rip him to pieces. He certainly won't tell me anything about it. He said that it wasn't nice and that he knew fear. I can only imagine.

And I can imagine a lot. I've been imagining it for years, wishing for it.

What kind of person does that make me because I wished someone dead and imagined it in the most horrible ways, practically begging to be able to swim in the man's blood.

I think that maybe Bucky resents me for it, or that he doesn't like that I know what he's capable of.

But we're all capable of horrible things for the ones that we love. I was prepared to die for them, I did and I did it to myself. I also killed a man when I was 15 years old, and did what I needed to do to survive, it's all any of us can ever do.

I wake up in the night a lot, cold sweats, sometimes because my brain refuses to acknowledge that I'm safe and I wake up gasping for breath, fear gripping me. The boys are always there, Steve is always there, sometimes when I wake in the night Bucky is gone. He's there when we fall asleep, but he leaves in the night, not always, but a lot of the time now. One night I woke up between them, sweating and feeling like I would be sick at the memories and disgusting images racing through my mind, reliving moments from the past that I have tried so long and hard to forget. I spent the rest of the night on the couch on my own, but at some point they put me back in the bed and they took the couch instead giving me space.