Holding On | Bucky Barnes

11 | Tuesday, January 4th

I roll over in the dark room and look at the clock on the side table.

2:42 AM.

I've been laying in bed for the last three hours trying to sleep but regardless of how tired I am, I can't.

I eye Bucky as I push myself up and crawl backwards down the bed.

"Doll, you okay?" Bucky asks, head poking up from the pillow in a daze.

"Yah, I can't sleep. I'm gonna go read for a little while. Go back to sleep," I whisper.

He nods once before his head flops back onto the pillow.

I chuckle quietly and push myself off the bed, then I cross the hall to grab one of my books off the window ledge before heading downstairs. The lights turn on as I reach the common area and I squint in pain.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y. could you turn all the lights off except the one in the kitchen please?"

"On it, Y/N."

My shoulders drop as the lights turn off and I don't feel like I'm staring into the sun. I drop the book on the couch and round the island, finding a cup and filling it with cold water. I plop down onto the couch and take a sip of water, cracking open the book and resting it against my folded knees.

I finish chapter after chapter before I finally pull myself from the pages.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., what time is it?" I ask lazily.

"Just after four, Y/N, you should probably head back to bed."

"Thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y.," I chuckle, closing the book and pushing myself up. I wander behind the island and drop the still full cup in the sink, then make my way upstairs. I slip into Bucky's room, trying to be silent, but through the darkness I see Bucky stir. I pause and lean against the door, letting out a silent breath.

I've been sloth-like all weekend, still trying to re-coup from my session with Renner Friday... I haven't told anyone that I'm not going back. I was thinking of telling Ness after yoga tomorrow... or I guess today—I want to hear her opinion on not going back. I've only known her for a short time, so she'll be looking at the situation with a less biased lens than everyone else would be. Because I know what the team would say about me not going back.

That it's a dumb decision.

And there's a small voice in the back of my mind that's saying the same.

But the things he said...

They were true.

Every word.

But I am trying, and he doesn't seem to see that.

He doesn't see how gut-wrenching it is having to keep talking about what's happened to me. I don't want to keep trying methods and reliving what happened.

I don't like talking about that stuff.

I sigh and run a hand through my hair, watching Bucky. He's face down on the bed, blankets only covering his bottom half. I never understand how he can sleep like that... I hate when I'm not completely covered by the blanket; I feel exposed. His left hand slides over to my side of the bed, fingers fisting the sheets before he stills again.

My mind wanders back to the issue of therapy.

I knew it wouldn't be easy. But I didn't think it would be so damn hard. And it's not helping. I gave it two months. I only feel worse.

So, I'm done.

But I really don't think the team will agree with my decision. They're gonna want me to push through it. Even Bucky said that me hurting meant it was working.