The Shadow [a marvel fanfiction]

Civil War: Chapter Two

The hot, stale air under the blanket was borderline suffocating. Small beads of sweat dotted her skin and further stifled the little fresh air available. Despite this, Marie pressed her face further into the couch. A bone-deep ache filled her body and seeped even further into her mind. The weight of it held her down and Marie made no effort to fight it.

Her joints groaned in protest at the slight shift in position. Vertigo swamped her muddled brain. Marie moaned at the dizzying pain and dug her fingers into the cushion. She tried to ground herself. She wasn't spinning in circles or rocking on a boat, she was on the couch pretending that the hollowness came from her stomach and not her chest.

Marie twisted and finally pushed her head out from under the blanket. Cool air and bright light washed over her but did nothing to alleviate the weight pressing her deeper into the couch. Her eyelids, swollen and heavy, blinked blearily as the dark blanket came into focus. Her lips were cracked, and a sour taste clung to her equally dry mouth.

The silence of the apartment only further weighed on her. Marie didn't care to know how long she had laid there on the couch; she drifted in and out of consciousness, never truly falling asleep but her hours of staring at nothing were hazy memories at best. Still, biology deemed she would have to relieve herself eventually.

Marie moved to her feet, her body aching in ways she had never experienced, and sluggishly walked to the bathroom. She couldn't find the energy to lift her head and look at her reflection; it was already too much to twist the sink knobs and wash her hands. With trembling fingers, Marie scooped water into her mouth. She clumsily brushed her matted curls out of her face but didn't bother retying them. What was the point?

The floor swayed beneath her. Marie gripped the doorframe and closed her eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass. Her fingers brushed the chipped edge of the doorframe. She remembered how tired he had been that morning; his disgruntled answers to her teasing questions; how she hooked her foot around his ankle and sent him tumbling into the doorframe; how he glared at her and wrestled her onto the floor; how the bathroom door had never closed right again.

Stop it. Marie swallowed past the emotions building up in the back of her throat. She trudged past the still-made bed (he always complained it was useless to make the bed if they were just going to mess it up later that night) and slumped into her chair at the table.

Her mug was still there, cold and abandoned. She ran a finger around the rim.

Everything had gone so wrong so fast. She replayed the whole scene over and over again; every word, every movement, every feeling. She wished she had swallowed her tongue and glued her lips shut. She would do anything to go back and change it all.

But the guilt would still be there; it was always there, lingering beneath the surface and waiting for a quiet moment to seep into her thoughts. Marie didn't lie. Lagos was her fault. She abandoned her family. They needed her and she was nowhere to be found.

Marie stared at the three deep groves in the table. That was from their first fight. She nicked his cheekbone and nearly caught his carotid artery before burying the knife in the table. The second mark came from him, the knife harmlessly passing through her shadow, and the third again from Marie when she tried to sever his pinkie.

Tears burned in her eyes and Marie pressed her forehead against the table. Stupid, stupid.

Here she was, alone again.

Marie's stomach growled. She rubbed a hand over it, turning her head to the side to stare at the kitchen. The increasingly familiar ache in her bones weighed down on her. The last thing she wanted to do was find something to eat. She blinked slowly. Maybe she could just sleep right there.