The Black Cat

Chapter 22: Drained

I still was not used to the apartment without Steve. It felt strange because it wasn't my apartment for one and also I was so used to seeing him around it. Sometimes late at night I would go to use the restroom and he would be hunched over his desk working intently on a drawing. Or when I come home late sometimes he would be laid out on the couch watching a movie, occasionally asleep. But now, the whole place is quiet and only the sound of my footsteps are my company. I didn't like it. I was so used to being alone. I used to enjoy the company of silence and even beg for some at work. I craved alone time and savored it when I got it but now, after living with Steve for nearly a month and a half now, I hated being alone. I was never a people person and hated attention from people. Somehow now, I have changed from that.

After returning from my run with Sam, I place my keys in the bowl by the door and notice a picture hooked up on the wall I hadn't seen before. Up on the wall was a picture Steve had taken of us. We were smiling at our table from the café we went to on our first date. It was framed and everything. I can't help but smile when I look at it and think back to that night. I just wished he was here. I miss him. Holy crap, I do miss him. There was no question about it and it kind of scared me. I wasn't expecting this so quickly. I never get attached to anything at all so now all of the sudden having this relationship with Steve –that isn't even official- was something completely out of character. What made matters worse was that I felt like I wasn't doing enough if I was anything at all. But also he chose me, out of all people Captain America could have chosen, to be with and enjoy it. I didn't see myself as a delightful person to be with either. All of this was foreign to me and I didn't know if that was good.

What I think made it even scarier was that I was getting adapted to it. I even wanted more of this feeling. I didn't want to say it was love, I'm pretty sure that we're still a while away from that. But I genuinely like being with Steve, even unromantically. And I also missed him. Dammit, I was getting gushy again. But at the same time, I liked the gushiness of all of this. No, no, no. I can't get all gushy over a guy. But he's so dreamy too. I like how his eyes gleam when he looks into my eyes and how that gave me butterflies in my stomach every time. I can't get over how adorable he looks in the mornings too, with his tired eyes beginning to light up as he starts to talk to me and his messy bed hair flopping into different directions. I adored how calm he seemed near me. He was completely relaxed and that relaxed me. I'm always tense and ready for action but around him I feel like I can chill out and let go. Then there's when he holds my hand. I feel so protected when he reaches for my hand and that he felt the same when I hold it back. Not to mention the way that his lips feel against mine. The few times that it has happened made my heart feel warm and that I wasn't alone. I absolutely adored him.

What the hell is wrong with me? I can't get attached. I know I can't. There's no way that I can. I'm too afraid that I'll hurt him or scare him off. Even worse, he could find out what I've been hiding. What if he finds out that I took in Bucky and didn't tell him? He'd never forgive me. Maybe he doesn't even miss me. Maybe it's all an act.

Later that afternoon, I find myself walking in the grocery store trying to guess what preference Steve had for eggs. I may have been living with him for a while now but I didn't pay attention seeing how I couldn't even hold a frying pan without hitting myself. "I'll go with these," I whisper to myself as I place the eggs in the cart. I wander down the aisles picking up things as I go, only thinking if Steve would like it. I reach the milk as my phone rings, Steve's name popping up. "Hello?" I answer. "Jackie?" Steve breathes out heavily. It sounded like he was in a fight and losing. "Hey, what's up oldster?" I reply coolly. "Oh you know," He says as nonchalant as possible, "Just getting my butt kicked." "How nice," I respond, "I'm at the grocery store. What kind of milk do you like?" I hear him get hit, the phone knocking out of his grasp. I start humming the 'Jeopardy' theme, waiting for him to get back to me. As soon as the song finishes, he picks up the phone, no longer battling anything. "2%," He gets out, "I think I'm badly wounded." "Hm," I respond as I bend down to look at the 2% milk, "Well are you planning on dying before or after April 17th 2013? Because that's when the milk expires." I pick up the gallon and put it in the basket. "You can find out when you pick me up from the airport tomorrow," He says, finally catching his breath. "Already? I thought you weren't coming back until Sunday," I inquire. "The mission went so well that I'm able to come home early," He answers. I wander down another aisle, looking at more things.