⤷ may 2, 2012
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When she wakes up, it's still the early hours of the morning; the sky a soft array of pinks, yellows and blues as the sun begins to peak over the horizon.
Usually, at this time of day, you'd expect it to be quiet and still, a sort of peaceful ambience in the world.
But New York never slept.
The blare of cars is what she wakes to, but it's comforting, in a sense. She'd been living in the city for just over five years now, and she's gotten used to it; the noise, the aggressive honks from New Yorkians who have neither the time nor patience for the traffic of their fellow citizens, all of whom were running on their own schedules, hardly a shred of manners in most of the drivers in the cars lining the roads.
It's as they said; the city never stayed quiet.
She slides out of bed, heading straight to the small square bathroom connected to her room. White walls with a clean beige counter where her sink was, an array of teeth and skin care carefully organized around it.
Turning the tap, she picks up her toothbrush and squeezes a blob of toothpaste onto the bristles, running it quickly under the water before scrubbing at her teeth.
After a minute, she dips her head and fills her mouth with the water, before lifting her head slightly and spitting out the paste. She repeats the progress two more times, before safely confirming no remnants of toothpaste remain in her mouth.
She lifts her head, her eyes flickering up to the mirror, meets sharp brown eyes, devoid of light, and she's plagued by memories.
𓆩*𓆪
"Target acquired. Eliminating now."
"Please! Please, no! I have a child! Please! She's only four! She needs me! She needs her father! Please! Please! Ple —"
BANG!
The splatter of blood.
The horrified look of a child.
The break of the steel walls.
The flood of horrors.
And the panic.
Outoutoutoutoutout —
𓆩*𓆪
She gasps sharply, stumbling away from her mirror and into the opposite wall, staring back at her reflection in horror. Just a blink, and the memories were gone again, hiding away in the depths of her mind, but they were still there.
Still lingering. Still torturing.
With a shaking hand, she wipes at her mouth, letting out a trembling breath.
Just a memory.
It can't hurt you anymore.
No one can.
She leaves the bathroom after rubbing a bar of deodorant under her arms and washing her face with ice cold water, a means to fully wake her, and keep her sharp.
Entering her room again, she walks to her dresser, and pulls out whatever clothes she fancied for the day; a black tank top with a red flannel shirt unbuttoned overtop, and a pair of dark skinny jeans, with Iron Man socks underneath as she walks out of her room and to the door, sliding her shoes on and picking up her keys and black purse in passing as she exits the small apartment without a second of hesitation.
Yeah, she had those. Iron Man socks. Not because she was a fan, though. She didn't care much for Tony Stark, but her neighbour did. He was a huge fan, and he was hard to say no to —
"Emmy!"
She turns her head in the direction of the voice after shutting her door, blinking at the blur of brown hair before a small body collides with her middle section, scrawny arms wrapping around her waist.
It takes her a moment to register it, her hand gripping her doorknob slightly tighter, before she relaxes, a fresh smile spreading on her lips as she looks down at the head of curly brown hair.
"Hello, Peter," she greets with familiarity, patting his head gently.
And her neighbour was also a kid — she thought she should note. A cute kid, though. Very happy, sometimes too happy it almost seemed abnormal, but still cute.
"Peter, don't run off! Oh! Hello Emma," a woman in her early thirties, close in age to her, greets her with a smile as she walks up to them.
"Emma" smiles back. "Hello, May. Where's Ben?" She asks.
May gives a roll of her eyes. "You know Ben, he's already off getting us breakfast from Delmar's because my cooking is so horrid."
Emma chuckles, patting Peter's head as he lets out a hum of delight at the action. "Of course. And you two? Heading down to Delmar's too?"
May shakes her head. "No, we're off to Ned's actually. It's been some time since his mom and I have had a nice girl talk," she winks. "Are you off to work at the cafe? Want us to walk with you? It's on the way to Ned's."
Emma shakes her head. "No, I couldn't ask that if you. Besides, I need to make a detour of my own on the way," she looks down at the brown curls still stuck to her stomach like a magnet, and raises her eyebrows. "Don't want to hold you up from getting to your friend's house, now, would I Pete?"
Peter finally detaches from her stomach, grinning up at her with sparkling doe brown eyes. "Nope! Definitely not! That'd be so rude of you," he teases.
Emma snorts, rolling her eyes as she lightly flicks the tip of Peter's freckled button nose, the small boy letting out a yelp and holding his nose as he turns away. The two women share a chuckle at his actions.
"I knew I never should have taught you sarcasm," Emma sighs. She makes eye contact with May. "Sorry for wrecking your nephew."
May giggles. "If anything, better you than Ben. I don't want my two boys to drive me crazy with dad jokes for the rest of my life."
"The tragedy."
"Truly."
Emma smiles. "Well, I've got to get going. Have a good time at Ned's, Pete," she ruffles Peter's hair as she passes him, earning a whine from the boy as he reaches up to try and fix his hair. She steps up to May, patting her arm. "Have a good day, May. And thanks for the Chinese last night. Saved me from throwing myself out the window after the day I had at work."
May smiles, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Anytime, dear. Just knock on our door, we'll always welcome you in."
Emma nods, passing her as she makes her way down the hallway and to the elevators. "Will do," she calls over her shoulder.
"Bye Emmy!" Peter calls one last time as the doors open, and Emma steps in, waving one last goodbye to the boy.
"Bye Pete!" She returns as the doors slide shut, and she presses the ground floor button. The elevators jolts softly into motion, going down.
She'd been neighbours with the Parkers since she first moved into this apartment building, just five years ago. The family was a bright source of happiness; always smiling, always laughing. They made you not help but want to be apart of that, and Emma was lucky enough just to be able to live next to them.
Right, "Emma".
Not her real name, mind you.
Her alias, her fake identity.
Call it what you will, it just kept her safe.
"Safe from what?" You might ask.
Funny question, that.
Because you'll be finding out soon enough.
𓆩*𓆪
YOU ARE READING
𝒑𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒕 || s. rogers & b. barnes
Fanfiction❝ ironic, really. a name meaning peace given to someone who only fuels violence. ❞ ❝ i don't think you fuel violence. ❞ ❝ you'd probably be the only one. ❞...
