wrong number connection

Chapter 2: Unlikely Conversation

The sting in Lyndon’s chest was a dull reminder of the day’s events as he slumped in his bedroom, staring at the ceiling. His body still ached from the bruises left by the confrontation at school. He had been walking down the hall when a group of students had cornered him, their taunts cutting deeper than anything they could physically do. They called him names, laughed at him for being "different," and for being who he was. They taunted him about being a trans boy, a freak, a mistake. The more they pushed him, the more the weight of their words settled in.

When he finally made it to the nurse’s office, his heart pounded—not just from the bruises, but because the school had called his parents. They always seemed to know how to make everything worse.

He hadn’t even told the nurse what happened, but somehow, the news got to them. And now, they were on their way. His mom and dad didn’t need an excuse to make his life worse. His mother would probably yell, accuse him of being a disappointment, and then, more than likely, she'd lock him in his room.

Lyndon pulled his knees to his chest, the familiar anxiety creeping in, tightening around his ribs, his throat. A panic attack. His breathing quickened, his thoughts scattered. The fear of what was coming, of being trapped in his own home again, sent a wave of nausea through him.

Without thinking, his fingers found his phone. He needed something, anything, to distract himself. He opened the messages, looking at the last conversation he’d had. The screen lit up, revealing the name that had popped up so unexpectedly that night. Natasha Romanoff. He stared at her name for a long moment. He still couldn’t believe she hadn’t blocked him after that night.

After all, who would keep texting a random kid who’d accidentally messaged them in the middle of the night? Especially someone like Natasha, who had a whole world of problems of her own. Superhero missions, secret wars, the constant risk of death. Why on earth would she continue to talk to someone like him, a scared, confused, hurting teen?

Yet, somehow, she had.

He opened the chat and stared at her last message: “You’re not a freak, Lyndon. You’re someone who’s been through hell and still fights. That takes strength. And I know what that strength looks like.”

A wave of emotion surged through him. The words, so simple yet so strong, felt like a lifeline. But he couldn’t just leave it at that, could he? She had been kind to him—too kind. He didn’t know if he deserved that.

His hands trembled as he typed, the words spilling out without much thought.

“Hey, it’s me again. I know this is weird, but... I need to talk. I got hurt at school today. And my parents are coming, and I just—”

He paused, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “I don’t know if you’re even still awake, but I’m scared. I feel like I’m stuck in this place, like it’s never going to get better. My mom’s going to punish me when she gets here. And my dad... he won’t even look at me.”

Lyndon hit send before he could second-guess himself. He didn’t even know why he was texting her. He barely knew this woman, yet somehow, she had become the only person who had ever made him feel heard.

A few minutes passed. No response. Maybe she was busy. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe it had been stupid to message her again, to open up about the mess his life had become. But then, his phone buzzed.

“I’m here. Tell me what happened.”

Lyndon stared at the words, feeling the sudden rush of relief that someone—anyone—cared. The panic didn’t completely fade, but it was quieter now, pushed back by the simple act of not being alone.

He let out a shaky breath and began to type.

“I don’t even know what happened. I was just walking through the halls, and they started in on me. I’ve been through it before, but today... it was like they wanted to see me break. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t do anything. And then the school called my parents. I’m not sure which is worse—getting hurt by them or hearing them yell at me for even existing.”

His fingers paused over the keys. He didn’t know why he was saying so much. Maybe because he knew Natasha couldn’t see him, couldn’t judge him the way his mother would. Maybe it was easier to admit how broken he felt when the person on the other end wasn’t someone who could look him in the eyes and see all his flaws.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m just so tired of being scared.”

The dots appeared again, and he held his breath, waiting for her response. A long pause followed, and Lyndon felt a knot in his stomach, fearing she might tell him to get professional help or that his situation was too complicated for her. But when her message came, it was simple.

“You don’t have to fight alone. Not anymore.”

Her words were quiet, but they wrapped around him like a warm blanket. No judgments. No promises of fixing everything. Just the truth that he didn’t have to carry this burden on his own.

Lyndon’s phone buzzed again, and he couldn’t help but smile, even through his tears. It was Natasha, as if she knew exactly what he needed to hear.

“I’ve been through worse, Lyndon. It gets better. I’m here for you, okay? If you need someone to talk to, anytime, I’ll listen.”

Lyndon wiped his eyes, a small laugh escaping his lips, though it was strained. “I can’t believe I’m texting you like this. You’re... you’re Black Widow. I’m just some kid from nowhere. I don’t even know why you’re still talking to me.”

Another pause. Then Natasha’s reply appeared.

“Because I see you. You matter. And sometimes, the most unexpected people find each other for a reason.”

Lyndon didn’t have the words to respond. All he could do was sit there, letting her words settle in his chest. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel completely alone.

And as the minutes passed, he found that he wasn’t as afraid of what would come next. Not because everything was magically better, but because he had someone in his corner. Someone who understood.

The sound of his parents’ car pulling into the driveway made his heart race again, but this time, he didn’t feel like he was facing it by himself. Natasha was right. It wasn’t just him anymore.

There was hope. Even in the darkest corners of his life, it had found its way in, one small conversation at a time.