The Man With The Metal Arm-Bucky Barnes x Reader

Chapter 8 - Getting to Your Head

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
          So. Here u go. probs more tomorrow. Maybe. hopefully. I'm a mess. Also I was reading something and this happened. I though of Bucky. Anyways. Enjoy nerds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wake the next morning sore and looking up to the same bright lights as yesterday. I tug my arm but it is restrained. I tug a little harder to test it but it is stuck on the table for good. What the fuuuuu- wait. how did I get here. I was asleep. They must have moved me.It dawns on me that I was, in fact, not in this room the last time I was conscious. I hear a laugh and it gets louder as he comes closer. The man from yesterday. It's Alexander Pierce, I think. My mind is jumbled and I can barely remember anything that happened before yesterday. I remember that he's bad. He's Hydra. They're the bad guys. Or is that Shield? Does this mean I'm a bad guy? I'm shield. So am I on his side? No he's the bad guy. Hydra is the bad guy, right?

"Good morning Y/n. How did you sleep? I hope you had a good night's rest.  You've got a full day ahead of you." He says menacingly.

"I slept good,  great even. I particularly liked the comfy mattress you provided. How nice." Sarcasm. Good one me. That's totally going to get you out of this situation.

He raises his eyebrows at me, shaking his head. "That will get you nowhere, Y/n. You may be able to charm your way out of most things but I assure you that we know all your tricks. You worked for me, remember? Well, actually you probably don't. That's besides the point. Anyhow, enjoy your day Y/n."

As he leaves I hear heavy footsteps approaching and become panicked. I yank my arms trying to free myself  and cry out in pain. My shoulder hurts like hell and that hurt like, well like I got stabbed. Which I did. I got stabbed. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.  I'm stuck here. I feel like I'm going to puke, my nerves are out of control. Yet I keep my composure, never show the enemy how scared you actually are. No matter what don't let them think they are getting to you.  The footfalls stop and I keep my eyes closed. 

"Open your eyes." Bucky growls. I refuse, not allowing him to take control.  I feel cold metal against my throat and he demands more forcefully. I don't open my eyes until he cuts into my skin. I grimace as I feel drops of blood drip down the side of my neck.

"I want you to watch me cut into your body and think about what a s.hit decision leaving us was."

    It goes like this for days, weeks maybe. I don't know anymore. My concept of time has become skewed. I wake, I get cut up, I get thrown into a cell where I pass out and when I wake I'm back at the table. Some days it's like I was passed out too long and when I wake up the torture has already begun. Some days I don't wake up at all. But most days, I'm wide awake, screaming as the same blade cuts into my skin again and again.

I've lost a lot of weight.  I don't eat the s.hit they give me, how can I trust it? Sometimes I take a few sips of the water but I never touch the food. I know I'm probably gonna starve to death but I'd rather go that way than by eating poison. There's a mirror in my cell, and every day I look at my thin limbs and protruding ribs. Every time I see the food my mind screams for me to eat but I can never bring myself to.
When I wake up this morning particularly, something is off. I can't tell what, but something feels different. It's eerily quiet and I can't see any guards in the hall. Before I can even try to think of an escape plan I see them marching towards me. They drag me back to the same room as always, but it feels colder. I have this awful feeling in my gut that something is going to go wrong. Maybe they decided I should just die.

There is another thought tugging at the back of my mind but I can't for the love of god think it. Whatever it is, it's been lost. That's been happening lately too. I know that there's something I should know or say, but I can't. I get a glimpse of it, almost forming the thought,  and then it dissipates from my mind like sand blown away by the wind.