Bucky Barnes One Shots

32. Forget Me (Part III)

You let out a frustrated sigh as you turned and approached your building; your landlord was standing out front smoking a cigar, his beer gut poking proudly through the holes in the worn material of his shirt. You knew exactly where this confrontation was going and quite frankly, you didn't feel like dealing with his complaints today. So, you shoved your hand in your pocket to pull out the only fifty dollar bill you had on you and neared the man cautiously.

"Miss (Y/L/N), glad to see you're alive." He pulled the cigar out of his mouth, grumbling as he not-so-subtly checked you out.

You made a face of disgust at the middle-aged slob and held out the crumpled up fifty for him, "Take it. It's all I've got this month."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. I told you I needed a hundred and fifty. This isn't even half, sweetheart." He nagged, placing the cigar between his chapped lips again.

You swallowed, hiking the duffle up in your shoulder, and shrugged, "I'll get you your money, Lee. I just need more time."

"That's what they all say," he frowned, shoving the fifty into his dirty pants pocket. "Maybe if you wouldn't blow all of your money on childish games, you wouldn't be in this situation."

"Childish games?" You scoffed, shaking your head, "I told you twice, man. My dad's over in Brinton Woods, and I'm the one who pays his bills while he's there."

Your father had developed a drug addiction over the years since your mother had left, and he had never been able to get himself back on track. It wasn't until you had told him about what happened that day Bucky saved your life that he realized he needed to get his life together. Losing you would leave him all alone, and he knew he was close to it before the incident because of his actions.

"Right, sad dad in rehab. I forgot." He grunted, furrowing his brows at you. "Listen, you're twenty two; you ain't no little kid anymore. I want my money, and I want it now. Up front, or you're moving out—today."

Your eyes widened, "I can get it to you by next week! I prom—"

"No, I've given you weeks to catch up on rent. I'm done with extending deadlines when I could be rentin' your apartment out to someone else for double the price."

"Lee—"

"Give it up, (Y/N). You don't have the money, you don't mean shit to me. Get your stuff and get the hell out by tonight, capiche?" He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall of the building, it's paint chipping off underneath his weight.

You stood idle for a moment before turning and reaching for the door handle, unable to put up a fight. For the most part, he was right. He had given you several weeks to pay up, but there was no way you would've had enough to pay, regardless. Managing your own bills on too of your father's out you in a tough financial situation, and your job as a waitress didn't suffice.

Trudging up your apartment stairs, you wiped a stray tear from your eye. It wasn't like you even liked your apartment; it was small and not at all the palace you'd imagined living in as a child, but after all, it was your home and you didn't have anywhere else to go. You could have gone to your father's house since no one currently resided there, but he lived up in Brooklyn, and there was no way you were leaving you life behind to move there with no job or money.

Pushing open your apartment door, which you never even bothered to lock, you were met with the familiar silence of loneliness. You threw your duffle on the floor, pulled your beanie off, and kicked your shoes off and to the side. The light was dim, and the low buzz of your bedroom lamp in the other room was the only sound audible in the small apartment. Padding down the skinny hallway, you stepped into your bedroom and began to pull your t-shirt off when you felt someone latch onto your right arm from the side.