BLACK WIDOW

dysphoria

dysphoria
(n.)
an unwell feeling

•••

"those who do not believe in magic will never find it."

•••

The morning was cold. The room was dry and dark. Everything smelled deliciously of peppermint and warm cinnamon. Through the curtained window, white snowy light from the street lamps peaked. It was still early in the morning and much of the neighborhood was still sleeping.

In this particular house, there were three. A self made billionaire who had invested too much of himself into his job and country. An act that would ultimately kill him. And man who was but will most likely never be acknowledged as an American hero. Too many of his early days were filled with women and sarcasm.

His wife was once a beautiful broadway actress and founding Ford model. She had found her billionaire and somehow tamed his restless soul. She had followed him like religion. An act that would ultimately kill her.

And their son. A personality identical to his father. Only he was heir to the empire his father had built. It was resting on this young man, built up of genius and asteism. His fatal flaw was so different that that of his parents, however. He felt responsible for everything. And he never gave up. He never retired. He never slept. And though this moment was far from near, it would be his downfall.

Maria, the wife, had fallen asleep with the most anxiety she had ever retained within her small body. She was expecting her death today. But she wanted to avoid it. Not because she was scared of dying. She knew her son needed her. She knew that her son, the most outstanding, extroverted, outspoken man on the island of Manhattan was only a giant ball of anxiety that had armed itself with a couple spikes for an illusion of toughness.

He wasn't ready to be away from his parents. And Maria knew it all too well. She knew it well enough to steal sensitive files from her husband's job. She knew it well enough to give a former Soviet assassin and current hired assassin/hitman one million dollars to avoid her death.

She met with the ominous woman a week prior an entire ocean away. She promised she would contact her before they left. And knew Maria and her husband were to leave in hours. No words from her assassin.

But Howard would know something was wrong if she did not sleep. He knew her well enough to tell if she was faking. So she slept with nightmares and
anxiety buried with her under her smooth silk sheets and wool stuffed comforter instead of staring out the window all night long at absolutely nothing. But the thing that woke her that morning was a ringing phone.

2:36 a.m.

Maria's eye exploded open as she crawled out of her bed in a cold sweat, trying her best not to wake her husband. He was deep sleeper, so she wasn't too worried. Her silk gown had bunched around her waist as she slept, so as she walked to her phone, the cold silk dropped down her legs to her ankles.

"Hello?" she whispered through the phones.

"You two just drive. Don't worry about anything. I'll be ahead of you in the city and to the side in the country," her assassin told her over the phone. It was no problem at all for Natalia to call her. She didn't want to meet up. She decided that Hydra would be keeping tabs on Howard Stark and his closest relationships.

And besides, electronics were a breeze for the young seeming spy. "Mr. Stark still doesn't know you hired me?"

"No," Maria answered with a shake of her head. She looked over to her sleeping husband. "He can't know. Or else you'll have some inconveniences."