Disclaimer: This part of the story contains sensitive material and  possibly triggering content concerning self harm. Please be aware before you continue.

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"Twisting,Turning,Crashing,Burning-All thisJust to Break meDown"

Staind-Cross To Bear


I sat on my bed trying to get through a new mental health handbook that work gave us and I kept reading the same paragraph over and over again. I couldn't stop thinking about Bucky. He seemed so scared and tormented, yet I assumed he was dangerous and violent based on what I read in that chart and it confused me. Was I being paranoid or just naïve? Was I right about him or was I second guessing myself? I couldn't tell and it was really frustrating. 

The buzzing of the dyer disrupted my thoughts and I wondered how long it had been going off before I actually heard it. I headed to the laundry room, which was more like a closet sandwiched between Steve and Bucky's rooms. As I opened the door, the heat and humidly of the dryer hit me like a wave and I started to sweat.

I felt like I was in a zone, worrying about the Bucky situation as I folded towels and sheets. The guys usually throw their linens in a pile on the laundry room and it made no sense why they didn't just throw them in the washer since it was only about a foot away, so I just started doing their laundry. Steve felt bad and I told him I didn't mind, it kept me busy.

I was folding towels and I saw a dingy, beige towel with a spattering of stains all over it. I knew it wasn't Steve's because his entire life was pristine, aside from the laundry pile, and he would throw out t-shirts that had pin size stains in them so I know he wouldn't keep a towel that was covered in them. It was a dark, rust colored stain and as I examined it, I knew it was blood. It made my heart jump in my chest. What was Bucky doing to himself?

I walked to his door, a pile of towels in my arms and as I bent down to lay the towels in front of the door, the door opened. I hadn't heard any noise in his room and figured he was asleep, I didn't wanna wake him.

My eyes caught his feet and as I stood up, I followed the shape of his body with my eyes. He stood there looking totally spent. Drained and rough, his eyes showing an immense amount of stress and the creases under his eyes were apparent. He was exhausted and not physically this time.

 He was exhausted and not physically this time

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"Hey, I have towels.", I said. I felt embarrassed immediately. It reminded me of that scene in Dirty Dancing where Baby says she carried a watermelon.

He just stood there a second.

"Oh, thank you. Um...", he said as he glanced into his room.

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