Someone told me long ago, and I have since forgotten whom. I may have even heard it on a TV show, for that matter. My memory seems to be so scattered these days that I can't remember simple details that used to run rampant through my head. Anyway, I was told (or heard) that 'you never really see a broken heart coming'. Now, before I get sentimental and explain the meaning to me behind this token of wisdom.
I want to express the truthfulness of the matter. You never actually see a broken heart coming. You may feel it, you may suspect it, you may even sense a feeling is off, maybe even broken. But, the scary thing about the matter is; is that you never actually see it coming. You can feel it, you can burn for it, but you can never see when it is going to happen. Thirty seconds is all that's needed to feel the blinding pain of a broken heart. That's it. Whatever comes after depends on how you decide to handle it, with dignity or with sadness. But then again, who's to say which is which in the matter.
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"Are you sure you're okay?" Bucky asks, cradling my hand to his chest.
I let out a soft sigh, not realizing that he may wake before I do and see the destructive magic on my fingertips. I had forgotten about it. "It was makeup, Bucky," I whisper, trying to evade the cruelness of my lying. He was so frightened when he saw my hand that it had woken me up. I calmed him down the best I could before running to the bathroom and sticking my hand under cold water. Making sure to focus on replenishing the energy that Agatha may still be draining from me at this point for all I know.
When my skin color returned to normal, I returned to my bed, showing him that it was just makeup and that there is nothing to be concerned about.
Oh, but only if he knew.
His thumb caresses my cheek gently, pushing the hair out of my face. "You're so beautiful," he mumbles, sleepily.
I force a small smile on my face, wishing that that statement brought a warm and fuzzy feeling like it used to. The words sunk like a brick in my chest, only hurting me. I've only now realized how heartbreak could feel. I thought I had felt it before when I left Russia, but that was something else entirely.
That was grief, beyond grief. In my mind, grief differs from heartbreak. Because not only is the person you're missing still alive, but in a way, you are grieving them. Or who they used to be. Sinking my face further into my pillow, I grumble, "why did you have to wake me up so early?" Changing the subject is good. Humor is good. It will help these early feelings go away.
The corners of his lips perk up, almost into a smile, like he finds me amusing. "I didn't," he remarks, making me glare at him. "But seeing your big eyes pop open was very interesting to watch."
I scoff at him and roll onto my back. "You're being uncharacteristically talkative this morning," I raise a brow at him. "Anything I should know?"
He shakes his head slightly. "Go back to sleep," he says just above a whisper, "I'll be here when you wake up."
The words sting me. I don't know why, but they do. I feel tears creep into my eyes as he pulls the comforter over my shoulders and hugs me to his chest. I relish the warmth coming from his body, easing the anxiety crowding in my chest. "You promise?" I ask, hoping he didn't notice the slight crack in my voice.
I feel him press a kiss on my forehead. "I promise."
I close my eyes and try to avoid the wandering thoughts in my head, running rampant around my brain like a carousel. However, five words keep haunting my mind. Being played on a loop every time Bucky's chest rises and falls. Agatha's words.
'What happened to Wanda's Vision?'
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Something warm drips down my hand onto my fingers. My brows come together as I look down, finding a large cut in the palm of my hand, deep enough to cause enough bleeding but not deep enough for stitches. I switch the knife into my other hand and wipe them off on my pants, ignoring the pain coming from the open wound. It's cold in the building. But I'm not shivering.
"Волшебница," A stern voice finds its way into my ears. My eyes immediately dart toward him, awaiting his next instruction. "Где он?" He asks, holding a small handgun at his side.
**"Sorceress,"... "Where is he?"**
My eyes slowly glance at the bedroom door, knowing who's behind it. "Он должен быть там," I respond, my voice flat.
**"He should be in there,"**
"Умная девочка." He remarks."Вы знаете, что сделать," he hisses. I drop the knife on the ground making a thud loud enough to wake him.
**"Smart girl." ... "You know what to do,"**
I remain silent, listening for any movement coming from the bedroom. Listening for any sign of life. My ears perk up when I hear a slight creak in the floor. I bring my hands up from my sides, circling them before pushing them at the door, forcing it open. There he stands, eyes wide and vulnerable.
"Nadya?" He asks, a dumbfounded expression on his face. "What- What's wrong?"
I tilt my head at him before closing my eyes for just a moment. I open them to find myself directly behind him. Before he can turn to face me, I raise my hand to his head. Twisting and turning my fingers and watching the blue energy come from my hands and disappear into the skin of his temple. He freezes, just like I had wanted him to. "Солдат." I step around him to face him, his eyes now glowing a frigid blue. "Мне нужно кое-что от тебя."
**"Soldier." ... "I need something from you."**
I snap my fingers twice, letting my father know it's clear to enter the room. I hear his footsteps muddling in behind me. He's very loud. "Ты это сделал?" He asks. I glance at him and nod. This gives him a sense of satisfaction. Though I can't hear his thoughts, I can tell by the way he's smiling he's feeling proud.
**"Did you do it?"**
I blink a few times, waiting for my next instructions. The soldier continues to stare at me. In a moment of anger, I squint my eyes, feeling myself dig into his memories. Finding the night he murdered my mother and brother. I smile to myself as beads of sweat begin to pool down his forehead, reliving the night over and over again.
"Хватит ваших игр!" He hisses, making me lose my concentration, therefore, giving the soldier the relief he does not deserve. "Получите то, за чем мы пришли. У нас нет времени на такие детские манеры." His words come out in a condescending demand. Yet, I can't do anything to show my irritation. I'm not to hurt him.
**"Enough of your games!" ... "Get what we came for. We have no time for childish manners such as this."**
"Солдат," I say, regaining his attention. "Какие коды входа в здание?" I hold my glare as he recites every code, every security alarm, every way to get into the building. Giving the precious information to my father.
**"Soldier," ... "What are the entry codes to the building?"**
"Уложи его спать," he orders and I obey, watching as the soldier falls to the ground with a thud. A cold hand grips my face, not tight but enough to get me to turn to him. A saddened smile covers his face but mine remains neutral.
**"Put him to sleep,"**
He tucks the stray hair behind my ear. "Я бы хотел, чтобы все было по-другому, Надя," he mumbles, tucking the gun away in his holster. Both of his hands fall onto my shoulders and I close my eyes, remembering what to do.
"I wish things could be different, Nadya,"**
The air shifts slightly around us, making me open my eyes to see the teal comforter, the laptop still sitting atop the bed, illuminating the pillows with cold light. I tense when his hand clasps around mine, bringing it up to my own head. "Ты знаешь что делать," he whispers and I feel the cold energy flow into my head, making my vision blur. My body begins to feel heavy but his cold hands catch me and place me back onto my bed in my previous position.
**"You know what to do,"**
"Скоро увидимся, Надя." His voice is muffled but clear as my eyes begin to close, knowing I won't remember a moment of this night. "Моя сапфировая волшебница."
**"I will see you soon, Nadya." ... "My sapphire sorceress."**
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I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
What's happening? My vision is blurry. My lungs are fighting me. I'm sweating. I can't move. My arms are pinned to my sides. Tears fall down the sides of my face, hitting my hair combining with the sweat that has collected around my forehead. A strangled groan escapes my mouth as I try to fight for stolen breath. My teeth grit themselves together so hard I fear they may crack under the pressure.
I can't breathe.
"Hey! Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?" A familiar voice asks but I slam my eyes shut. My chest is beginning to burn. A cold hand places itself against my cheek, which only seems to further my panic. "Nadya, what's going on?" The voice asks again, more concern covering the tone.
Please hear me. I can't breathe.
More tears fall from my eyes as I whimper pathetically. No words come from me. No matter how hard I'm trying to make them form, they won't leave my throat. I open my eyes, and terror strikes my entire body. I suck in a large breath seeing his eyes.
But, I'm not fearful of him. I'm terrified of myself. His eyes are darting across my face, looking down my body as if an invisible force is strangling me. With the breath I forced my body to take, I manage to choke out a small, "I can't breathe."
His brows come together in confusion, eyes locked on mine. "Nadya, hey." He shakes my shoulder as my eyes begin to wander around the room. "Listen to me," he prompts me back to him, to look at him. "Breathe," he says in a low, calm voice. Almost like he's done this before. I shake my head frantically, feeling pins and needles begin to prick my fingers telling me I may pass out.
Help me. I can't breathe.
"Yes. Yes, you can," he declares, pushing the damp hair out of my face. "Look, hey, watch," he says as he lifts me up a bit, showing me there's nothing in this bed but him and me. He takes a metal finger and pokes at each one of my ribs, sticks them to the side of my neck, and finally places his cold hand on the back of my neck.
My wide eyes find his and he manages a smile, a pity-stricken smile, but still a smile. "There's nothing there. I promise. Breathe, Nadya," he says again but my body is betraying me. As much as I want to obey such a simple command, my throat is closing.
Something's wrong.
"Okay, come here," he grunts as he lifts my body and lays me against his chest. He sits us both up against the headboard and laces his fingers through both of my hands. I feel his chest rise and fall beneath me, slowly. "It's going to pass. Breathe through it."
My bottom lip trembles, fearing this is going to be my death. His chest rises and I shut my eyes, thinking of Sam's boat. The serenity, the calm. I hear myself wheeze as air finally comes into my lungs through a shaky breath. His chest falls very slowly, making me mimic the action.
"You're doing good." I hear him say as more tears fall from my eyes. I breathe in again, feeling the sides of my throat scrape together. I tear myself away from his chest as I begin to cough, finally finding the oxygen in the room isn't too thick to fit in my lungs.
The coughing doesn't last long. But what comes after hurts more than the hyperventilating. A sob shakes its way through my body. Feeling like it came from the very depths of hell itself just to break free from my chest. I cover my face in an attempt to mask the sounds coming through my gritted teeth. Strong arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling my head to his chest. "You're okay," he whispers in a soft voice. "You're okay," he repeats while stroking my hair.
I'm not okay.
I'm not. I've been having those dreams for weeks now. I've brushed them off as nightmares but I now realize they happened. I helped them get to not only me but Bucky as well. I used him. My father had those words planted in my brain far before they ever took me.
Whatever they did to me there was just part of some sick twisted game to break me. And it feels as if they succeeded. As if he succeeded. He told me, he told me he would see me. I knew he was alive. How could I have never figured it out?
The how and why of it all doesn't matter now. What matters is that I got Bucky and Sam mixed up in all of this, again.
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My body shakes against the tiles of the shower. The trembling won't stop though the water is as hot as my body can possibly handle. I pull my knees to my chest, trying to forget the dream...memory, whatever it was. I'm horrified that the words still work somehow. Or that there are new ones in place. If I hadn't known he was using them before, who knows how many other words/patterns or names they have in case I got rid of the ones they had used.
I turn my face toward the water. Hoping and wishing and praying for these thoughts to go away. I know what needs to happen. I know how it needs to happen. I'm just hoping it won't happen. The man who I've known to be my father is the one who needs to be stopped. Stopped in a way that nothing like this will ever happen again. I brush the soaked strands of hair out of my face and grasp my neck, trying to keep myself breathing through the anxiety.
I let out a slow breath as I stand, rinsing my face of the panic attack and the nightmare before I turn the water off. My body begins to tremble again, but this time from the cold air, not the adrenaline. I wipe the condensation off of the mirror, avoiding my reflection for a moment. I need to face the day. No matter how difficult the start of it may have been. I rake my brush through my hair slowly, listening for Bucky. I told him I was going to shower and he should take care of whatever he needed to while I do so. I really just needed the time to recuperate and regroup my thoughts.
I was doing well, and Bucky and I were doing well. We are still. However, this dream, these memories that keep creeping their way back into my mind is throwing me back a couple of steps. I glance down when my phone vibrates on the countertop. I don't have the number saved.
"Hello?" I speak into the phone warily.
"Nadya. It's Stephen," the voice on the other line responds, seemingly in a hurry. "Strange. Stephen Strange."
I purse my lips together. "I gathered that. Something I can help you with or are you just calling to check in?"
"A little bit of both," he responds, his voice flat but there's some sort of ruckus in the background that I can't identify.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, squashing my previous feelings.
He chuckles on the other end. Which is not a very good sign coming from Stephen Strange. "Is there any way you can get to Nepal? Quickly?" More clamoring around in the background and some yelling. "I have a situation I think you could help with."
"Is this something dire or can it wait?" Normally, I would have just gone. However, I have some matters to deal with here before I can take on any other kind of mission that can be thrown my way.
"I'll let you know," he responds in a strained voice before the line goes dead. I pull the phone away from my ear, thoroughly confused.
What could be so big that Doctor Strange, out of all of the Avengers, could need my help for?
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•Hi! this chapter was...difficult. i'm trying to navigate how i want the story to unfold but i need to fill some plot holes (like the one i addressed in this chapter) before i do any of that. anyway, i will be doing my best to get back to my schedule! things have been a little unstable in my life and i'm finally finding that small amount of stability i need to sit down and write. also, i need song suggestions for this chapter, if you have any ideas plz comment them! happy friday! enjoy your weekend!•