The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Twenty two

When I wake up I'm alone.

I shuffle, flinching at a crick in my neck as I try to gather my wits. Bright sunlight streams in through the huge window, blinding me in its brilliance.

I'm in the same spot as before, curled in a ball on the floor. Only now a duvet is huddled around me, having been pulled off my bed.

Sitting up properly, I brush tangled black locks from my face, cringing as I discover a small river of dribble making its way down my chin. My eyes find the spot, a couple of meters away, where Bucky had sat.

His guilt ridden blue eyes flash across my mind, sending a jolt of some unknown emotion through me.

I was telling the truth when I said I didn't blame him. Logic tells me that it's Hydra's fault, but conscience tell me it's mine. Conscience has been winning for the last five years.

I may not blame the Winter Soldier, but that doesn't stop him unsettling me. He is a ghost from my past brought back to life and I have no idea how to feel about it.

The scene in front of me is postcard worthy, a far cry from the lashing rain and howling winds that had merged with my turbulent thoughts as I somehow drifted off. Light bounces around the city, reflecting off skyscrapers as fluffy clouds float overhead.

The desolate bleating of my stomach and the cracks in my throat suggest I've been out for more than a night. It would make sense. The transformation is so draining that I usually sleep for days afterwards, too exhausted to move.

Giving in to my parched mouth, I finally peel myself from the floor, unsteady on numb muscles. I leave the duvet where it is before making my way to the bathroom and turning on the tap. I scoop water into my mouth for about five minutes, ignoring the cold dribbles down my chin.

Once I've drunk my fill, I force myself to undress, my whole body feeling grimy and unclean. It's only once my clothes are a messy pile on the marble floor that I realise the black hoodie isn't mine. It's at least three sizes too big and one of the cuffs is slightly torn.

I wonder where Natasha stole it from - Or who.

I hesitate in the shower, my hand on the tap. Gritting my teeth, I turn the knob to the left, bracing myself against the arctic water. The liquid feels strangely nice on my skin, washing away the layers of sweat and shocking my body into a higher state of awareness.

When the shivers get too violent I turn the tap off and step out, wrapping myself in one of the fluffy white towels. My whole body still aches, my fingers and gums especially, but it's manageable. I dress quickly, finding a pair of black leggings and an oversized red hoodie.

My stomach complains loudly, screaming for food like a toddler having a fit, but I hesitate. My eyes are fixed on the door as I stand limply in the middle of the room.

As soon as I step outside I have to face everyone.

I have to face their judgement.

The thought churns acid in my stomach, but doesn't stop it from grumbling. I have no idea who saw what, and the idea that anyone saw the monster I changed into is terrifying. So far I've managed to maintain a distance, keeping my secrets to myself. But now they've been stolen from me, ripped from my grasp and spread open for all to see.

I have to face them eventually.

Clenching my jaw, I shake out my sweating palms and take a step forwards. Then another and another until my hands grasps the handle. I turn it before I can change my mind.