haven ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟏

021. the ugly past

TWENTY-ONE—THE UGLY PAST
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"MY BROTHER'S DEAD. And it's my fault."

Bucky's hand drops from my arm and I can hear his breath hitch in his throat. As he takes a step back, his eyes widening and jaw slackening, my heart sinks. For someone with such a long and messy past, I'd assumed he would be the person to look at me no different, to understand and want to help me. But he only put distance between us.

Shaking my head, I stared at him with my eyes flicking between each of his own and my mouth hanging open. "I shouldn't have told you," I whispered, "I never should have--I'm sorry," I rushed, turning around and aiming for the front door.

He reached out and grabbed my wrist before I could get too far away, though, and pulled me back. I admit it was more difficult than before, trying to forget the way his calloused hand rubbed against my soft skin, heating it faster than I'd ever realized possible. And when he pulled it back, breaking the connection, I could still feel it. Every pressure point was a fire on my skin. 

For a second, he didn't say anything, and it occurred to me that he didn't know what to say. "I shouldn't have assumed you'd be any different than them," I spat, angrily wiping my eyes. 

"Who?" He said, furrowing his brows.

I scoffed coldly. "My god-awful parents. They blame me for everything." I chuckled darkly and continued, "And it turns out, they're right." 

"I'm sure that's not the whole story, doll," he said gently. "I refuse to believe that you're a murderer...not like me," his voice quieted and he looked far away. 

Sniffing, I sighed. "What am I doing to myself?" I spoke aloud. "I'm twenty-six fucking years old and my parents are still guilt-tripping me into being just like their perfect Cade."

He raised an eyebrow in question, to which I beckoned him with one hand. "Have you taken a step outside this house since you got here, Buck?"

Bucky nodded, "Yeah, that one time I--"

"Never mind. Let's go for a walk. I don't know if I can talk about this while sitting still." Without looking back to see if he was following, I opened the front door and headed for the edge of the forest. It was due time I shed light on the ugly past.

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I'd meant to start talking right when we were under the cover of the trees, but I found that the words wouldn't come. My mouth kept opening, but I couldn't be paid enough to make my vocal cords work. So for the first ten minutes, we just walked further into the forest, the shadows growing longer, the path back to the house becoming less clear. 

"You're sure you know where you're going, doll?" Bucky interrupted the silence. "I've got no problem with a little adventure, but I know that getting lost wasn't exactly the main goal of this experience."

Sighing, I nodded. "Yeah, I know where I am. I've spent my entire life walking through these woods. I just...don't know where to start." Turning to look at him, I grimaced. "There's a lot of history in that house. With my brother, I mean."

He nods in response. "I can understand that," he says, a solemn expression on his face, "seventy years is a lot of history to have to hold on to."

A grateful smile graces my face as I step over a gnarled tree root in the ground. As it turned out, we understood each other more than we'd ever thought we would. It just took time. How poetic, I smirked in the back of my mind.