#devilrcd

meme

1/5

               Breathing is ragged, small body feeling heavier then ever, weighing her down. The girl is slouched pathetically, half propped against the rough surface of the alley wall, head lolling to the side -- if it weren’t for the rising && falling of her chest, one might mistake her for a corpse ; a corpse covered in GORE. It wasn’t all hers though, && if she was in bad shape the agents she’d narrowly escaped had been nothing short of decimated. 

                    Stray hadn’t known they were Hydra until she’d caught a glimpse of rounded metal clutched in one of their hands && memories of shock collars meant to deter her power use flashed through her mind. Everything after that was little more then a blur ( she remembers one squad member suddenly being aflame, the smell of burning flesh stinging her nose as gun shots ring out, one catching her in the shoulder, another whizzing by her face. ‘ Don’t kill her you idiot ! ‘ comes an angry voice, && then the faint reply of ‘ Fuck orders ! I’m not dyin’ here ! ‘ before she feels the hot spray of blood across her face, a body dropping && soon to be met with company ). She’s lucky she hadn’t brought the whole block down -- but she HAD left a trail of crimson as she fled as far as her wounds would allow from the horrific scene. A trail that someone had apparently managed to follow. 

New York... one of the few places she was able to bend into. No one looked at her like a monster. In fact, no one really cared since each one of the people in this town were so concerned for no one but themselves that Wanda had become aware of how easy it would be for her to simply disappear and never look back. But she couldn’t just disappear, in fact at this point in her life she knew that should she want to run they would simply find her and bring her back home. 

“ Hey, stranger.” The greeting was soft, with undertones of unknown expectations. She pressed her lips together, ran her fingers through earthen silk tresses---a nervous habit---before meeting familiar red lenses, and his unkempt ( and more often than not, battered ) features. Months had passed without a single word spoken between the two, but she knew him well enough to safely assume he kept tabs on her. He knew she was safe. That was enough...

For him. 

His face still kept her awake at night and the haunting images of his thrashed and broken body, enough to keep her constantly on edge. How many times had she stitched up his ribs? Attended to broken bones? Nursed his bruised hands? Cleaned the cuts that now were scars, splashed across his frame? 

Even now she fought her instinct to run her fingers across his skin; keeping eyes locked as to not assess her former patient...and lover. She missed his blood-stained touch; his bruised kisses. He missed the inflection in his voice directed only to her; the intimate attention to any detail concerning her. 

She missed everything. She missed him. 

Often times she’d catch herself thinking---brief moments---of whether or not she regretted her decision. And every single time, no matter how much her heart ached, and bones yearned...she knew she made the right choice. Not here, not now, not like this. And she was then able to breathe again, and continue on with her day, not missing a beat. 

But now...Him standing in front of her; everything she’d kept at bay came rushing back. She had no idea where they stood; that both frightened and excited her. Her stomach doing cartwheels and heart erratic in her chest. You can sense that can you? Aware of his unique abilities.