Natasha x Y/N

Chapter 12

WARNING: Mentions of Self harm, suicide, and depression. If these things trigger you then I wouldn't read this chapter. At the bottom I will give a brief overview of what happened without the details so the next few chapters make sense.

Y/N's POV

I woke up again at 3am. My sleep schedule has gotten better since I have been with Nat, mainly because she wakes up every time I does and won't sleep until I do. The last few nights though I have been waking up earlier and earlier and Nat has gotten used to it and so doesn't wake up so often. Today was one of those days. I got up out of bed and got changed into my training clothes. I wore a loose grey t-shirt, black sports leggings, a long sleeved hoodie over my top and a pair of dark blue trainers. I thew my hair up into a high ponytail and walked into the kitchen, to grab myself a drink. I also filled up my water bottle before taking it with me into the gym.

I needed to clear my head. A lot had happened the last few days and I needed some time to process it all. Me and Nat were now dating, which was great. Me and Wanda were still good friends. Pietro had been shot. We went on a mission to Hydra, which had brought back some memories but I have been shutting them out by focusing on work. They come back for me when I am sleeping though, that's probably why I have been waking up so much. My head is just really busy with thoughts and feelings and I don't know how to deal with them because there are just so many, so I just do what I usually do. I train. I am the first one up and the last to leave. I will train an hour longer than the last person to leave. Training helps me, as I focus on just one thing at a time. Punching, sparring, running, whatever it is. 

I pulled on my boxing gloves and walked over to the bag, pushing my forehead against it to feel the cool leather. I pulled back and began to swing at it. Jabbing and ducking. Kicking and elbowing the bag as though I was fighting a real person. My punches got quicker and quicker as thoughts of hydra began to course through my mind. Images of me and Bucky. Punch, punch, kick. Side by side as we murdered innocents. Punch, duck, punch. Memories of my cell. Kick, kick, punch. The dreaded table they would strap me to for experiments. Punch, punch, punch. My punishments for failing a mission. Kick, duck, duck. Mine and Bucky's screams that ran through the cell block. Punch, kick, punch. The grin on the scientists faces as they made a breakthrough on their experiments. Punch, punch, PUNCH! The bag exploded and a cloud of dust and sand flew into the air. I sighed and took the bag off of the hook before grabbing another one from the floor nearby and attaching it to the hook on the ceiling.

 I looked at the clock 4am. The others wouldn't be up for an hour or two at the earliest so I decided to take my hoodie off as I was too hot. I raised my fists to punch again but the angry red lines on my arms caught my eye. I took off one of my gloves and ran my fingers over the cuts, fresh from the previous morning. I started gently at first, testing how badly they hurt. Once I knew which ones hurt I would poke them and pick at them. I wanted to feel the pain, I wanted them to scar. It helps, thats all I know. I know it is bad, but it helps me more than anything else ever has. I ran my nails up and down the front of my arm, making all my cuts bleed before turning my arm over and doing the same to the other side. I liked feeling the blood run down my arm, it was cold and refreshing. There was something calming about the colour red and seeing it pool at my feet. I grabbed a towel and wiped the floor of my blood so the others wouldn't ask questions. I dabbed at my arm, soaking up the excess blood and jogged over to the treadmill, leaving my jacket on the boxing bag, next to my gloves..

 I grabbed my headphones and connected them to the bluetooth speakers in the room. I turned the music up loud, to block out my thoughts and began to run. All I focused on was the beat of the music and the lyrics to the songs. Most would have called my music sad, I called it realistic. Just because the words don't sugar coat reality, it doesn't make them 'depressing'. I related to all the songs on my playlist. My favourites at the moment were, 'Baby don't cut' and 'Alone', I liked the words and the melodies of both. I was in my zone, running so hard that I could hardly breathe, but I kept going. I wanted to push myself, to make my body work past it's breaking points, knowing it would hurt later. I pushed myself to run for around 45 minutes at a fairly intense rate. I slowed down to a jog for the last 15 minutes, allowing my body to cool down. It was now 5 am, some of the other's might be up but I needed to be sure. "Jarvis, is anybody else awake yet?" I asked the AI after pausing my playlist.