"𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙩𝙚
𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙮𝙨
𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙧."
1974, a year of progression for the feminist movement in santa monica and all because of one evette green, daughter to the city's f...
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Saturday 31st August 1974 - 7:02am.
— IT WAS FAIR TO SAY THAT THE LOOK ON BUCKY'S FACE was the most expressive Evette had ever seen. Upon her slightly nerve wracking and in the moment confession she realised just how overwhelming it was to say such a thing and not contemplate even for a second the gravity of such a statement. Bucky's lips pursed and he sighed, in what could only be assimilated to disappointment, before opening the door to the bathroom and slamming it behind him with such vigour that it made the walls shake. Evette placed her hands on her face, the utter confusion overflowing her as to why she had allowed those words to leave her mouth without even considering the implications for the both of them.
Love was a lot to concern themselves over because the more attached they got, the more dangerous they were to one another.
If one of them was to be caught, there would be nothing against the enemy to use them as leverage, as well as the emotional co-dependency they might develop on this little run away expedition that they had been improvising since Bucky first threw her in the passenger seat of the truck and drove away. Reliance was not a healthy thing, especially when it came to the trial and tribulation of trauma in all of its forms. Bucky had been tortured and for years, his demons weren't likely to just disappear with love and there was no doubt in his mind that he would only hurt Evette with his brokenness. He wasn't prepared to treat her like a miracle drug that could cure all of his ills because that wasn't the case. But she was something more, a helping hand, a body to lean on when he couldn't stand to walk, a shoulder to cry on when the tears kept coming and a voice to listen to when things became too quiet. She was not just a comfort, she was an anchor, someone who didn't make him suddenly feel better, but made him want to be better himself. She wasn't a miracle but a human being, and that was exactly what he had needed. But he couldn't have her, he just couldn't doom her like that.
As he stared into his own eyes he considered giving it up, running away later on in the night and leaving her to make her own escape; but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he punched the mirror, hoping his reflection would feed the punch back onto his own face to endure the pain from the force. He wanted punishment and he had been so used to receiving it, but now there was no punisher. Only him and her in the comfort of a motel room with a door between the two of them that began to feel like miles and miles. It was the furthest he had ever felt from the woman since they had first made their escape and there was not some intangible force pushing them apart, he was just pulling himself away. He assumed that creating the distance would cause little harm to his bruised and broken mind and body that had numbed to almost every pain that he had received, but this was different. This wall between them was enough to drive him wild, it made him ravage the bathroom into a mess of broken china as he crushed the sink beneath his hands. The noise resonated through the cracks around the door where Evette had stood by, resisting them temptation to call out to him.
