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❝ some days, i feel everything at once. other days, i feel nothing at all. i don't know what's worse: drowning beneath the waves or dying from the thirst ❞
⎯ unknown, via pinterest
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REINE IS LOST in her memories.
It usually doesn't hit her this hard, but today they crash over her, a tidal wave of emotions that break her heart in two and leave her scrambling to find footing. She's young, still figuring out the ways of the world, so these hit her hard. They hit her hard and without remorse.
They're back on the jet, changed out of their uniforms, and now sit in different spots around the belly of the ship. Bucky is on top of a pile of crates, his head hung and his hands in his lap. Sam lays along the wall. Reine is farther away, on the floor near the back of the room. Her knees are up to her chest, and her head rests against them, looking down into her lap.
Though she doesn't see anything.
Her eyes are closed, sealed shut by the ache of tears that sprout along her eyelids. Her hands are shaking, only slightly, the nerves torn to shreds under her skin. All the blood is gone, but she can still feel it seeping down her skin, hot and putrid, sticking to the hairs along her hand, a burning crimson.
The florescent lights that surround them are a blur in her eyes, and memories barricade Reine inside herself.
It is one year that Bucky has been living with them. Night shadows over the city like a blanket, and for little Reine, it's as if the whole world has gone to bed. The girl herself is nestled under her covers, warmth cocooning her as she hugs her stuffed teddy bear and tucks her neck into Bucky's oversized red t-shirt. Her sweat-slicked hair hangs in strands around her tan, round, face.
Mama has always said Reine was beautiful. Bucky says she'll have no shortage of suitors, whatever that means, when she grows up. Reine likes this. She likes knowing she'll be good when she's older. Mama and her have been called mean things before, things that chip away at the naive girl's heart. She doesn't know what they mean, but she does know that they're not compliments. They're never compliments.
