Your Ivy Grows

Chapter 8

It's been just over a week since our fight and I've barely spoken to John since then. That's not been hard to do, he's hardly been at home. Being the new Captain America has been keeping him awfully busy, which works for me. This house feels less suffocating without him in it, but I still feel trapped here. Now that John is off on a weeklong press tour, I'm going to make the most of my time alone.

Something has changed and I can't put my finger on what it is, but I've finally reached a breaking point. I'm determined to have some fun while I can. Fun... I'm not even sure I remember what that is. John sold me on a lie, he sold me on a future together that we'd never have. And once he had me where he wanted me, he took everything from me. He took my friends; took my job; took my life.

John is confident that he has the upper hand, that he holds all the power. He's sure that I can't leave him. He's right; I don't even know how to leave, even though it is all I want to do. Where would I go? I've never known a life without him and he made sure I depended on him for everything. I want out, truly I do, but that doesn't make it any less terrifying. But tonight isn't about John, for this week alone I'm just going to forget he even exists.

Heading into our walk-in closet, I go to my side of it, right to the back where John never cared to look. This is where I keep all the outfits he has deemed inappropriate over the years. Usually, that means an outfit I was wearing when he got thrown into one of his childish, jealous rages. I pull out a slinky black dress and a pair of heels. After completing my makeup, I add the finishing touch to the look, a short brunette wig. It's highly doubtful that I'll see anyone who would recognise me tonight, but I'm not willing to take the risk.

Taking no chances tonight, I head out the back door, through our garden and out the back gate so that I'm less likely to be seen. Then I make my way into the city, walking part of the way until I'm able to hail a cab. Sliding into the back of the first one I find, I give the driver the name of the first club I can think of.

The night ends up being exactly what I hoped it would be, an escape. I drink a little too much and spend the night dancing, getting lost in the music and ignoring any attempts others make to interact with me. It feels good to pretend even for one night that I'm free. For hours I'm lost to the music, dancing until my feet ache. Once I'm back home, I collapse on the bed completely exhausted but with a smile on my face and determined to do it all over again.

I spend a day at home, letting my feet recover before I decide to head back out. Picking out an even more risqué number this time, a gold sparkly dress that barely covers the tops of my thighs. It feels like a fuck you to John, even if he's not here to see it. Then I decide on the wig for the evening, a long red one that is another middle finger to John. It's that perfect shade of natural red that I've always wanted to try on myself, but he's never let me. Finishing up my makeup in the bathroom mirror, I admire my reflection, pleased with the final look.

I end up back at the same club; once again looking to dance the night away. This is the dancing I enjoy, where I can lose myself to the beat and let go. Once I've worked up a sweat, I abandon the dancefloor in search of a drink. The club is packed, so the busy bar doesn't surprise me. I try to wait patiently until I find a gap to squeeze into, money in my hand as I try to catch the attention of the bartender.

"You're quite the dancer." A deep voice practically shouts into my right ear, causing me to jump and almost drop the note I'm holding.

I look up to see a giant of a man towering over me, looking at me like I'm something he wants to eat.

"Thanks." I say as politely as I can, whilst also trying to convey that I'm not looking for a conversation. I turn my attention back to the nearest bartender, hoping to get my drink and leave as quickly as possible.

"What drink would you like?" His mouth is back at my ear and he's shouting louder than is necessary even in this loud club. "I'll get it."

"Thank you, but I'm okay." I say as firmly as I can, hoping he will take the hint. But of course he doesn't.

"Oh, come on, one drink won't kill you." He's not an unattractive man, but his pushy persistence is quite the turnoff.

"That's very nice of you, but I'm married." Holding my hand up as I say it so that he can see my rings.

"Well, I didn't see any husband out there dancing with you." He looks around us, as if he's looking for him. Then his gaze falls back to me and I don't like the way he's looking at me. "What he doesn't know won't kill him."

"Again, thank you, but no." I turn away from him, praying that will be the end of it. I'd rather not anger him, especially when I don't know what kind of reaction I'll get.

It seems I'm right to be cautious because he grabs my shoulder and pulls me back around to face him.

"Hey, I'm talki-" But he's cut off by a hand grabbing firmly onto his and pulling it off me.

"Did you not hear her say no? It seemed pretty clear to me." I recognise that voice, the quiet demand in it.

I look to my right, at the owner of that hand and silently wish for the ground to swallow me. While I'm grateful to have someone to help get this caveman to fuck off, why does it have to be him?

Caveman turns his attention away from me and is now staring at Barnes. I'm worried I'm about to witness a fight, which I don't see ending very well for our resident caveman. He doesn't know he's face to face with a super soldier, but I think he soon will if he dares throw a punch. But he must not like whatever he sees when he looks at Barnes, because he holds his hands up and backs off.

"Thank you." I'd rather not owe this man any favours, but I'm still grateful for the help. When it comes to confrontation and standing up for myself, I'm not the best. I turn back to the bar just as the bartender finally heads over.

"Can I get a Margarita, please?" I shout loudly enough for him to hear me.

"And a bottle of beer." Barnes shouts over my shoulder. I turn to him in surprise; I'd hoped our conversation was over, but apparently he has over ideas.

When the bartender brings the drinks to us, Barnes insists on paying and doesn't let me quietly slink away like I want to. So instead, I take a large gulp of my drink, downing half of it in one go.

"Are you following me, Barnes?" The accusation leaves my mouth before I've had time to think better of it. I just find it odd that he is here right now. What are the chances this is just a coincidence?

"Don't flatter yourself, Princess." He smirks at me. I hate that nickname but I know if I react to it, he'll just use it more than he already does.

"Then why are you here? You don't really strike me as someone who frequents clubs. I mean, look at you." I gesture down at his attire to make my point.

I won't deny that he doesn't look good; he does. His tight fitting black shirt is showing off his muscled chest. But he's wearing a long-sleeved jacket over the top of it that must make him uncomfortably hot. I'm in a skimpy dress and I can feel the sweat coating my body. Then I notice the gloves he's wearing and the outfit choice makes sense. He's hiding his arm, making sure no one sees him for who he really is. I guess we have that one thing in common tonight.

He stares at me, not answering my question and instead taking a swig from his bottle of beer.

"Dance with me." He says it in a way that makes it seem like more of a demand than a question. He's got to be kidding me right now. Does he actually think I'm going to dance with him?

"No." I say, downing the rest of my drink before setting the glass on the bar and turning towards the dancefloor, preparing to leave him and this conversation.

"I just came to your rescue." He reminds me. "Don't you think you at least owe me one dance as a thank you?"

"I don't owe you shit, old man. I said no." With that said, I head away from the bar and back out onto the dancefloor. But I get the sneaky suspicion that's not the last I'll be seeing of Barnes tonight. I ignore the part of me that is excited by that prospect.