Your Ivy Grows

Chapter 39

John's late-night attempt to get into my bedroom was unsettling enough. But when he knocks on my door as I'm getting dressed for the day, I get the sense the worst is yet to come.

"Alex." He calls through the door.

"Ye-yeah..." I falter, my fingers fumbling on the top button of my jeans.

"Come have breakfast with me. I need to talk to you."

Those words, harmless as they might sound, send a spike of fear straight through me. I can't remember the last time John asked me to eat with him in the morning, at least not so we could talk.

I frown at the door, staring at it as if I'll suddenly gain the ability to see through the solid wood and get a glimpse of his face. It might give me some clue what this conversation is going to be about.

"Okay, I'll be right down." I call out in a voice much steadier than I feel.

I'm relieved when I hear his footsteps retreating from my door, allowing me time to gather myself before I join him.

When I eventually make my way downstairs, it feels like I'm heading to the gallows. My hands are shaking and I have to grip the banister to keep myself steady.

I'm terrified John somehow knows how I've spent the last few days while he's been gone. What else could he want to talk to me about? But when I really think about it, I know there's no way he could. If he did, I guarantee his reaction wouldn't be to politely request we sit and talk over food.

It's those reassurances that allow me to make breakfast without having a panic attack in the kitchen. John calms my fears even more when I bring his plate to him in the dining room and he gives me a normal greeting, not a hint of anger or suspicion in his voice. I let out a quiet, relieved sigh as I turn away from him and make my way to my chair.

John only confuses me further when he starts talking, because it's nothing more than small talk. He asks how I've spent the last few days and I lie. I lie well. He doesn't even question me when I tell him I've mostly been indoors, reading or watching TV.

For my part, I ask all the questions I know he's expecting from me. How was the mission? Did they make any progress? He answers in much more detail than I gave him, talking between mouthfuls of food as he rambles on about his time away.

It's such a stark contrast to how I spent my last few days with Bucky. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to sit down and talk to someone who's genuinely interested in what I have to say. More than interested, Bucky seemed to hang on my every word as if each one was more precious than the last. John couldn't give less of a shit; he's always just waiting for his turn to speak. I'm convinced he just loves the sound of his own voice.

I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here. Not a new revelation by any stretch of the imagination, but it's one that's getting harder to ignore. Bucky's given me a tiny glimpse of what a life away from John looks like and I can't bear the idea of not having that. Of not having him. All I need to do is gain the courage to fight for it.

"I've been thinking," I say, interrupting John halfway through a sentence. He looks up at me, seeming more curious than annoyed at the interruption. It's stupid to push him, especially when I know how he'll react, but I can't help it. "It gets so lonely here by myself, especially now you're always so busy and I'm not working. I think I might get a cat."

I don't look up at him as I say it; I keep my focus on my food. But I hear his fork clatter to his plate and then nothing. After the heavy silence becomes too much, I finally risk a glance up at him. I spot the angry set of his jaw; a vein pulsing in his neck as he stares me down.