Roommate au, modern au
Warnings: miscarriage, signs of depression.
"No man, I'm telling you. She's been extra bitchy for like the past two months," Steve muttered into his cell phone. "Just because her boyfriend broke up with her doesn't mean the end of the world."
Steve and his roommate had never gotten along too well. He had been living with his girlfriend, who quickly moved out after a messy breakup. Then she found the ad for a roommate on Facebook and they had been living together ever since.
They didn't get along. She acknowledged him by calling him prick, the word seething through her teeth. He would call her princess with a condescending tone dripping from his voice. Then people would ask why either of them never moved out. She would utter something about how he was surprisingly tidy. He would brush it off by saying as annoying as she was, at least she minded her own business.
"No, they didn't even date for three months! And the guy was a piece of shit anyway." He said, walking into his building, punching the elevator button. "Whatever, Bucky. I gotta go, I just got home. Tell Nat I say hi."
He shoved his phone into his pocket with one hand and his key into the door with the other hand. He knew it was her day off today and expected to see her sitting on the couch watching some sitcom.
Only the apartment seemed empty and quiet. No one in the living room and the tv was off. He shrugged, maybe she had plans.
It was late in the day as Steve gad just gotten off of work. He walked to the fridge and pulled out a cold beer, popping the top on the counter. Something she would yell at him for had she been home.
It was hot out today and working on cars all day only seemed to amplify that heat. He was covered in grease and sweat. He needed a shower. He took a swig of the beer as he made his way to the bathroom at the back of the apartment. That's when he heard the crying that was muffled by the bathroom door.
"Get outta there princess. I need the shower," Steve muttered, banging on the door.
"Go away, Steve!" Steve. Not prick, not asshole, Steve. She was sobbing. Hard.
Something is wrong.
"Hey, what's going on? Why don't you open the door?" He spoke softly, ear pressed to the door.
"Please go away!" She cried.
He sighed, looking at the door for a full minute.
"If you don't open the door I will. I know the key is laying around here somewhere." He threatened. When she didn't respond, a string of curses left his lips as he stormed to the junk drawer. The random items inside rattled as he dug through before finally finding the key.
He rushed back to the door, quickly unlocking it and shoving it open. He looked down, seeing her sitting in the bathtub, wearing one of his t-shirts, and a puddle of blood was below her. A large puddle of blood, as well as some blood on the floor.
The stealing of his t-shirts was something that neither of them acknowledged.
"Hey," he whispered, crouching beside the bathtub. She was sobbing, shoving a washcloth beneath her. "What's going on, princess?"
It was taking him a moment to process what was happening.
"It's too much blood, Steve. Why is there so much blood?" Tears had made her eyes look bloodshot.
"Are you pregnant, sweetheart?" His heart broke as she started to sob even harder.
"Towels, I need more towels. There's too much blood," she began to repeat. Her bloody fingers reached for the cabinet. Unable to reach, she settled for the toilet paper roll beside Steve.
