Awakening - The Tigris Series Book 2

Chapter Seven

"So, you're telling me that Tony Stark made you a suit, and you boxed it?" Dr. Adams questioned, exasperatedly.

I nodded, staring at him with a blank, unfazed expression. "Yeah. I don't want it."

He blinked, completely dumbfounded by my answer. "Why not?"

I stared at him, staying silent once again. It only took Stark a few months after the battle in New York to make the entire team new suits, with the exception of Thor for obvious reasons. Despite my efforts to decline the offer, he of course stubbornly did it anyways. The next thing I knew, I came to my apartment one day to a small silver briefcase with a new black and white suit. I had to admit, he did a good job with it. It was nicer than I'd like to admit, but that didn't matter. I didn't plan on returning to the field, so the suit would be useless to me; but, I guess I was too nice to just throw it away. It also probably costs way too much to stubbornly toss it in the trash.

So, I stored it away instead.

"Is it because you don't want to fight anymore?" he asked further, trying to get another answer out of me. "Do you feel that fighting, even on the good side of the field, is too much? Or not enough?"

I glanced away again, staring off into space as I remained silent. That was one of the questions that I didn't want to think too much about, because the truth was, I was rather conflicted. A part of me wanted to go and join the Avengers, officially, and do good for the world to try and redeem myself from my past. Natasha was doing that, so I could probably try it, too. Though another part of me wanted nothing to do with raising my fist to someone ever again. Even if that person was the most evil person on the planet, I didn't want to cause any more harm than I already have. I've heard enough bones crack and seen enough blood spilled.

"Kara, we've been playing this little game for a while now. Can I ask why you don't feel you can open up about your emotions and your past?" he questioned, setting his notebook down on his lap in slight frustration.

I shifted my gaze upwards to meet his, not at all fazed by his sudden frustration. "It's not that I don't feel like I can, I just don't want to."

"Why not?" he questioned further, keeping his voice calm.

I gave a slight shrug, crossing my legs. "I just don't ever really want to talk about it."

He stared at me in silence for a few moments, searching my eyes for anything that could answer his question in more depth. He did this a lot; he knew he couldn't get much out of me by talking, so he stared into my eyes and watched my expressions and body language as closely as he could. Unluckily for him, I know how to do that too, which also means that I know how to alter my body language to what I want to portray.

It was an essential tool for unpredictability.

"You know that keeping everything bottled up inside will only make things worse for you. I say it all the time. Why do you insist on crawling deeper into that hole?" he asked, breaking the momentary silence.

It was my turn to be silent for a while. The truth was that I was doing it on purpose. I let myself suffer, just as I had caused others to suffer. I didn't want to find peace when I caused others to never find peace. To me, letting myself suffer was giving them the justice they deserved, without being locked up for the rest of my life or given the death sentence. Both of which, I still didn't understand why that wasn't where I was.

"Are you doing it on purpose?" he asked, suddenly.

My eyes slightly widened when he asked that. Once again, this man surprised me. Every once in a while, somehow, he manages to peek through the wall that I built between us and get a glimpse of what I was thinking or feeling. It was irritating that he was this good at his job.