BLOODSTRIDE-(Natasha RomanoffxOC)

(1)

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Eye's up here Darling

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Sweat dripped from Jamie's forehead as she blindly pummeled the punching bag, attempting to dispel the haunting images from her past that incessantly flashed before her eyes.

It was 4 a.m., and she had been jolted awake by yet another nightmare just 20 minutes earlier. This marked the fifth one in the week, a relentless reminder that, despite her escape, the ghosts of her past continued to torment her.

Her fists connected with the bag more rapidly and forcefully as her anger intensified. "Fuck!" she exclaimed, striking the bag with such force that it careened across the room.

Tears streamed down her face as she sank against the wall on her left, curling up and sobbing, her head pressed against the cool surface.

After five minutes, tears still traced paths down her cheeks. She rose from the floor, sniffing and wiping away her tears, then proceeded to remove the boxing wraps from her hands.

Winching as the wrap scraped against the cuts on her bruised hands, she felt the pain penetrating through the protective layers. Despite the wraps, her hands bore the bruises from the intensity of her boxing.

With a sigh, she exited the room to tend to her cuts. Jamie stood up, shaky from the emotional release and the physical exertion.

As she walked towards the bathroom, the cold tiles sent a shiver up her spine. She turned on the faucet, letting the water run until it reached a soothing temperature. She studied her reflection in the mirror, her eyes tired and red from the tears. The cuts on her hands were more visible now, and she winced as the water stung against them.

Carefully, Jamie began cleaning the wounds. The gentle touch of the cloth and the cool water provided a small, comforting distraction from the haunting memories that still lingered in her mind. Each cut told a story, not just of the physical toll from her boxing session but also of the internal struggles she faced.

After cleaning her hands, Jamie reached for the first aid kit, applying ointment and carefully wrapping her bruised knuckles. The process was familiar, a routine born out of the need to cope with the challenges life threw at her. The scars on her hands were a testament to her resilience.

Leaning against the bathroom counter, Jamie took a deep breath, attempting to regain composure. She stared at herself in the mirror, as if searching for answers or strength within her own reflection. The nightmares might persist, but the ritual of cleaning and tending to her wounds was a small act of self-care, a reminder that she could mend, physically and emotionally.

As Jamie left the bathroom, she glanced back at the scattered room. The punching bag lay on the floor, a silent witness to her struggle. With determination in her eyes, she began the process of restoring order, hanging a new bag back in its place.

Striding into the living room in her boxing attire—a sports bra, boxers, and shorts—Jamie's attention snapped to the distinct click of her door lock, signaling an unwelcome intrusion.

Reacting swiftly, she sought cover behind a wall, seizing a throwing knife from atop her table, poised for the intruder to reveal themselves.

Natasha, attempting to move silently, was abruptly met by a knife embedding into the wall just inches from her head. Her gaze darted towards the weapon's origin, a critical error that Jamie exploited, swiftly pinning Natasha to the door.

With Jamie's arm firmly against Natasha's throat and the other keeping her captive against the wall, Jamie demanded, "Who are you, and what do you want?" Her tone was stern, devoid of any playfulness, as she locked eyes with Natasha, her glare exuding intimidation.

Natasha gulped audibly, meeting Jamie's unwavering blue gaze with a sense of vulnerability in her own green eyes.

"Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you right here, right now?" Jamie spat with increased aggression, yanking the knife from the wall and pressing it against Natasha's cheek.

"Because if you don't help us, everyone might die," Natasha responded, her voice tinged with a hint of unease.

"Why should I care?" Jamie retorted, releasing Natasha, confident that she posed no immediate threat.

"Eyes up here, Darling," Jamie remarked, lifting Natasha's chin with her hand.

"Good girl," she added with a proud smirk, noting the flush of red that spread across Natasha's face.

Natasha swallowed hard, a mixture of relief and tension in the air. Jamie's demeanor had shifted, the aggression giving way to a more calculated curiosity. Natasha straightened herself, maintaining eye contact with Jamie.

"Fine," Jamie finally said, lowering the knife but not putting it away. "I'll hear you out. But this better be worth it, or I won't hesitate to finish what I started."

Natasha nodded, the tension easing from her shoulders. "I promise you won't regret it. There's a lot to explain, and time is of the essence. Are you in?"

Jamie hesitated for a moment, her blue eyes still piercing through Natasha. Then, with a nod, she responded, "I'm in. But remember, one wrong move, and that knife finds its mark."

[852]