Number Neighbors- Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Chapter 25

Nat doesn't respond to any of your texts, she doesn't explain why she was sorry, nor does she show up on Friday. You waited at the cafe for 3 hours before you finally accepted that she wasn't coming. You had been too anxious to order coffee so you ordered a tea but it had long gotten cold. The barista would glance at you every so often with pity and embarrassment burned your cheeks.

You threw the cold tea in the trash and left the cafe vowing to avoid this part of town for a while. You were hurt and angry but more than anything you were confused. She had seemed thrilled to meet you and it was her idea in the end so why was she bailing on you? The thought that she wasn't who she claimed to be quietly crept up on you throughout the day but you'd heard her voice, at the very least she wasn't a 60-year-old man. At least she didn't sound like one.

You're looping through the five stages of grief throughout the week and by the end of it, you're a sobbing mess in your friend's arms. There's copious amounts of ice cream in your freezer and a bottle of wine has already been emptied as the two of you find yourself back on your couch but this time the circumstances are less enjoyable.

"I don't understand what I did wrong" Your friend gently caresses your hair as you stain her shirt with salty tears. She'd known the second she saw you that something was wrong and you'd nearly broken down on your lunch break in front of her when she asked if you were alright.

Even your mother seemed to notice something was off just by the sound of your voice. She'd threatened to come down and maim the person that hurt you and you didn't have the heart to tell her that neither of you would know where to find her.

"Maybe she's just scared?" Your friend tried to reason. You don't know how long she's been comforting you but it's the only thing keeping you from texting Nat again. You've ranged from screaming at her through texts to sending her sob-ridden voicemails and you hoped to keep at least a small part of your dignity intact.

"But it was her idea!" You argue "and she knows I wouldn't be mad if she wasn't ready. I just don't understand why she won't respond" A fresh wave of anger washes over you as you get up from the couch, your hands waving wildly as you make your way to the fridge "And what was with that cryptic text?! Why couldn't she just say why she was sorry? What's an apology without an explanation?"

You angrily grab a carton of ice cream and two spoons, huffing as you plop down on the couch and handing the spare spoon to your companion. You instinctively reach out for your phone, checking to see if Nat's at least read your messages. She hasn't.

You go to text her again, fueled by frustration despite your thread of unanswered messages. They stare tauntingly at you as the blue light assaults your tired teary eyes.

        Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦:

Are you okay? We don't have to meet but I'm getting worried about you

Y/n🍦:

Nat? I'm going to call.

Y/n🍦:

I never realized you don't have a voicemail tone

I was hoping I'd get to hear your voice one last time

Y/n🍦:

You know what? Screw you, I don't deserve this!

Y/n🍦:

I didn't mean it. I miss you.

I'm calling again.

You make a move to text her again but your friend slips the phone from your hands before you get the chance. She deletes whatever jumbled mess you had started typing and sets your phone behind her so you can't reach it. You simultaneously want to scream at her and thank her.