run to you - bucky barnes

one

The smell of smoke lingered in the air, smoldering ashes danced within her peripheral vision, caught in the breeze seeping in through the open window. Marci sat curled up in a fleece blanket in the reading nook of her bay window. Her eyes danced across the glowing horizon in front of her, the lights of the Washington D.C. skyline reflected in her chocolate brown eyes. When she had initially sat down the sky was a dark black yet to awaken from its slumber, but slowly the sun was beginning to peak through, and the morning light was fast approaching. She turned her head from the skyline to glance at the clock that sat aside her bed. 

5:42 A.M.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as her eyes caught sight of the blankets that she threw to the floor in a panic when she awoke from her restless slumber. She stared at the comforter, charred from being set ablaze, and a tear glistened in her eyes, soon falling down the cusp of her cheek. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she pinched her eyes shut, trying to rid the intrusive thoughts that began to enter her mind that no longer felt like her own. After countless nights of nightmares, unable to sleep soundly for more than a few hours she had begun to feel desperate for a cure. 

With the bottom of her sleeve, she wiped the tears from her eyes, sniffled once more and grabbed her phone that was thrown askew on the cushion in front of her. After she unlocked it, she scrolled through her contacts searching for a specific name. After finding his contact, she paused for a moment before hitting the call button, as her finger hovered above the dial button, she couldn't help but stare at the contact picture. The memory of the day flooding her mind; the happiness she had felt in that moment was a stranger to the person she was now.  As the phone rang, she couldn't help but nibble on her bottom lip, a bad habit that formed as a way to cope with her feelings of anxiety. As she held the phone to her ear, she counted each tone that was sounded. One, two, three, four, five. Soon ringing stopped and as she expected, it went to his voicemail. Truth be told, she wasn't all that disappointed that he didn't answer. She didn't know if she would be able to talk to him, answer the questions she knew he would ask, without breaking down into a fit of tears.

"Hey, Sam," her voice was quiet as she spoke into the phone, raspy from the sobs that had escaped her lips prior, "It happened again," her words were vague, but he would know what she meant. "I know you're not up yet, but when you get this can you come over?" Her voice faltered with every word she spoke; it took all that she had not to start to cry. "I really could use someone to talk too," she trailed off, thinking if there was more she wanted to add before deciding against it. "Thanks, bye." She pulled her phone away from her ear, hung up and threw her phone on the cushioned seat in front of her, it landed in nearly the same spot she had pulled in from minutes ago.

She glanced back outside taking in the idyllic view before her. Marci had inherited her childhood home when her father passed almost four years ago. It was a small farmhouse on the outskirts of the city built nearly a hundred years ago. It sat on a couple acres of land, mostly grassy fields but had a small section of woods that connected to the adjacent property. Her favorite part of the property was a small creek that ran through the yard because of the memories she had playing in the cold water as a kid. It was a three-bedroom home, far too big for just herself, but it was her childhood home, and she never mustered the courage to move. She talked to a realtor about selling once, but it was short lived. She just couldn't imagine living anywhere else.