Death In My Voice [Severe Editing Era]

Chapter 10

You're an angel, tell me you're never leaving
'Cause you're the first thing I know I can believe in

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Long chapter! That's my "I'm sorry for the previous chapter." Enjoy this one!

    I was lying on my bed completely exhausted. I felt so bad that I couldn't even raise my hand and straighten my hair that was so carelessly on my face. 

       What Wanda did to me was akin to torture. 

      She was hustling through my mind without permission and seemed to take out the soul with every movement of her finger. It was as if a hole had formed in my chest from how quickly everyone accused me, even without understanding the situation. 

      "She's not lying," Wanda walked away from me a few steps. I was utterly exhausted, depressed and angry. 

       Tony took a few steps toward my bed and leaned over. "Then how is all this possible?" 

       I sobbed. It was shameful and embarrassing to stay like that in front of everyone because I didn't know why they treat me like that. 

      "Her body keeps memories of how she moved to our house," Wanda wrapped herself in a claret shawl, "But for some strange reason, she doesn't remember about it." 

      "Can you recover her memories?" I avoided looking into Pietro's eyes. Judging by what they say, I tried to kill him. 

       "No. There is something that doesn't allow me. Perhaps this is some mechanism. You should examine her," she turned to Stark. 

      It feels like I'm not in this room at all. Who would have thought that my friends could behave like that? But I did not blame them. I would say the same if I saw that someone was trying to finish off my dear person. Especially in Wanda's case. Pietro wasn't just her brother. Without him, she couldn't have survived in this world. 

       A visitor ran his card over the door handle. I didn't even turn when the bed was bent from the other side, and the uninvited guest said: 

      "I brought you some food."

      Immediately, my eyes fixed on the grey morning sky. For some reason, it seems to me that the weather in the early morning was better than now. I can see my face correctly in the reflection of panoramic glasses, and I immediately want to turn away: the skin was as white as the sheet on which I slept, my eyes grew dull, the sheets draped over them, and dark hair was arranged in a Crow's Nest hairstyle. 

       I look terrible, and I look like a witch much more than Wanda.

     "You weren't in the morning with everyone," I don't turn to Steve, but I can see this tense expression correctly. I am glad that Rogers didn't see how Wanda laid out all my demons, like cards on a playing table. 

     "I didn't want to believe that you did it consciously or on purpose, to the last," he threw a rug over my shoulders and continued: "And I wasn't mistaken — Stark found something in your head that could well explain your deed." He said precisely to explain, and not to justify. This proves once again that my act is unforgivable. Although, quite possibly, I attach too much meaning to individual words. 

       "And what is he dug up in me?"  I turned sharply to the Captain and looked straight into those clean, slightly sad, but still not darkened by dark eyes.