From Darkness

Fifteen

It was difficult to stay still for long. I paced around the room for a while before Russell told me he was fine on his own, and my pacing was getting on his nerves. I didn't want to leave him, but he promised to let me know if he needed anything. So I reluctantly left and found the older woman still working in the kitchen. I asked her if she needed any help, and after a brief exchange where we struggled to understand each other, she finally found a job for me to do. So I went to work helping her clean and waited patiently for something to break the stillness.

It was nice to have a task, at least—something to keep my mind busy.

Bucky ended up being the one to break the stillness. She was busy trying to teach me how to make bread without a common language between us. Bucky stepped into the house through the front door. He gave me a nod and kicked the dirt off of his boots. He had it smudged on his face, and there were marks on his jeans from where the goats and nipped at him. He motioned toward the stairs.

"I'm going to clean up," he told me. So I watched him disappear up the stairs. The woman put her hand on my shoulder.

"Eat," she said. I shook my head.

"Oh, no. I'm not hungry."

"No." She pointed to the ceiling. "Eat." Then she left my side to assemble a plate for Bucky. She piled it as high as she'd piled mine and then shoved it into my hand and pointed to the ceiling again. "Eat." I nodded to agree.

"Alright, I'll give it to him. Will you watch over Ivan for me?" She understood enough to nod and gently pushed me toward the stairs.

I could hear the shower running when I reached the top. A very small part of me actually considered going in there with him, but it probably wasn't the right time or place for that. Of course, that wasn't my initial thought. Just that it had been a while since I'd taken a real shower. Bucky and I had once been comfortable enough to share a shower without it getting sexual. But then again—probably not.

Or maybe I was just overthinking it. So I turned at the top of the stairs and went into the bedroom instead.

It didn't take him long to finish. I'd set his plate down on the nightstand and waited for him to return. He entered the room with nothing but a towel around his waist, and I immediately regretted my decision to stay. I could have just left the food and gone back downstairs. But now he was standing there with wet hair dripping water on his chest, and I had to avert my eyes. Not that I hadn't seen him before. All of him. Just that we'd been apart for two months and a lot had happened in that time. We weren't ready. Even though the idea of him touching me made me feel something other than numbness for a second.

"Sorry," he said when he shut the door. "I didn't know you were in here."

"She wanted me to make sure you ate," I explained. "I didn't realize you were so comfortable here."

I motioned toward his metal arm and all the scars that surrounded it. The only evidence of the shrapnel I'd once pulled out of him was a small pink line on his stomach. The rest was already gone, and that one looked like it was fading too. He moved to where he'd stashed his backpack under the chair. I watched him kneel down to search for clothes.

"I thought everyone was downstairs," he told me.

"Still." He looked at me over his shoulder.

"Are you embarrassed, Johanna?"

"What? No."

"You're blushing." I hid behind my hair and looked at the wall.

"I'm not blushing."

"It's not like you haven't seen me before. All of me. Multiple times." I scoffed.

"I know that. You just caught me off guard."

"I've been out in the yard all morning. I didn't want to put the same clothes back on."

"I understand."

"Do you want me to change in the bathroom?" Something in his voice told me he was smiling, teasing me again. So I rolled my eyes and looked back at him.

"You're fine, Bucky. Get dressed. I'll go downstairs." I climbed off the bed, but he stood up and reached out a hand to take mine. The metal one was still clutching the towel around his waist. I turned my eyes to him.

"Are you okay?" he asked. The teasing expression was gone. He looked worried again. I nodded anyway.

"I'm fine. Ate a lot this morning. I seem to be on the mend," I told him. I lifted my hand and held my palm toward the ceiling. Just to make a point. The slice was scabbed now but obviously healing much faster than it should be. He held my hand and ran his thumb over the mark. He understood why I was showing him this.

"I didn't mean physically," he said. "How are you feeling?" I shrugged. It didn't even hurt my shoulders. There was no ache in my bones under the scars.

"Numb," I said. "Like there's a dark place inside me that I've lived in for two months, and anytime I start to feel anything, my instinct is to shove it back down there, so I don't have to deal with it." He nodded.

"A reflex. They have a way of doing that to a person. I understand."

"I know you do."

"I know it's hard not to give in to that instinct. But you're allowed to feel. Be angry. Be hurt. Be sad. Be scared. It keeps you human. It took me a while to do the same. But it'll help. Don't be afraid to let anyone see it. Least of all me." I nodded and looked back up at him. Strands of dark hair had stuck to his face, but he was clean now. And his eyes were vibrant in the dim sunlight. The bruises on his face were already yellowing and faded.

"How do you feel?" I asked him.

"Relieved," he said with one of those sad, attempted smiles. "I'm still working on figuring out the rest. But for now—I'm just glad to have you with me again."

I didn't know what to say to that. I put my hand on his chest to feel his heart beating under his skin. I wanted to stretch my fingers over his warm damp skin and promise that we could figure things out together. But I still didn't know if that was the right choice. I'd agreed to stay long enough to recover my health, but I couldn't promise we could recover anything else. So I stepped away, and his hand slipped out of mine.