Chosen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen: I Am Not the Bad Guy

"Maybe I'm on the ropes or I'm not even here." -Coldplay: Ghost Story.

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 I silently reach for the gun I have stashed next to my bed. I feel the cold plastic grip with my fingers. I stand up in the space between my bed and Natasha. I aim the muzzle directly at Natasha's head. I use my thumb to pull the hammer down. My finger curls around the trigger as I take a deep breath.

 Then my shoulder is smacking the ground.

 I grunt as Natasha's unexpected kick to the ankles has grounded me. I am more than happy to see that the gun is still in my possession. I scramble to push myself up back to my feet. Natasha is fully awake now, standing on the other side of the air mattress. She cocks her head in confusion.

 "Monica-"

 I do not wait to listen what she is going to say. I raise the gun and ready myself to take the shot that I meant to take earlier. However, Natasha is quicker to react that I planned. She grabs my wrist and twists my arm. A shot is fired but it hits the ceiling. Dust from the plaster falls from the ceiling onto us. ​Natasha places her foot on my upper back with my arm still pulled behind me. "Monica, this is not you," She speaks lowly, "Stand down."

 I groan as I'm in an uncomfortable position. "Drop the gun, Monica," Natasha commands me.

 "No," I growl as I land a kick to Natasha's knee. She cries out in pain and I spin to face her. My metal leg inflicts worse pain to her bones.

 "Stand down!" She gives me one last chance to let her live.

 "I will not!" I try to take the aim again. I am even quicker to pull the trigger this time. The bullet is aimed perfectly at the space in-between her Natasha's green eyes. Much to my dismay, she outplays my move.

 Natasha leaps at me; the bullet just grazes her ear. She tackles me to the ground. I lose the firearm in the fall and I am unsure where it landed. My head slams against my dresser. I grunt in pain as the corner of my dresser splinters under my force. Natasha is on me in a second. I am trapped on my back under her. She attempts to talk me out of my senses.

 "Monica, whatever is going on with you, I am not a threat," Natasha puts her knee on my abdomen and her hands pin my arms to the ground.

 "You are the threat," I fire back, "It has never been clearer."

 "What made it so clear? No one in this household is a menace."

 "No, but you are! He made it so obvious."

 "Who is he?" Natasha puts more of her weight on me, "Monica, who has persuaded you that I am a hazard?"

 I do not answer, for I do not actually know who or what made me think of Natasha as an enemy. I just said "he" as an actual person and I genuinely have no reason why other than I just did. Natasha leans her face down to mine. I gasp as the pressure on my lungs makes it harder for me to breathe.

 "Who is messing with your mind?" She inquires.

 "No one," I take this opportunity to throw my head forward to collide with hers. She stumbles off of me and I can escape. I look for my hand gun but I don't have time to find it. Natasha is back on her feet and prepared to attack me.

 "Who is controlling you?" Natasha a little bit out of breath.

 "No one controls me!" I lunge at her.

 I push her up against the wall. Natasha tries to kick me but I block it. She moans as her shin strikes my metal limb. I throw a punch to her face but she dodges it. My fist meets the dry wall; my hand goes through the barrier. Sharp pieces of drywall line the hole in my wall that my hand is stuck in. Natasha takes this opportunity to come at me. I find it very difficult to fight with my dominant hand being trapped in a wall. She lands a painful jab to my ribs. I manage to block a kick and land one to the side of her thigh.