The team went out to get ice cream, and obviously I wasn't invited, so I sat on the couch and watched an old movie with a bucket of popcorn. I laid all stretched out in the couch, soaking up the silence I desperately needed. Due to the sounds emitting from the tv and the munching of popcorn in my ears, I never heard the trained footsteps of the winter soldier enter the room. I didn't even notice he was there until he spoke up.

"What are you watching?" I squeaked and threw my hands up to throw up a barrier, but calmed down when I saw who it was.

"Jesus Barnes. Don't sneak up in people like that."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to." I looked at him while he stared at a random spot in his vision.

"You don't talk much," I say.

"Neither do you."

"I have nobody to talk to."

"Neither do I." I shake my head and smile.

"That's not true. You and Steve have been friends for what- 90 years? Natasha kinda likes you, at least you two are similar. I think Bruce likes you, and Vision. You have people to talk to. The only people I talk to are the guys who like to smash and dash, and there's not a lot of talking with them." I look at the floor. I'll admit it, I like sex. It's fun, healthy, and I kind of appreciate the no-strings-attached type of relationships. The problem is when one of my 'dates' is leaving and I see the disapproving stares and here some nasty names thrown around from the team, I end up feeling a little gross about it.

"Smash and dash?" I grimace. I forgot the guy was from the 40's.

"Um, one night stands. Hookups." He turns a little red in the face.

"So you're a prostitute?" He says with a judgmental glare in his blue eyes. I frown.

"Sure asshole. Whatever you think." I get up and leave without another word.

That night I laid in bed, soft music playing in my ears and listened to the chatter of my so-called 'team' eat supper together. Wanda's loud laughter carried down the hallways, followed by Thor's dramatic, loud voice. The smell of garlic chicken and wild rice made my belly growl. I hadn't really eaten engraving since my half-bowl of popcorn earlier. Earlier. 'Prostitute' echoed through my thoughts. It's not the 40's anymore. Women are allowed to enjoy sex as much as men. I enjoy it. I hadn't slept with very many men in my opinion. I had a safe little number 11 in my pocket. More laughter filled the hallway and I stood up, annoyed. Why should I feel like I can't be allowed to enjoy a meal because of a traumatic mistake I made months ago. A mistake that mostly involved me. A mistake that punished me enough. I closed my door behind and and power-walked to the dining room. Silence settled over the table as I entered. I laughed sarcastically.

"Don't stop on my account." I grabbed a plate from the cupboard and served myself a big plate of dinner. I loved rice. Especially wild rice. I grabbed a fork and went to sit down at the table, only to be met with a little more hurt. There were no empty chairs. They acknowledged how much they hate me by removing a chair from the dinner table. It was so dramatic it was laughable. So laughable, that I, in fact, laughed out loud. I set my plate down in the counter and leaned against it, laughing.

"What are you doing?" Tony said slowly, as if he was confused.

"I'm laughing, Tony, what does it look like?"

"Can you leave?" Wanda spoke up. I glared.

"No."

"Excuse me?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I said no, sister. Why should I be forced to eat by myself, night after night, simply because you hate me? No. Tonight I'm going to pull up a chair and sit and eat my dinner here, at a normal time, because I don't deserve anything less."

"It's not just Wanda, y/n." Bucky said lowly from the other end of the table, next to Steve.

"What?"

"I said it's not just Wanda. I don't want you to sit here either. I don't want to get any... diseases, from being near you." I felt like I had been slapped.

"It's just too uncomfortable with you around. Sorry y/n, maybe you should just go eat elsewhere," Bruce said softly. I looked at the floor with my eyebrows raised is surprise.

"Okay then." I left the kitchen/dining room without another word, leaving my plate there, untouched.

—Tw: SH—

I pinched my lips together as I sat on the bathroom floor, red trails with even spaces stacked on my thighs. The smell of marijuana hung in a cloud over my head, and the bottle of cheap tequila sat half-empty next to me. I set the fighting knife down on the floor and leaned my head against the tile wall, allowing myself to feel the stinging bites of pain on my skin, letting it remind me that I'm not dead, but my brother sure is, and it's my fault. I know it wasn't healthy, but it was so nice to have a different pain to focus on for once. To have a different expression of the hatred toward myself in my heart. Tears of painful relief pooled in my red, glassy eyes, and I slowly drifted off into the best sleep I've had in half a year.