One day, about six months after Ultron robbed me of my brother, Steve asked where my red leather jacket was.
"You used to wear it all the time but now you don't. You wear hoodies, or an army jacket, or go without. Why is that?" - he asked me offhandedly, not realizing the heartache the simple question would bring.
"Um… I lost it." I lied quickly before rushing from the common room to my bedroom, my safe haven.
The truth was I hadn't lost it. I knew exactly where it was. Shoved deep under my bed hidden from my sight though not my mind. I put it there the day I moved into the new Avengers facility. I had pulled it straight from the moving box and kicked it as deep as I could. I hated that jacket now for the same reason I loved it in the beginning. It reminded me of home.
When our apartment building was hit, much of my wardrobe was destroyed and I was left with no jacket or sweater to protect myself from the cold. I was alright for the first few months because it was warm and my thin, cotton shirt was enough, but soon the nights and then days became chilly and Pietro went out and found a jacket, a beautiful deep red leather jacket. It soon became my favorite piece of clothing and even when we were taken to the labs to be experimented on, I kept it with me, refusing to let go.
And when Captain America gave the command to "Suit Up" I knew I must wear my jacket. He wanted to Ultron to know who was hurting him and my jacket was as much a part of me as my left earlobe. I was wearing the jacket as I felt my heart rip in two, as he felt the bullets in his. The jacket I had loved so much, that had brought me so much comfort now became some horrible, something that brought pain and sorrow. I cannot bear to look or even think of it now without crying and wondering why?
"Why did he die and I survive? Why did he have to be a hero? Why must everything I love be ripped from me? Haven't I suffered enough?"