She took another puff, blowing in and out. Holding onto the killer between her two delicate fingers.
In and out.
The burning sensation filled her lungs as the light at the end became dimmer and dimmer.
In and Out.
She couldn't feel the pain anymore, she didn't let the pain in. Thats how she was raised after all.
In and out
The smoke blew out and blended with the wind of the polluted sky of New York. She sat on top of the 100 floor building, feet dangling over the edge. No support, no balance, no one to keep her safe. She sat there watching as the smoke danced with the wind. It was beautiful. I really was. They danced together in perfect harmony. Then the smoke would disappear and all there would be left was the pitch black of the night sky.
In and out.
She looked down. Most people would be scared shitless. But not her, she has stared into the face of death many times, and every time death has come close, she flipped him off and walked away.
All the lights below seemed to merge into one. All the people, they were just there waiting to die. They didn't make any difference in the world. The have never saved anyone. The have never done something to get recognised by other people. They have never taken an innocent life. They have done nothing.
And yet, they have a better life then her.
She took her last puff, holding her breath. Savouring all of the warmth that she could. Then she threw the now finished cigarette over the side. Watching, as it fell.
Her life would never be normal.
She backed away from the edge and stood up. Everyone told her how they are surprised at how she is even still alive after what the red room had done to her. They said that they couldn't believe that she didn't look like she was hurting at all.
But that's the thing isn't. They don't have a fucking clue what goes on in her head. They don't know that she is kept up every night by the nightmares that come again and again and again. They don't know that every time she closes her eyes, ever just of a second, that all she sees are walls dripping with blood. They don't know what is like to be alone every day. Because they all have someone.
Clint has his family.
Tony has Pepper.
Thor has Jane.
Steve has Peggy.
Bruce has Betty.
And who does young Natasha have?
The cigarettes and alcohol.
Everyone looks at her after she has finished yet another cigarette. They ask her why she smokes. Why she is killing her self. What they don't understand is that the only way she can feel anything anymore is by killing herself from the inside out. The feeling of warmth that is given by a cigarette that runs through her lungs for a few seconds is the few seconds that she tells herself that she is still human. Those few seconds when the alcohol makes her feel light headed. Those are the few seconds that she feels the true pain. Those are the true moments when she feels the warmth.
Because in all honestly. Those feeling are long forgotten.
But day after day she had to walk around with her head held high, with a fake smile on her face to prove to people that she was ok.
But if they looked deep enough into her eyes.
If they took a few seconds to actually look at her.
They would see a little red head girl, trapped in a red room.
Screaming to be saved.