Hola, I don't know if I like Musso's books but I know I like quoting Musso.
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You are your own refuge
There is no other
You cannot save another
You can only save yourself.
Guillaume Musso
"You're always running after death," he wasn't lying. Because her forehead was bleeding—she was always bleeding, anywhere, everywhere. Her blood was burning his fingers. "You need to stop doing that. You really need to stop."
She liked listening to his voice. How beautifully he spoke, so soft and imploring. It sounded like a love song whispered against her ear, where the secrets were murmured.
"I'm not afraid of death."
He knew that. She was fearless. They were scared for her though, because she was a small woman. A small woman who needed to be protected from the horrors of the world because she had suffered enough for a lifetime.
Fear; that was good for the others, she said one day. She wouldn't admit it, ever, but in her dreams, in her nightmares she was terrified all the time. So terrified that she couldn't move. Coldness would bit her skin, inch by inch and then, she would stop breathing. There was no one to help her. There never was. Nightmare was the land where the only thing she had to face her demons was her own shadow.
"And death is not afraid of you, Natasha," she looked at him. She could read the terror in his eyes. She should look away, really, because she was feeling like someone was stabbing her in the stomach. "Death will wait for you till the end and will welcome you with open arms and you, you'll be smiling because you're fucking crazy."
She stayed quiet because Tony was right in a way.
"You're a stupid girl."
He cleaned up her cuts.
"You're a selfish woman."
He tried to fix her. He really did. He wanted to patch up the holes in her walls, the holes in her heart but she won't let him. She was in love with pain. She had always been.
It was cruel and destructive.
"How come Tony Stark gets to play with death and I don't?" she was smiling and he was certain if she had truly wanted to die, she would already be dead by now.
The bruises on her face were ugly as if death had left its traces. Being suicidal did not suit her at all. Soon, she will end up in pieces at his feet and he won't be able to put all her bits together. They won't be able to assemble her anymore.
She didn't even seem to care.
"Because I have a lot of suits but we only have one Natasha. I only have one Natasha."
She was irreplaceable. She was Natasha after all. She couldn't—won't be replaced. He turned away, slammed the door and he didn't even hear Natasha saying that she was sorry.
I love reckless Natasha though.
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