Hush
Summary: You had recently been forced into a traumatic situation that has caused your life to become a living nightmare. Wherever you turn, there is a reminder of what had happened to you. A reminder that you had no future other than to be bombarded with memories that you had never wanted in the first place. But maybe, just maybe, that can all change with one act of very observant kindness. A trustworthy kind of kindness that could bring change to your life in ways you never thought could be possible any longer.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!ReaderOC
Word Count: 8263
Warnings: sexual violence, swearing, trauma, and severe anxiety
A/N: I’ve had this story written in my drafts for months now. I could never bring myself to post it, until something happened the other day. Life is too fucking short to silence yourself and to not listen to the important stories of others just becuase society finds it taboo. But I realized that the only way to change something is to stare it straight in the face and demand it to be changed.
You weren’t always the quiet one. You didn’t always stare at your black rain boots as you shuffled down a hallway, listening intently for the heavy thud of footsteps behind you. And you definitely were never the one to seek solace in the furthest corner of a room, closest to the exit and the furthest from attention.
You weren’t always afraid.
But these days, you can’t remember a time when you weren’t afraid. When leaving your house didn’t mean keeping your head down and your senses dialed in. When the sound of a car door slamming shut too close to you in a parking lot didn’t startle you. Or the sound of a burly man whispering down the aisle at the grocery store didn’t make your fingers scramble for the cold metal can of pepper spray in your bag, only for you to realize that he’s asking his daughter about what kind of cereal she wants for breakfast the next morning.
It’s a maddening feeling that you know shouldn’t be there. But it is.
And the thoughts of what he did to you should be gone. But they’re not. And you don’t think they ever will be.
Your therapist disagrees with you, but that’s his job. Optimism is what he’s paid to spread to people who see no future, only the shitty past. People like you. And that’s fine. You weren’t paying for these sessions anyway. That was all on your brother, the brother who pleaded with you to continue to try with this therapist despite your protests that the man was an idiot. But your brother was insistent. Just try, please. I don’t want to see you like this anymore, Mia.
Right. Because this was all about what he was forced to see every day.
But, you knew he meant well. He offered to have you stay with him for as long as you needed, which you never would’ve accepted before from your fancy lawyer brother, but your stubborn confidence has faded. You weren’t sure of yourself anymore. He had taken that from you. And now you were left afraid.
So, with your brother’s offered assistance came the therapy from hell. And honestly, it wouldn’t have been a bad idea…if only the therapist wasn’t a total jackal. But you digress.
It had been exactly a month and seven days of treatment, and all this guy had done was to tell you to stop being so afraid, to live your life for the future, and to maybe try to some meditation.
Um…great. Thanks, Generic Advice Generator. I will surely get right on that after I overcome my crippling fear of everything, apparently, all on my own.
But you digress.
However, this recent therapy visit was different. Your therapist was going on and on about his weekend away with the boys (who all met on the high school football team, himself being team captain). They went on a camping trip to Tahoe where his buddy had a cabin, or something. There was beer, and fishing, and bonfires, and beer, and…you know, it doesn’t really matter. You had stopped listening after mounted the grill to the back of my truck. It wasn’t until he mentioned getting that same truck stuck in the mud on his way home that he came to the realization that you still existed. And that’s when the lightbulb went off that teamwork is somehow the key to everything since his buddies helped to pull his car out of the mud…by calling a tow truck for him. But you digress.
The point is that now you are walking down the long, locker-infested hallway of a high school towards this magical thing that your therapist seems to have just discovered yesterday called, group therapy.
Ooh.
Aah.
Wow.
The reason behind a therapy session for grown adults being held in a high school was completely beyond you, but your therapist and brother had insisted. You weren’t sure why, and were much too paralyzed with fear to really dig down to logic and reasoning, but the locker doors were making your heart pound much faster than it should have been. The nervous flick of your eyes made you dizzy as you hugged your hood closer to your ears. The doors. What was inside of them? Who was inside of them? Which door will open? Is it that one? It’s that one. He’s inside. You are going to die. You are going to die. The screaming of your boots were the only noise that screeched down the hallway because you were late to this stupid meeting, and you were alone. You were hopelessly alone and now you were going to die. You were going to die. You were…
at the meeting….and now you felt stupid…becuase what kind of an attacker would be able to hide inside of a high school locker…and now they are all staring at you, so you better say something…anything…literally fucking anything…time’s a wastin, you idiot…
“Are you here for the Guide to Success and Sanity Social Group?” a woman in a black pantsuit and a Crest Whitening Strips smile asked, leaning forward expectantly in her chair.
Unfortunately, you answered in your head.
Your voice, as it always was these days, was gone. So, you nodded, just barely shifting your hood back to reveal your face so that she didn’t call security on the dripping wet, hooded freak that just infiltrated the “healing process.”
“Oh, wonderful!” She chirped in excitement as she craned herself out of her seat to welcome you with her hand extended, her manicured fingers beckoning you forward. “Come, come! Don’t be shy. We are all here to help each other. Come now, tell us your name, my love, since you missed our introductions.”
Of course, I did. This being late idea seemed like a great idea at first…
“Uh…Mia,” you answered quietly, just an octave above a whisper.
“Alright, Leah. My name is Trish, and it is so nice to meet you! And, we are all certainly glad to have you this evening while we discuss the merits of making plans for a successful future. Plans that really put us on a launch pad and set us off for a lifetime of happiness! Does that sound like a good place to start tonight?” You were never one to accept crap, but correcting Trish would mean having to use words, and that was not in your plan for tonight. So again, you nodded. “Fantastic, Leah! Now, that is exactly the type of attitude I like to see! A real go-getter! You are going to make a fine addition to this team,” Trish bubbled, squeezing your shoulders in a way that made you want to cry. “Now, if you would like to take a seat, then we can surely begin!”
It seemed like a very simple request to just take a seat. But, you couldn’t.
You couldn’t because the only seat that was open was, what seemed like, the furthest possible point from the exit that could’ve ever been put in a room. Why did you get to this meeting late? This was your fault. Everything was your fault.
That green, glowing EXIT sign was mocking you. You knew it was. Your eyes shifted nervously between that sign and the wooden chair in the front row to the right of the semi-circle. About fifteen pairs of eyes watched you, some sympathetic, but most were impatient. The tension was growing in the room, but you knew that most of the tension was building inside of your chest. Maybe that tension was spilling out into the audience that watched you so carefully as the spotlight from the hanging lamp directly above your head made a ring around your insecurities. They were all judging you for your insecurities, for your fears, but the seat was too far. How would you possibly escape him?
And at the same moment that Trish put her hand on the center of your back and the breath you were holding deep in your stomach released in a gasp, you heard one of the wooden chairs scoot back from its place, completely negating your gasp from all other’s ears. You hoped.
Your eyes shot up in the direction of the sound to see one of the other therapy-goers stand up out of his own chair, the chair that happened to be the one closest to the exit, to walk over to the chair where you were about to be forced into. You couldn’t believe it. If you had ever seen a miracle, this was it.
With a quiet sigh of relief, your legs awakened, and you made your way to the back corner of the group where you allowed the strain in your muscles to relax ever-so-slightly. The pain in your chest subsided as your breath returned. And it was only from this place in the shadows of the back of the room that you realized how ridiculous you were just then. From back here, you saw that very few people in the group were listening to Trish, and even less had their eyes anywhere other than the ground, the windows, or hidden behind hoods. The nervous ticks making you realize that your insecurities are the least pressing issue on any of these people’s minds…except for one.
The man who had given up his comfortable chair next to the exit for you.
For you. Ha! My vapid narcissism is clearly showing.
He must have gotten cold sitting so close to the doorway that pulled in a draft that raised the hairs on the back of your neck and made you shiver in your chair as the tip of your nose was bitten by the chill. Still, would you switch chairs? Not even if there were icicles dripping out of your nostrils.
But he didn’t know that. And why would he care? He doesn’t. He just got cold and used the opportunity that your interruption gave him to move.
However, that doesn’t mean that you weren’t going to stare at him for pretty much the next two hours. That’s one thing that did remain intact. Your curiosity. Although you weren’t going on as many risky adventures as you used to embark on outside of Trader Joe’s or maybe to the post office, but you still enjoyed a good mystery. And this man was a mystery for sure.
Well, you supposed everyone in that room was a mystery to you, but he was the only one who interested you. Maybe it was the military posture that he kept firm as he sat rigid in his new chair that he pretended wasn’t giving him anxiety at being so far from the exit now (it probably was). Maybe it was the black, baggy clothes that he wore to mask the contours of his body (they didn’t). Maybe it was the hood that he wore to cover his faintly recognizable face (it didn’t). Or maybe it was his eyes that seemed to be watching you with the same intensity that you were watching him whenever your eyes flicked over to the exit. You were sure that he thought that you didn’t notice (but you did).
It was like a game of tag, except that you were both cleverly good at not being it. Both just barely missing each other’s curious glances. It soon became a competition, at least in your mind, to see who could catch the other one’s eye first. Who would be first to be caught off-guard?
Turns out, it was you. Caught staring at his large hands gripping his muscular thighs in a way that could not be comfortable for him, but that’s as far as that thought got before his eyes found yours. At first, his expression was unreadable, very soldierly and poised as he scrutinized your body up-and-down. There wasn’t much to see considering your gray sweatpants and oversized, black raincoat that swallowed your favorite flannel and the rest of your body. And honestly, you were glad for the protection, because if he could see even an inch of your skin, you could swear that he would be able to see the way his eyes made you feel. The warmth that spread from your chest to the tip of your nose was travelling quickly through your veins, and suddenly, that draft didn’t mean a goddamned thing to you. All you could feel were his eyes. That was all you could think about. His hands. His arms. His hair. Him.
But you were still the first one to look away. Only because you heard the scuffle of something in the hallway next to you. In a panic, your eyes whipped to the exit only to find a crumbled piece of paper blow across the wet, dirty tile.
And once again, you were back to square one. Afraid of everything.
Embarrassed, you didn’t look back towards him for the rest of the meeting, knowing that he probably saw what you had just done. Instead, you kept your eyes firm on Trish and focused on your breathing exercises. They were the only thing that helped you to cope with any panic attacks. The only thing.
You didn’t know why you continued to go back to these group therapy sessions. But you did. This was one of your last sessions, so might as well finish strong.
Maybe they made you feel accomplished in that you were able to leave the house. At these meetings, you weren’t forced to speak when you didn’t want to (so to you, that meant never). But that feeling wasn’t the same for everyone. In fact, most of the other patrons were very excited to share their stories and to bond with the people around them. You respected that and eventually started to tune in to what they were actually saying.
Turns out, many of them were war veterans, lost between a time when they were celebrated for their heroism versus now when they were shunned for protecting their own country. You, personally, never understood why the soldiers were the ones to blame for going to war. They wouldn’t have had to go war in the first place if the higher ups hadn’t caused a war to fight. But maybe that was just you.
It wasn’t until about four weeks in that you realized the truly strange part of these meetings, the thing that was always gnawing at the back of your mind every time you sat in your chair near the exit: he never spoke. The man who gave up his chair, he never shared with the group.
Not that you had any room to judge since you had yet to say a word either. However, he always showed up to the meetings. Just like you. You had yet to have a staring contest since the first day that you arrived, but you still felt his eyes every once in a while. Not wandering. You could tell he was deliberate about every move he made, concise in every decision. You could feel something else behind his eyes: concern. No? Desire. Maybe? Desperation.
Come on, now you’re being ridiculous.
Well, whatever it was, it didn’t matter after the fifth meeting because he was gone. Yeah, just there one day, poof the next like a magic trick.
You didn’t want to feel hollow after the realization hit you. But you did.
He was the first person outside of your own flesh and blood (which was really just your brother and only your brother) to show you any kind of mercy or understanding whether he knew he was showing it or not. Even when he caught your eye, he looked at you not as a victim, but as a person. As if nothing happened. He knew something happened to you, or else you wouldn’t have been in group therapy, but he didn’t pity you, or undress you with his eyes.
He just seemed curious yet reserved in a ‘mind you own business’ way. And you really liked it. But now he was gone, and the little narrative that was playing out in your head was cut short like when FRIENDS was cancelled…but less important since the cast actually knew each other for thirteen years. This was just a fucked-up meet-cute scenario that only happened in your head.
Regardless, the distraction was welcomed and made time go by faster. Now, you had to find some other way to occupy your mind instead of facing what was still weighing your gut down and keeping you from functioning in society…not that you were all too ‘functioning’ before everything happened, but now…now everything felt like a challenge. What you wore made all the difference in the world. What kind of shoes you were wearing mattered. Making sure you had mace at all times mattered. There was a checklist for every time you left the house, and even when you didn’t. You were always prepared just because you hadn’t been for one day, for one hour, for one guy…some disgusting guy…at one place. Just once. And now everything was different.
But you were sure nothing changed for him. And that’s what made everything feel worthless to you. Even when you spoke up, nothing changed for him. And that’s just the way the world was.
You supposed that the therapy did help a bit in the sense that after someone mentioned being afraid of how angry they were all the time, Trish offered up the idea of channeling that energy into a hobby of some sort. So, actually taking advice from someone for once (can’t say you never tried now), you decided to take up kickboxing. Why?
Well, if anyone knew what had happened to you, they would probably guess at self-defense, and that was definitely a large part of it. However, the other part was pure rage at the society that promoted a legal system that allowed misogynistic judges to get away with letting go…him, and every other him on this goddamned planet…with only a slap on the wrist after what he had done.
He was your boyfriend at one point. You had trusted him to let him into your apartment. There was no evidence of foul play. He even wore a condom.
But they never knew about the knife. The scars you had from when you were attacked at a young age by a knife. The reason you froze when he pulled it out. Why you didn’t fight. Why you felt responsible for what had happened to you. Verbally, you did not consent. But there’s no evidence to prove what you said, or didn’t say. Only his word against yours. And you allowed him into your apartment. That’s the same as your body, right? Right?
You were ready to punch something. You wished it was the two cops who didn’t believe you and questioned you about your own virginity, your own “purity” before they even talked to him. But, the world was unfair, so you settled for a punching bag, instead.
You’d never been inside of a gym like this before. Not that you had been to any gym before this, but whenever you thought of a gym, you thought of a place filled with the sweaty masses groaning their way through whatever torture devices they decided to burden themselves with. And judgey eyes on judgey trainers and gym-goes alike. You preferred to be…literally anywhere else.
But this place was different. It was small and secluded in a way that felt welcoming which was far off from the aggressive sales pitches demanded by any other gym. This felt more like a yoga studio fitted with a boxing ring and a stack of bags to provide training for an entire army. It wasn’t familiar to you, but when you put your mind to something, it became an obsession until you felt confident in what you were doing. You had watched a few sleepless nights’ worth of Youtube videos on kickboxing, now you just had to learn.
Shouldn’t be too hard. No big deal.
Oh, fuck. Never mind, this is a big deal. Where do I put my foot if my other foot is over here? Nope, that’s wrong. Yeah, that definitely doesn’t feel right. Is that move supposed to hurt that bad? I’m gonna break my ankle if I keep this shit up.
Safe to say, things weren’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped. But now, you were determined, coming in every day, sometimes twice a day, with a vengeance. You knew this was all distraction and you still weren’t really talking about what was keeping you from letting things go, but this was way more entertaining. Despite how awful you were, it would tire you out and by the end of the day, you would need to sleep. It wasn’t a request from your mind to your body that got rejected and thrown into the shredder, but something that just came naturally, which was an incredible change.
The only thing that didn’t seem to be changing was how awkward your body felt against those punching bags. Again, the gym had never been your friend, so this was new to you. It wasn’t until two weeks in that one of the men, who all seemed plenty friendly and open if you had any questions (which, of course you did, but you would never ask for help), started to notice you. You faintly recognized him from somewhere but could never quite place where. Whenever you were feeling a bit lost, you would always seek inspiration by watching him. Just quick glances here and there, but you always made notes on his body position. It was easy to tell that he knew what he was doing. You just wished it was as easy to watch as it was to actually do.
He was toweling off one day after he almost destroyed one of the punching bags on the opposite side of the room from you, and like magnets you could feel his glance, just like anyone else’s. The only reason you homed in on him was his hesitation at the door. You tried to ignore his pause and continue your workout, but he took a look towards the ceiling with a sigh, then made his approach.
He stood in your line of vision to your right, watching your stance carefully as you threw one last punch before taking your headphones out of your ears.
“Pardon me,” he asked politely, his eyes careful as you finally looked up to his face. He was carved from marble, yet still soft and honest in a way you couldn’t explain but felt comforted by. Not that your body lessened in rigidness, but still. “I don’t mean to interrupt, and this is incredibly rude, and I’ll leave if you want, but…may I offer you some advice?” He asked, and as compelled as you were to ignore him and put your headphones back in to block him out, you nodded, desiring deeply to know what he knew. He breathed out a sigh of relief. “Alright. So, your stance is good, but maybe bend your knees just an inch more to establish more balance and to keep your center of gravity closer to the ground. It will strengthen your hits and prevent injuries which…I just wouldn’t want that to happen when it’s such an easy fix. Have you ever had lessons before?”
You shook your head slightly, making him nod. “Okay, okay. That’s alright. In fact, that’s amazing. I’ve seen you around here, and I can tell you have the strength to put in the punches. I mean, that punching bag doesn’t have a chance once you find the right fighting stance,” he complimented, making you smile. You could tell he really liked that, but he quickly shifted back into his neutral expression. “But for now, just work on bending your knees and not locking your joints after you throw a kick.” You nodded again, mumbling a quiet ‘thank you.’ He responded with a quiet ‘you’re welcome’ back as your eyes met his again. You could tell he was scrambling for something else to say, but he settled for, “I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers.” He introduced, offering you his hand. In your panic, you pretended to not notice his hand and instead reach down for your water bottle. He clearly noticed, but didn’t say anything about it, just let his hand drop to grip the handle on his bag.
“Mia,” you answered back to him before taking a sip of water. The name dawned on his face as he smiled to himself.
“I knew that’s what it was,” he laughed as you scrunched your eyebrows at him. “Trish kept calling you Leah at the meetings and I knew on the first day that I clearly heard you say Mia. Thought I was losing my mind for a second.”
“Trust me, the feeling was mutual,” you responded with a half-smile. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere, too.”
“Are you still going to the meetings, or…?”
“No,” you shook your head. “Not exactly the most uplifting environment.”
“I’d have to agree with you on that,” Steve smiled. “Probably why I left.”
“And you turned to fighting?”
“Turned back to it,” Steve admitted. “Seems like you found a home here too.”
“Once I find my footing,” you shrugged. Steve seemed to debate something in the intermittent pause, but once he glanced at your face, he acquiesced.
“Well, if you ever have any more questions…you know I’ll be here.”
“Breaking bags?”
“I always pay for them,” Steve defended with a sheepish grin, making you roll your eyes and scoff.
“How gentlemanly,” you teased quietly as you slipped your gloves back on. “I’ll let you know and thank you.”
“Anytime…Mia,” Steve emphasized with a tip of his head before he left the gym, his offer hanging in the air leaving you breathless. You hadn’t had a full conversation with someone, much less a man other than your brother, in months. What made you open up to him? Guess you really wanted to know how to box. Dedication and desire makes you do some crazy things.
It was almost a week later when you approached Steve again. You were extra anxious due to your court date being set for the following month. You didn’t realize it would be that soon, but you supposed sooner was better than later. Although you would have to see him…to testify in front of him.
He raped me! He raped me! He raped me!
But you didn’t report the incident for a full three months.
That doesn’t mean that I am any less important now than I was the day that it happened. Because he raped me. And he could get away with it. Because of all the mistakes that I made…because I was the one who made the mistakes?
You swung wildly at your bag, the sweat pouring off your nose and into your mouth with the taste of blood from biting your cheek after the phone call on the way into the gym. Your head pounded like a jackhammer in your brain, but you couldn’t stop. How could you? If you stopped, he got away with it. You couldn’t stop. You didn’t even care about form anymore, you just took your shots where you could until a spasm hit your shoulder and you hugged your bag until it stopped, until the spinning stopped, taking a seat on the wooden box next to you as you threw your headphones in a crumpled heap on the ground in frustration and took a sip of water. You stretched out your shoulder and raised your eyes across the gym to find Steve killing it, as always. And as always, he seemed in control of his thoughts and emotions, channeling them into his kickboxing.
Wonder what that’s like?
Grabbing your towel, you crossed the gym past the rust covered walls and faded wallpaper to stand in front of Steve just within his eyesight as he did to you. Immediately, he paused his workout to steady his bag and focused on you.
“Nice to see you again, Mia,” Steve beamed at you making your stomach do a flip. You suddenly realized what you were doing and got nervous, quickly thinking about running to grab your stuff and bolt through the door. Steve followed your darting eyes towards the doors and took a step back to sit on the chair next to him, making himself shorter and less intimidating. “Did you have a question? I’d love to help if you have one.”
“Yeah…uh, yeah I do.”
“Shoot,” Steve encouraged you with a nod and you took a breath.
“I was just wondering…I just…keep falling out of balance when I, uh…when I come out of a kick and I just…I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“Alright…can I see? Could you show me an example?” Steve asked, and you felt your eyes go wide, but swallowed your nerves. He was just trying to help, and you asked. “Hey, no pressure. Just do what you normally do. I’m always here anyways, so what’s the difference, right?”
You nodded at that because he was right. It seemed like you were both here more days than you weren’t. Squaring off to the bag with your shoulder, you raised your fists, bending your knees as he advised, and leaned into your kick. Your landing wasn’t as awful as it normally was, but that’s probably because you had an audience. Steve nodded as he stood and you stepped out of his way.
“When you’re coming off your kick, you’re more on your front foot than your back, so all of your weight is being pushed forwards which is the last thing you want in a fight. You landed on your toes, though, so you’ve got the energy to keep up, you just need the balance. May I?” Steve asked you and you nodded as he assumed his stance, throwing a few kicks to show you where to hit the bag on your foot and how to shift your weight properly. You watched his mechanics closely and it was mesmerizing. You could have watched him all day, but you had shit to do and kickboxing to learn. He motioned you forwards and you stepped up to the bag. You tried doing what he had done, but it was still off somehow. It was better, but not Lucia Rijker better. Not even close.
Steve was motivating enough, but you just didn’t feel like you were getting it. With a sigh, you leaned against the bag attempting to regain your breath before shaking yourself off to try again. As you went for your first punch, you felt Steve dangerously close to you as he tried to guide your hand, just barely grazing your elbow before you turned and almost jabbed him in the face, but managed to fall backwards instead to avoid his face at the last second.
“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Steve exclaimed in shock as you went down. He tried to squat next to you to help you up, but you put your hand out to stop him.
“Don’t, please,” you begged, attempting to calm yourself as you told yourself over and over that Steve wasn’t him. Steve was trying to help.
Get out of my head. Get out of my fucking head. You don’t belong here.
“Can I help?” Steve asked, but you shook your head.
“No…no, it’s not you,” you choked out. Understanding seemed to dawn on Steve’s face as he looked down at his hands, holding them up in surrender as he backed off a bit to give you space. The gratitude you felt in that moment was overwhelming, but you refused to cry. Instead, you stood up and resumed your position, rocking back and forth on your heels as you cracked your neck.
“Mia…I know a trigger when I see one,” Steve whispered, trying to comfort you, which you appreciated but now wasn’t the time. “If you ever want to talk…”
“Let’s just try this without, you know, hands on experience, yeah?” You asked, ignoring his offer that he quickly dropped with a nod instead. You returned your attention to the bag, and Steve continued to teach you for the next two hours. Even past closing, Steve asked the owner of the gym for overtime and the guy just threw Steve the key without hesitation who caught it with a thank you.
It soon became routine for training with Steve three times a week for however long both of you could stand (which you quickly realized was virtually infinite for Steve when he admitted to being Captain America with the super soldier serum and all kinds of junk that made him pretty much invisible).
“So, if you got hit by a car?”
“Safe.”
“Fell off a building?”
“Depends how high.”
“Run over by a blimp?”
“Highly unlikely, but sure.”
You two got to know each other pretty well over the months, even talking about things they wouldn’t admit to themselves. Steve was struggling with coping with the new world and sometimes wished he had maybe not survived the crash. He didn’t have a death-wish now, but still…the passing thought hit him more often than he would like.
“There are some things in life that you just can’t get over,” you answered him. “Your life is so far beyond changed that it feels like you are living in an entirely different person’s body. Like there was a before and an after. It doesn’t mean that you can’t enjoy the after, it just means that things will be different now.”
“Which isn’t all bad,” Steve shrugged after a moment. “Google is extremely effective. I’ve learned more about the world in the past week than I have in my entire life,” Steve laughed. “That list you gave me was incredible! I can’t stop thinking about that video of that guy surfing the Mavericks. I mean, that was…”
“Freedom,” you finished for him. “The dedication it takes to get to that level of something you’re passionate about…and just the pride on his face when he got back to shore…that’s all I want,” you admitted, making Steve gaze at you. You acted like you didn’t notice, but you totally did.
“Then what the hell are we sitting here for?” Steve smiled as he offered you his hand to help you up. After a moment, you took his hand and prepared to continue the rest of the training.
It was weeks after that that you two began to spar. He taught you to look for weak spots in your opponent, how to defend and use your opponent’s offense against them, and most importantly (just because it’s so goddamn fun) he taught you how to perform a takedown, which is just…fuck it feels good.
And that moment you finally chucked Steve’s almost two-hundred-pound rack of muscles over your shoulder, you let out a victory howl as you ran around the empty gym, punching bags as you went while Steve sat on the ground and watched you with a laugh. As you approached, he high-fived you and pulled you into a hug that you were completely comfortable in. The pride on his face was contagious and you were so happy. Happier than you’d been in a hot second. Steve had done that for you and you couldn’t be more appreciative.
Steve stopped suddenly with a dramatic huff, crossing his arms with his eyes on the ceiling. “I mean, that was alright. But I think you could do better.”
“Damn straight! Now get your ass over here so I can smash it into the ground!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve beamed at you as you rolled your eyes having told him time and time again that the 21st century was past that kind of chauvinism, but sometimes you found it cute. You would never tell him that, but he knew.
It was a beautiful evening at around the time when the sun was still setting, but the stars were just beginning to wake as they glittered across the sky. You had received a text from Steve last night saying that he wanted to meet a day early this week since he had plans on the day they were normally scheduled. Of course you obliged because kickboxing had offered you a sense of confidence that was so sacred to you that even now walking at night seemed like a breeze to you. There was always going to be the voice in the back of your mind that warned you of danger every time you left the house, but that was just common sense in this day and age for anyone.
You walked in about ten minutes early to get your equipment set up and your warm-up in. Typically, Steve set up the equipment but he said in the text he would be running a bit late today, so you went into the back to grab the bags. Jacco, the gym’s owner, had given Steve a key a while back that was tossed between yourself and him over the months. As long as you paid for your time, he trusted you both extremely well.
You remembered once walking in to one of your sessions early one day to find Steve knock out five bags, sand pouring out of the sorry sacks on the ground before you made yourself known with a cough. He whipped back to see you standing there with a smirk on your face as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“You’re early,” was all he managed to say before you joined him in the ring.
“And you’re angry,” you pointed out, cocking your eyebrow at him. “Care to meditate on that?” Then, proceeded to carefully beat the shit out of each other.
You smiled in memory at that day and the next few hours of training ahead of you as you hung one of the bags on the chain, the jangle intermixed with the sound of the door opening behind you. Naturally, you called out to him, making a joke about yourself getting to the studio before him. You were both highly competitive. It was an easy thing to poke fun at. So fucking easy.
CRACK.
In seconds, you were in a choke hold that made your chest explode in terror and your neck tick as the air had no way to escape your lungs. You felt lips against your hair as the familiar scratch of unkempt facial hair scraped your skin like sandpaper.
His breath was day-old beer and chewing tobacco that he popped in your ear as he shoved his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming. And with one word, you knew it was him.
“Hush,” he cooed at you, apparently attempting to calm you, but you were already frozen. Your fight was lost in the sea of fear that was flooding your veins in ice. Even if you could breathe, you weren’t sure if you would know how to anymore. You could feel him stroke your hair after his hand left your mouth, the other staying wrapped around your neck, but loosening as he made the deduction that you weren’t going to fight him. He knew you just that well.
“You’ve gained some muscles on those bones, babygirl,” he teased, grabbing your waist as he moved lower and lower down your body, but you were numb. “I missed you. I thought about waiting until the court date to see you, but that was too long. Plus, I wouldn’t get to touch you like this…smell you like this…” he whispered hungrily, but you didn’t make a sound. Your whimpering had ceased after your immediate fear, but now was all about keeping the peace.
“But those are just extra features. No, baby, what I came here for was to give you a message. Guess I didn’t make it too clear the first time,” he ranted as he slipped a knife from his pocket that made you tense. You knew he could feel it, but there was no helping how wrecked you were by the sound of the blade.
“I don’t want you back. I just want you quiet,” he spoke softly, tenderly as if you were lying in bed together the morning after. He had no concept of what he was doing or what he had done. This was just another day to him. “I don’t want to be rude, but you’ve been causing me a lot of trouble with the cops.”
No, shit. You look like a homeless drunk that got face-fucked by a bus. Are you nervous now?
“Now, you could make this easy for the both of us and keep that mouth locked up tight. You stay quiet and I stay out of prison. We never see each other again. It’s a simple as that, baby cakes. As simple as that,” he swore as he dragged the blade over your throat.
Until you rape someone else. Just like the girl before me. Will it be simple then? Tell me. I want you to tell me how simple that would be.
“I just want you to know how sorry I am at how out-of-hand all this got. I mean, I remember when we used to talk about our future. How we both wanted the same things. How alike we were. It was magic. You were magic. And I just wanted you so much and you wouldn’t let me…but when you look this good…can you blame me for loving you that much?”
There was no warning. Just as quick as he was on you, you hurled him over your shoulder, slamming him into the ground where he belonged. Sitting on top of him, your fists came down on him as if you couldn’t feel pain. Your knuckles cracked and bled, breaking finger after finger, but he was in more pain just as he should be. He shoved you off of him with one punch where you rolled under the ring, finding an extra chain that you wrapped around your fist. Ripping aside the ring’s curtain, you found him steadying himself on the edge of a chair. You threw out the chain like a whip that licked the side of his head as he fell to the ground. You dragged his unconscious body to the same chair and wrapped him in the chain, giving him one last punch to secure that he was unconscious.
You dove for your bag to grab your phone, beginning to call the police before you heard him moan. Your finger froze over the last digit as you slowly turned your head to the wretched sound. His head was still dangling, blood and saliva dripping from lips as he struggled to lift his head to no avail.
That was when the thought crossed your mind.
He can’t hurt anyone else if he’s dead.
You glared at him, fingers crawling towards a metal pipe that was lying next to you in the corner of the room. Wrapping your hand around the cold metal, you lifted yourself heavily off the ground, stalking towards him as you slid your phone in your pocket. It seemed like the longest moment of your life, but some things are worth the consequences. And this, you decided, was worth it.
Raising the pipe above your head, you prepared to strike. Your whole body was on fire with your chest burning as you screamed at the top of your lungs, needing some way to escape the flames. It was at that moment that he woke, his eyes flashed to yours and he looked…amused. The sneer curled his lips as he licked the blood off of them, spitting the excess on your foot.
“You’ve gotten this far, baby. What are you waiting for?” he choked out, his teeth coated in slimy red as he smiled, coughing at your hesitation. “You gonna make me wait all day? Like I waited by your doorstep that night? I’m waiting, Mia! Just do it! Hit me, Mia! Hit me! Hit me!”
You looked into his eyes and thought of your brother looking at you through a window in prison. A phone in his hand, his voice in your ear, but the distance still unbearable. Steve’s eyes flashed in your mind as well, thinking about the disappointment in them if you were found guilty of murder. Maybe it’s defense, and maybe he deserves it, but you deserve so much better.
You dropped the pipe, the clang one of the loudest sounds you’d heard in your entire life. No, wait. The silence. The silence that immediately followed was the loudest. The silence was deafening.
“Well, how about that, baby. You proud of yourself? Why the hell didn’t you just take your damn shot? Like always, you missed your chance, baby. Missed. Your. Chance,” he taunted you, letting his head fall backwards over the chair as he let out a garbled cackle that echoed around the room. In a controlled rage, you grabbed him by his hair, ripping enough follicles out to make a pair of false eyelashes. You brought his eyes level to yours that were wide in a shock that you’d never seen on him before and thoroughly enjoyed.
“Maybe because you’re just not fucking worth it,” you spit at him, throwing him backwards as you pulled the phone from your pocket and dialed the police. He chastised you the entire time it took them to show up, but you just sat in the chair in front of him and watched him beg. He didn’t want to go to prison, he said. He couldn’t handle it, he said. He had a reputation to hold up with his father’s company, he said. He said so much that he became a blur.
All he became was the past.
The court date came and passed. Five years in prison with an extra five on parole. It wasn’t enough, but when the hell would it ever be enough? The only thing they could really charge him on was your own rape (despite the testimony of two others that had passed their statute on limitations), and the assault in the gym. The gym that you planned to go back to the following day, but you had one more thing to do before you went back.
You knocked on his door with recovering fingers, some still bandaged, some healed. He opened to door with surprise flashing across his comforting features, ocean eyes crinkling at the sight of you.
“Mia, I…what are you…how did you find my apartment?”
“Jacco is a kinder man than he gives himself credit for.”
“Very true,” Steve nodded as he took you in, clearly deciding whether to say something or not, but you helped him out.
“I’m okay, really,” you asserted and he half-smiled, then stepped aside to motion you into his apartment.
“Would you like to come in? I can make tea, or…”
“Oh, no,” you laughed. “No, it’s alright, I actually have to be somewhere. I just came by to tell you…I came by to thank you.”
“Thank me? You thank me every day, and I always tell you it’s unnecessary. You’re an incredible fighter, and it’s an honor to train you.”
“Yes, but…” you bit your lip to hold back tears. “I know for a fact that I wouldn’t have been able to testify against him had I not been able to fight. To have the confidence to fight back. And you gave that to me.”
Steve stayed silent for a moment, and before you could apologize for bothering him, he spoke up with a sigh.
“I didn’t do anything, Mia. I may have told you where to punch and how to punch, but you landed the punches. You punched back. You should be thanking yourself, not me.”
You looked up at him, knowing that you wanted this boy to be in your life for a lot longer than just a sparring session.
“Do you have time tomorrow night to meet?” you asked him as he beamed at you.
“Yeah. You still have the key to the gym?”
“What about dinner, instead? My treat for you teaching me the tricks,” you finally openly flirted with him which made him smile even wider, maybe even a bit of blush rising in his cheeks if you were seeing that right.
“Your treat?”
“21st century, Rogers. Get with the times.”
“I’ll get with the times, if I can get with you,” Steve flirted back which made you gasp dramatically.
“Oh, the neighbors will have a field day with this one!” You shouted, making him laugh. “Call the presses. Captain America has a naughty streak!”
“Alright, alright,” Steve settled down as you both looked at each other again.
“No matter what you say, I will still always thank you. I mean, yes, I beat his ass into prison, but still,” you responded happily as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow night. Meet at the gym.”
Steve laughed, not sure exactly if this was how dating worked, but he nodded anyways watching after the girl who had gotten his heart to start pounding again by pounding her fists.
You walked down the block to the gym, taking a seat on the bench across the street. The more you stared at the rickety old place, all you could think of was the peeling wallpaper and the spiderwebs that covered the locker rooms. You thought of the fist-bumps, the cheering, the sweat, the burn, the tears, and the pain. But none of things you thought of were him. All the things that came to your mind were the hard work you’d done and everything you’d accomplished.
You never thought that you would ever become a comeback story, but your freedom spoke enough volumes to fill a library. And that was enough.
*hello, my fellow heathens. This was an idea that I’ve been itching to post for a long time now. I know it’s not my usual content, but I wanted to post it anyway. Kickboxing and Marvel have been huge influences on my life in the absolute best possible ways. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to let me know xx
