wakingwanda:
All her life, whether it be long or short, she’d remember Pietro’s face as he realized she did not want him in that way; she’d remember the sound of his voice when he told her he loved her. It would forever be replayed in the film of her thoughts. She realized she’d sunk to the floor and was pulling her knees up to her chest, like a child. Though he was but a few feet away, she felt miserable and isolated. It was as if nothing of warmth and comfort would ever touch her again.
She wishes she’d indulged him, for surely pretending would be easier than this. Was there still time? No, she realizes, eyeing him as he rips open the door. It would only insult him, and she could not bear the thought of hurting him further. Her lips part to speak, but no sound comes out. Say something, you fool! Anything! But she is suddenly mute in her misery, unsure what to say and whether any of it would matter in the end.
She felt a sob rise in her, and her whole body is raked with it. Her guilt had grown harder and more nearly unbearable. She feared there was no coming back from this. Unlike the torment at the facility or even his death, this trauma felt all the more final. She had hurt him far more in her inaction than she ever did in her action.
Wanda was losing herself, and she was going to let it happen. Releasing her control over her mentality, her sanity, and let her emotions take the reigns. It felt like a fitting punishment, though exactly why she felt like punishing herself was beyond understanding. Her arms, slippery with his blood, wrap around her trembling frame. Her fingernails dig into the flesh on her back. She wants to die. She wants to sleep. She thinks on their childhood then, sudden and vivid, of how he let her hug him on cold nights. So much hope in their youth. How had it all led up to this?
She wondered briefly where he would go once he walked out that door. How long would it be until she saw him again? If she was not already feeling so hopeless, the question would terrify her. Now she’s almost willing him to leave. Willing him to walk out on her like she had done to him. It would be fitting, and certainly she deserved it. But before that, before she would fully wallow in her aloneness, she knew she had to say something. Her voice came out low and sincere between her sobs. “And I love you.”
Pietro has one foot out the door when he hears the sob wrack her body. Through the despair, he feels that oh so natural instinct to pick her up off the floor. To cradle her in his arms like a child, whisper how much he loves her into her hair until she drifts into a dreamless sleep. How did she not know before now? Even if it was all fake, even if it never happened. How did she not know his heart? There would be no other woman for him, no one he could love like her. It was the only pure thing about him, his love for her and he’d dirtied it.
She wasn’t to blame. He couldn’t let her believe that. He rests his forehead against the door again, nearly shutting it but he knows he can’t stay. Now wasn’t the time. “I will always love you. I will always adore you.” The words are shaky, pushed through a chest too tight. You have to look at her, you have to. But he can’t, looking to her would only make it more real. “I cannot live without you, you’re everything. You’re all that I have.” A clenched fist raises to the wall beside the door, but there’s no force behind it. A soft thunk as he leans his weight into it.
My Wanda, my sweet girl. My whole life.
“Do you understand?” It’s his turn to sob, frustrated with himself. So inarticulate, so stupid. So unworthy of the affections he’d somehow believed he’d attained. Trembling he reaches for his back pocket, pulling out a folded up paper. He’d meant to give it to her when he got back, but there was never a right time and truthfully he was a bit ashamed of it. His writing was just as crooked as it had been before he left, even with Lorna’s help he knows it must have errors. But he also knows her name is written with the most care, the wings of the ‘W’ looped with adoration. He tosses it now, onto her dresser as he straightens up. “Yeah, you do. Don’t you, sora?”
Without waiting for an answer, he forces himself from her room. The door frame rattles as he lets the door swing shut behind him. My Wanda, my sweet girl. He feels that voice creeping back in, jaw ticking. Not yours, it says with a devilish laugh. She’ll always be mine, and he says it with such conviction that he feels the misery bleed from his bones. I will always be hers, and we will always be.















