Natasha bites her lip, and tries not to cry, as she stands in front of the bathroom mirror. The color corrector and concealer aren't strong enough to cover up the bruise on her cheek. It's also far too swollen to not be noticed, even if she could get the discoloration under control. Someone at work would notice, maybe Maria, or Fury, or Clint, or Steve, or whoever the fuck else she has to talk to.
Natasha whips around as she hears Bruce knock on the door. He's angry, she can tell. He's yelling at her for taking up too much time or some such. Natasha considers staying in here for until he breaks the door down. If she leaves now there's a good chance he'll scream and punch her. If she waits, the consequences will be far worse though.
Natasha opens the door, and feigns a smile. She's already trying to sidestep the door, when he grabs her by the shoulder and shoves her out of the way. "Stupid bitch, always in the way," He mutters. Even after however long they've been dating, Natasha still gets the impulse to argue, but she knows what he does when anyone talks back, so she bites her tongue.
"Sorry," She whispers, and heads off to the kitchen to grab her phone. She has two sick days left, one of which she'll be using today. Natasha emails Fury, and tells him she has a fever. He's worried about her, and she knows it, but he’s not gonna show up at her front door as Steve or Maria would.
"Hey," Bruce shouts. "Why do you have your phone?" He stomps as close as he can to Natasha without stepping on her feet, and yanks the mobile device from her hand. "Did I tell you, that you could use it?" He growls.
"N-No," Natasha takes a breath, "I was telling work, I wouldn't be in," She looks down at the ground.
"And why is that?" Bruce knows full well why. He just likes to hear her say, he hurt her. It makes him feel all-powerful and macho.
"I have a bruise," Natasha mumbles. It's humiliating to say. She feels damaged and weak.
"Which you got from where?" He says in an overly sweet voice, running one finger along her jawline.
"F-From...you," She forces out. If he wasn't standing there, she'd break down.
"Good girl," He smiles, as if his dog just performed a trick. "What excuse did you give 'em?" Bruce asks so he can charismatically play up the lie. After a few close calls, he always checks to make sure their excuses match up.
"Fever," Natasha is beginning to feel physically sick. She always does when he does this question thing. It makes her feel naked in front of a crowd.
"Mhm," His face switches from a fake smile to a real grimace. "You've already used that one," He hisses, "Three times this year," Bruce raises his volume.
"What else do you want me to say?" Natasha means it to be an innocent question, but she can't help but add the slightest hint of sarcasm and annoyance to her tone.
Bruce doesn't hesitate a second to slap her to the ground, and throw her phone down with a crash. "I see we've got an attitude today," He kicks Natasha in the stomach, not too hard, but it still hurts. "You're so dumb, you know that?" He stomps his foot on her phone. "You think about your mistakes today," He crouches down next to her and grabs her hair. "Then maybe you'll finally learn, you stupid bitch," Bruce releases her head to the floor, then grabs his stuff off the counter, and leaves for work.
As soon as the front door shuts, Natasha breaks down into tears. She curls in on herself, and tries not to think about the intense pain in her abdomen, or the new contusion to her other cheekbone. Anyone in their right mind would get up, check to see if their phone is still functional, and call someone, probably 911. Natasha's not in her right mind though, and she knows it. She's smart enough to know she's lost her mind, but too weak to do anything about it.
She sits up slowly, after about ten minutes. She heard Bruce's car leave its spot in front of his house, so she's safe for now. Natasha walks over to her phone on the floor, the screen is shattered, but it still turns on and works fine. She's surprised, though, Bruce has already done a number on it.
Natasha sits down at the kitchen table, not trusting herself to be on the couch, and leave no trace before he gets home. He always checks for hairs, clothing strands, or any other remnants that mean she was comfortable while he was gone.
She buries her head in her hands, and cries some more. Natasha always hopes that while he's out of the house, she can release some of the ever-growing tension she builds up, but nothing ever works. No amount of tears, cutting, bulimia, or whatever else she does, brings any relief.
"Oh fuck," The doorbell rings. "Go away," Natasha yells. Social interaction is the last thing she needs right now. Anyone who sees this bruise is going to get the police, Bruce will charm himself out of any charges, and she'll be punished. He can change his personality like a light switch. It works every time.
Whoever it is, begins to pound on the door. Natasha's heart rate doubles in speed. Her fight or flight reflex is triggered, and adrenaline begins to flow through her veins. She runs into the kitchen and ducks behind the counter.
"Nat?" She hears, muffled through the door. The voice is deep and familiar. Natasha can't quite place it though, the blood rushing in her ears makes it hard to hear properly.
"Fuck off," She screams at the top of her lungs. Anxiety ramps up as there's a clicking in the door knob. Natasha scrapes her fingernails up and down her arms, leaving angry red streaks in their wake.
"Nat, it's me," The front door opens, and Steve's voice thunders through the room. "Hey," He appears in front of her crouched form. "Sorry, I didn't mean to barge in, but something just felt wrong, and I don't know..." He trails off.
"I told you to go away," She snaps.
"I know, I'm really sorry, but..." Steve awkwardly shifts and averts his gaze. Natasha realizes she's still scratching, and quickly cuts it out. He's definitely seen the bruises already, she'll have to come up with an excuse.
"Why are you here?" She narrows her eyes at him.
"Well," Steve looks slightly embarrassed, "Fury told me you were sick, and you know, since we were gonna be working together today, I have nothing to do so I thought I'd check on you," He bites his lip
"I'm fine," Natasha growls, and turns herself sideways so she faces a cabinet instead of him.
"You're..." Steve sounds like he's trying not to get flustered. "You look hurt," He says softly.
"I said I'm fine," Natasha yells and stands up, but does it too quickly. She falls forward, and Steve grabs her forearms to stabilize her. She involuntarily flinches, and yelps, like a dog whose foot has just been stepped on.
"You should sit down," Steve pulls a kitchen chair over, and Natasha's grateful he doesn't drag her to the couch. She tries not to fall apart as he crouches in front of her, staring her dead in the eye. "Did...did something happen?" Steve motions to his own undereye.
"I was dizzy, I walked into a door," Natasha mumbles.
"Okay," He nods slowly. "Why were you dizzy?"
"I don't know,"
"Nat..."
"I said I don't know," She screams.
"Alright, okay," Steve puts his hand on her shoulder, but takes it away when she recoils. "I just..." He sighs. "You don't look so good,"
"Geez thanks, Rogers," Natasha offers a wan smile.
"You know what I mean," Steve quickly adds. "I mean, you look...sick,"
"I am sick," She remembers her lie, although she's not sure if it is anymore. Her stomach hurts, as does her head. She feels like vomiting, but she kind of feels like that all the time.
"Yeah, I know, but I mean...you're always disappearing now, and..." Steve takes a breath. "Nat, I'm really worried about you,"
"Don't be," She does her best to shrug him off. The motion in her shoulders sets off her stomach though. A spike of pain shoots up through her center abdomen, and nausea appears under her tongue. Not the urge to shove her fingers down her throat, but real, actual nausea.
"You okay?" Steve's face switches from his usual concerned face, to imminent worry, and slightly mission-ready looking.
"Steve," Natasha swallows. "I...I'm gonna throw up," A trash bin appears under her jaw, just in time for her to retch up a mouthful of nothing. On the second heave, a bit of bile comes up, and on the third, it's nothing again. Natasha swallows hard, her body still wants to revolt, but she's got nothing to expel. She never eats much anyway, and what she does, she pukes up ten minutes later. Bruce likes her thin, she still has scars from when she gained five pounds of muscle mass after one of SHIELD's intense training programs.
"Do you want some water?" Steve offers after a minute. Natasha shakes her head.
"Y-You should go," She chokes out.
"But you're pretty sick, I should at least stay until Bruce gets home-"
"No!" Natasha screams, it surprises both her and Steve. "Just go, Steve," She mutters.
"But I-"
"Get out," Natasha points to the door.
"Okay," Steve looks dejected as he turns around. He walks slowly, and turns to look at her one last time, before exiting. She feels bad for kicking him out like that, but if Bruce found out he was here, or god forbid, saw Steve with her, she'd be dead.
Natasha gets up slowly, pausing when grey fuzz blinds her for several seconds. She returns the chair to its place, and hopes it's not too noticeable that it's been moved. Then she sees to the footprints Steve's left all over the kitchen and entryway. It only takes a couple of Clorox wipes to erase the evidence. The actual wipes are not so easy to clear though.
She'll have to take out the trash, it has vomit in it anyway, so that's a given. Bruce will question why she did, then he'll accuse her of something that shouldn't even be a crime, but in his house is. He'll hit her until her nerves go numb, but tomorrow all the dreaded pain will reappear with black and blue marks.
Just as Natasha is almost finished replacing the garbage bag, the front door opens with a bang. For half a second, she expects it to be Steve again, but he wouldn't enter like that. It's Bruce, he's home early, and he's pissed.
"You stupid ass bitch," He slams the door behind him. "You really think you can do whatever you want," He gets his face as close to hers without touching.
"What?" Natasha whispers, slightly confused. How could he have known Steve was here? Is there something else she forgot that he's now yelling his head off about?
"I see the footprints outside," Bruce growls.
Natasha really tries to stay compliant, but she can't help but reply with, "They're probably yours from this morning," Bruce slaps her before she barely gets through the sentence.
"Don't lie to me," He grabs her by the hair, "You're a fucking cheater, and you know it," He hisses.
"I swear I didn't-" Natasha tries to break his grip, but he slams her against the fridge, before she gets the chance.
"You know what you have to do," Bruce smiles. It makes Natasha's stomach flip again. He holds her with her hands above her head with one hand, and yanks her leggings down to her ankles with the other. "You're getting fat," Bruce hisses into her ear. "How much did you eat today?"
"N-Nothing-" Natasha cries, but he drags his fingernails down her arm, cutting her off.
"You're lying," He shouts in her face. "Let's see if you've put some pounds on up there," Bruce lets go of her and pokes her hard in the chest. Natasha takes the opportunity to bolt. She takes off as fast as she can toward the front door, but he catches her along the waist, then slams her to the ground. "You really think you can get away," Bruce forces Natasha's t-shirt over her head, "My god, you're huge," He kicks her abdomen, even harder than this morning.
"Ow..." Natasha whimpers, biting her lip to stop herself from saying more.
"Shut up," Bruce grabs her by the shoulders, "As my girlfriend," He emphasizes the word my, like a kid telling everyone about his toy. "It's your job to pleasure me," He grins, and the urge to vomit returns to Natasha's tongue.
"Please no-" Bruce covers her mouth with one hand, and slips a finger on the side of her underwear.
The doorbell rings at that moment. All her options flash before Natasha's eyes, and she has half a second to choose. It could be anyone at the door, Steve, a delivery person, the mailman, or others.
She jabs her nails as deep as she can into his skin, then brings her knees up to her chest to get leverage. Natasha shoves him off her, and stands up quickly, ignoring the fuzz in her visual field. She books it to the door, hyper-aware of Bruce behind her.
Natasha barely makes it. She throws open the door, and steps out, slamming it behind her. She's far too dizzy, and focused on Bruce's audible yelling from inside, that it takes her a moment to notice the person standing a few feet away.
"Nat...what's- what's going on?" It's Sam, he sounds flustered. It's reasonable, she's in her underwear, and just practically leaped out of her front door. "Are you okay?"
"He's...he's gonna..." Natasha's suddenly unable to hold herself up. She falls to her knees hyperventilating.
"Are you okay?" Sam begins to approach her, but Bruce opens the door. His face is angry for half a second, but then switches.
"I think you just saw my girlfriend run out here," He chuckles. "She's always doing all that crazy girl stuff,"
"Um..." Sam looks from Natasha to Bruce. He appears unsure of what to say.
"I'll just take her off your hands," Bruce lunges forward to grab Natasha's arm, but Sam gets between them.
"No," He says slowly. "If she wants to, she can go inside on her own,"
"Yeah, but you know, I can just grab her, it'll be faster," Bruce pushes Sam out of the way, and grabs Natasha's wrist.
"Hey man," Sam grabs Bruce's shirt. "Get your hands off her," Bruce raises his free hand at him, but Sam is faster, and punches the side of his head. It effectively causes Bruce to let go of Natasha, and Sam gently takes her hand in his place, "Run," He says, and pulls Natasha through the house's front yard, and into his car. "You okay?"
"Just drive," Natasha sees Bruce approaching, angrier than before. Sam listens, and takes off, probably far faster than the speed limit.
"What the hell was he doing to you?" He asks after a minute.
"I..." Natasha feels tears prickle at her eyes, and nausea bubbles in her stomach. Sam seems to get the message and quickly revises his statement.
"You don't have to talk about it, I just mean like..." He trails off and shrugs. "You're safe now, I promise,"
"Thanks," Natasha swallows.
"Where do you want to go? I can take you to my place, and get you clothes, then we can talk about the ER or whatever," Sam offers, and she realizes she's on total autopilot. She wasn't even thinking about what to do next. Natasha's still in fight or flight mode.
"S-Sounds good," She chokes out. Her mouth is suddenly full of bitter saliva. "Actually um..."
"Yeah?" Sam turns to look at her, "You need me to pull over?" Natasha nods.
She throws the door open, and dry heaves over cracked asphalt, as soon as the car stops. The driver's side door opens, then shuts, producing a dizzying ricochet. A moment later, Sam is squatting in front of her.
"S-Sorry, I'm so s-sorry," More tears force their way out of Natasha's eyes.
"No...you don't...just- fuck," He sighs, looking conflicted. "Is there anyone who I should call for you? I mean like Steve, he's the one who sent me to check on you. He just got a mission call, but just like a hostage evac, nothing big," Sam rambles.
"Yeah, I-I guess," Natasha answers, only vaguely aware of what she's agreed to.
"Alright," He takes a breath, "I'll take you to my house, tell Steve to meet us there when he can, and then we'll try to figure out what to do next, sound good?"
"Mhm," She nods, barely focusing on his words. She's more concerned about keeping her stomach in place.
"You good to keep going?" Sam asks, Natasha nods again.
He climbs back in, and starts the car again. The rest of the drive is silent, save the heaving breaths that come from both of them. When they pull up to Sam's house, he supports her inside from around the waist, which also succeeds in shielding her severely underdressed body from any nosey neighbors.
Once indoors, he brings her one of his t-shirts, and a pair of his sweatpants. The clothing is way too big for her, and she's struck with disgusting euphoria. She shouldn't be so happy with the eighty pounds she has left on her. Tears force their way out, and before she knows it, Natasha's a sobbing mess on Sam's couch.
"Hey," Sam appears in front of her, "What do you need?"
"Um..." Panic blooms in Natasha's chest, "Home?" She says before realizing which word she's chosen.
"Nat..." Sam shakes his head, "I can't take you home, you're gonna get hurt,"
"B-But...I should...he's gonna..." She's not making any sense. Half of her feels safe, the other half is more terrified than she's ever been. Something inside tells her Bruce is going to find her, and he's not going to be so forgiving.
"It's okay, he's not going to hurt you here," Sam gently places a hand on Natasha's shoulder. She flinches, then lets herself melt into the touch, once she realizes that it's not painful. "Steve's gonna be here in an hour, he's on the jet back from his mission call?"
"Steve?" Natasha remembers talking to him earlier, and Sam mentioned him at one point. But why is he coming here? Maybe Sam called him, because she knows him better.
"Yeah, he'll be here soon," Sam pulls spitty hair away from Natasha's face.
"Mhm," It's all Natasha can do to not vomit again. Sickly vertigo is back at full force for no apparent reason. Sam seems to notice this and brings a trashcan over. Natasha hangs her head over it, and lets strings of saliva drip from her lips. She's too exhausted to do anything about it. She's too exhausted to do anything really. All she can do is sit and wait for whatever safety, or punishment may come her way.