Chapter Text
Summary: Bucky looking over his notebooks and writing in the newest one. (Brief mention of suicide attempts) BBB prompt: Bucharest
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The Bucharest neighborhood he was currently hiding in wasn’t exactly quiet, but not obnoxiously loud either. It was good for anonymity which was why he’d chosen it. The stack of notebooks next to his backpack were the only things he currently owned that meant anything. Though, James wasn’t sure if the memories contained in them were true or just delusions. Fucks sake, he only thought his name was James. Not even a surname or anything to go with that. How messed up was he?
Grabbing the bottom notebook - the first one he’d started - he allowed it to fall open to the page he looked at most often. I remember the mission. I remember failing. I remember blue eyes and a mess of blond hair. I remember a smile that reminded me (stupidly) of sunshine. He was my mission and I failed to kill him. I do not know why. Or who it was. I do not remember a face or even where the mission took place. Why can’t I remember?
Slamming it closed, James grabbed the newest notebook and a pen. If his hand shook, he wasn’t going to think about why. Too much was still a mystery. It was too dangerous to think about tall blonds with sunshine smiles. James didn’t know much, but he knew he was a danger.
I know I did horrible things. I didn’t want to do them. But, I did. Does that make me a monster? I think so. It is safer for everyone if I stay hidden. I have tried - James paused, his whole body shaking now, unable to finish the thought. He’d tried everything to stop the pain and nothing had worked. After the last failed attempt, he’d started writing in the notebooks, but not once had he admitted in writing just how far he’d gone. Maybe I should attempt to atone for my many sins? How do I do that? They used me as a weapon. Is that all I am now?
He threw the pen at the wall and pushed away from the rickety table. A walk. Yes, that was what he needed. Clear his head. Try to dig himself out of this fucking pit of despair and self-loathing. How could he begin to atone if he couldn’t function? Yes, a walk would clear his head enough to start planning.
He hoped.