Chapter Eight

Worse and Worse

It's been two weeks and things haven't gotten any better. I'm pretty sure I am going insane though. Chris visits every day to check on me and has even taken me on walks around the facility. I'm not sure if he's actively trying to recruit me, or just showing me that no matter where I go there are no exits. He takes me through every door and lets me look behind every curtain. Also, he remains irritatingly polite. Tonight though, he arrives with someone else. Someone who reeks of danger, and not in a good way.

"This is Michael. He'll be looking after you for two days while I'm off on business." I roll my eyes at Chris.

"I really don't think another baby sitter is what I need," I say as I cautiously survey Michael. Dark hair, eyes, scruff, tan skin, and multiple scars across his seeable skin. Dislike fills my mouth as I meet his eyes and he stares back at me.

"You'll get along fine. Consider him a friend, not a baby sitter." He grins at me and steps forward, surprising me with a hug. Before I can shove him off he releases me and walks away, sending me a wink as he goes. Michael steps into the living room and shuts the door behind him. I move away from him instantly, heading into the bedroom in the hopes that he'll stay in the living room.

"You're free to the tv. Or you know, your own room." I tell him as I fold down the blankets on my bed.

"I'm staying in here." He says from my doorway as he leans against it. I stand straight up and put my hands on my hips. When I look at him the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

"Like hell you are." I snap. "I don't know who you think I am, but I am certainly not-"

"I know who you are." He says smoothly and walks towards me. I stand my ground as he comes close to me, staring at him with all the hate I can muster. Gently, he takes a strand of my hair and places it behind my ear. A finger trails down my scar and I let him, but only to see what's in his mind. I step back as soon as I enter it. I can taste the fear on my tongue when he smiles down at me. "You're whoever I want you to be." He tells me with a tender smile. "Aren't you?" He asks and puts his hands on my hips. I swallow and close my eyes for a moment. When I open them I'm ready.

"I'm a lot of things, but what I'm not is your punching bag. Get your fucking hands off me." I growl, then brace myself. He smiles a little as I breathe a little faster, men's faces flashing through my mind.

"I like those girls that fight. All around, everything just feels..." he pauses, bringing his hand up to my face to skim my jawbone. "better." His hand tightens on my face and I start to struggle, but he saw this coming and has done it before. His fist knocks the wind out of my stomach and I bend inward from the pain. I'm turned around and slammed into the floor before I know it. My vision is blurry from the impact, but I can still feel everything. 

Every hit and kick as he takes out his frustration and anger out on me. When he's done he just climbs into the bed and falls asleep. Slowly, I get up. As quietly as I can I take a shower and try to scrub his touch off me. And I cry. Sobs rack my chest, but I remain as quiet as possible. When I'm done I get dressed again. After wiping out the tub I sleep in that for the night, embracing Bucky's sweatshirt for a pillow. It's losing his smell and most likely won't last much longer. I'm not sure how long I'll last either with a guy like that.

"Come on, fellas. Get me out of this hell hole." I whisper and bury my head in it. The next two days are the worst of my life. Even if I had any defense, I couldn't use it. Who knows what would happen to me if Hydra knew what I could do. Dissection and experimentation almost certainly, but it would almost be welcome at this point. 

The next time he walks towards me with that look in his eyes, I know I have to do something. "Pity about your mom, Michael." I spit out the words before my courage leaves me. Shockingly, he pauses. "Seeing someone waste away from leukemia, that's tough." I continue, moving away from him and putting as much furniture between us as possible. His eyes are wide and his mouth is held slightly ajar.

"What-how do you know that?" He asks, surprise owning him at the moment. I shrug nervously.

"Basic Psychology really. That's how I know how much it killed you to watch her waste away. Then, your father changed. He drank more and beat you to try and get rid of the pain. All those nights you laid awake, hiding under your bed hoping tomorrow would be a good day. It's horrible." I keep talking, now having the couch between us and a lamp and a coffee table. He's watching me with big eyes, but they're empty eyes.

"I just want to tell you, I wish you'd gone through it a hundred more times. I wish you'd seen your mom die every day since and I wish your father was alive to beat you senseless every minute of every day." I hiss, meaning every word. He's marching towards me in a moment, snarling obscenities.

"You motherfucking bitch!" He snaps, punching me twice before I collapse onto the floor. Michael straddles me instantly, letting loose his frustrations on my stomach and face with his fists. It's an unwanted miracle that I'm still conscious. He pauses a moment and stands, messing with his belt. I turn to the side and spit out blood, grinning.

"Just like your daddy," I mumble through the blood. With a savage kick and frustrated yell, he leaves. This time, I'm semi-spared from him and he storms out. Although I feel like I can't move, I'll take it. When Chris arrives the next day and Michael leaves I nearly sob in relief. I pull my sweatshirt up high and wear my hood so the bruises all over my body are hidden from my sight. As always, the following morning Chris comes over and has breakfast with me. As soon as he sees me he gasps.

"What happened?" He asks, moving forward to push my hood down. I just stare at him.

"As if you don't already know," I say, tired and worn. His light eyebrows furrow and I can't help but think of Steve.

"What do you mean? Did he mistreat you?" He asks seemingly concerned, but there's a glint in his eye I haven't seen before. At that moment I know that he knew. He probably set the whole thing up just to try and break me. Come in and play the hero so I'd trust him.

"Like you haven't seen the footage already? Like you didn't set this up so you could walk in and be the hero?" I question without much vigor. I just feel empty. Tired. Chris reaches over and takes one of my limp hands.

"I'm not in charge of any of that. Others monitor the tapes. What happened?" He asks. His words are genuine, or at least seem that way. I'm starting to wonder if I can even trust my abilities anymore. "If you want Michael dismissed it'll be done. Disciplined, disposed of even, whatever you need." He tells me and my eyes narrow at him. I take his hand and stare into his eyes, delving deep into his mind without care if he feels me or not. Finally, finally, I find a small chamber in the depths of his mind where he hides his guilt and deceit.

"You're a fucking liar, Chris," I tell him simply, looking into his eyes. "How do I get out of here?" I ask watching his eyes widen at me and weakly try to escape my grip. The answer pops into his head and I grin at catching it. "Fuck you, asshole." I snarl and push all my anger and hurt into his head. 

Suddenly, I feel a spark click in my head, like a lighter, and Chris's head bursts in front of me. Instinctively, my eyes shut and I put my head down on the table to avoid getting hurt. Hesitantly, I look back up at his headless body and dry heave, but there's nothing in my stomach to throw up. Breathing hard, I leave his body there and head to the door.

I walk down the hallway where his room is, the one I've never been into. Everything in this room is dark and there's a wall full of images from my room, in front of it are three chairs, but only one is occupied. Michael stands and I whimper at the sight of him. Standing my ground, I watch him near me, but when he reaches to touch me my hands turn into fists. "No!" I scream and feel a massive amount of energy leave me in a wave. 

Michael screams, but it's cut short. Then, the lights blow out. I take a moment to listen, but only hear the hum of something; an engine or air conditioning. My mind searches the room slowly and doesn't find any living thing, but does focus on a small heat emanating from a fading lamp. I focus on it with what energy I have left and it barely flickers on.

There's no time to marvel in this new ability, so I just frantically look around. The set up is the same as my room, but I doubt the door that leads to a torture chair in my room leads to that in his. I hurry towards the door and yank it open. Stairs going downward are barely illuminated by my faint light, but I hurry down them anyway. There's absolutely no light in here when I shut the door and being in a near panic state doesn't help. I trip and fall, but luckily I'm already at the end of the stairs. Faceplanting is better than falling down more stairs. 

"Ow," I whisper and rub my forehead, feeling the slick droplets of blood falling down my face. Well, it's not like my face could look any worse. Marching forward, lights finally come on and illuminate the large room.

"No," I whisper. I've arrived in what looks like a small, private hanger. There's a jet over a big metal door that looks like it opens, and that's it. Nothing to hide in, nowhere to go, nothing. I'm tempted to fall on the floor and bawl but steel myself instead. If I'm going down, I'm going down in one hell of a coffin. I march to the small jet and climb inside. Buttons and flashing lights assault me, but I look for an ignition and try not to touch any buttons. A sharp shock makes me cry out, but electricity seems to flow from my hands and start the jet. 

My eyes quickly scan around the plane to look for some labels or something. Random button pushing becomes my only option, but I stop when I feel the plane move. Red lights begin to flash around the hangar and I place my hands on the handles in front of me. That's what pilots in movies do, anyways. I move the sticky things down and watch as the room slowly moves up and away from me. Once I'm out I move forward, but I'm absolutely not prepared for the speed. Screaming, I zoom away from the bigger plane and towards a large cloud.

"Okay, okay. You can do this. Radio. Look for a radio. Wait, slow down first." I talk to myself so I don't start to cry. Gently, I pull my hands back and the jet slows. "Awesome," I whisper and glance around again. I press a button that has the word autopilot on it and relax a little bit as the plane does its thing. "At least that's labeled." I sass and continue looking around for a fucking radio. There are headphones to my left and I grab them, putting them on and fixing the microphone. "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?" I ask, but don't even hear static. I look to my left again and find a switch where the headphones were. I flick it up and swallow. "Please, is anyone there? Hello? Do you copy?" I ask pitifully.

"Jo! Jo, is that you, kiddo?" Tears well up in my eyes at the voice.

"Tony. My god, Tony. Yes, it's me!" I respond instantly. He sighs in relief and tears start falling down my cheeks, stinging the still open cuts there.

"Kid, you've given the team a bit of a scare. Where the hell are you?" He asks and I revel in his voice.

"I stole a plane. Tony, I don't know how to fly! I need help!" I plead while cradling the headset to my ears, holding on for dear life.

"I'm here, it's okay. I'm going to try and track you down, then I'll fly out and get you myself. Just keep doing what you're doing." He assures me and for a moment I hear the flurry of fingers on a keyboard.

"I put it on autopilot, so I'm not doing anything. How is everyone?" I ask, hope and joy coursing through my body.

"You're seriously asking how we are? How are you, kid? What happened? Are you hurt?" He asks and I shut my eyes for a second.

"Long story. Not one I want to tell right now. God, tell me you know where I am." I ask, looking out at just blue and clouds.

"I know where you are." He says simply and I suddenly see a red and gold suit in front of me.

"Thank god. Now, what do I do?" I ask.

"Alright, there should be a black lever to your right. Close to your thigh. Make sure you're buckled and pull it." He instructs and disappears from my view. I obey instantly, tightening the buckles on me, then pulling the lever. I yelp when the hatch opens, but Tony just flies in and shoves the lever back down. 

When the hatch closes I unbuckle myself and jump out of my seat. Tony emerges from his suit and I rush into his arms. "God, kid." He whispers as he gently pets my hair. "You're thinner than when we picked you up, Josie." I laugh for the first time in weeks and step away from him. His face falls when he sees mine. The cuts, the black eye, the swelling. I'm sure I'm not a pretty picture.

"Never thought I'd be happy to see your mug, Tony." I tease and he smiles, ruffling my hair before stepping over and plugging in a small USB into the jet.

"Friday, take us home." He says and pulls me back beside him.

"Yes, sir." The A.I. responds as we turn and speed up a bit. Tony gently holds my shoulders until we level out. He sits down and I sit next to him. His arm wraps around my shoulders and I take his hand. My mind sighs in relief at feeling his familiarity, but I let go so he doesn't get the aftertaste of my own emotions.

"Does the team know yet?" I ask him. He continues to pet my hair and his scent drifts over me as he moves. Grease and sweat and metal. I shut my eyes as we talk, tired and finally able to relax a bit.

"No. I came straight here to grab you. You'll be a surprise for everyone." He tells me quietly, obviously a little in his own head. I sigh and pull the sleeves of Bucky's sweatshirt over my hands, then grab onto his just to hold.

"Is everyone alright?" I ask, opening my eyes and turning to face him. He looks tired. There are bags under his eyes and he looks a little thinner as well. "You look thinner too, Tony." I scold lightly. He chuckles.

"Yeah well, you might find others look a bit worse. Anyways, I don't think you have any right to talk about what we look like." He says gently as I frown. "You're just lucky I'm a tech genius. I had Friday searching for you in every way, voice recognition, relative body shape, fucking retinal scans when I could." The corners of my mouth turn up a bit.

"Don't change the topic, oldie." I tease. He ruffles my hair a bit and shakes his head.

"Ass beater." He mutters, making me grin and hurt my face. It's good to be free.

A/N

Whew. Safe, at last. Seems Jo has found a newfound ability too! What do you think about it? What do you think about what she said to Michael? I like writing this because it allows me to explore a darker side of life. It's not all sunshine. And when someone hurts someone as much as Jo has been hurt? There's darkness born inside them. The only question is whether you choose to revel in it or strive towards the light. :)

Keep reading, my dears, and don't forget to tell me what you think!!