Dear Diary,

I really should relax, and I know I need it, but it's hard.

I'm now staying at my house in Brooklyn all alone because they wouldn't let me go back to boot camp... not like this. No mom, no Bucky, nobody. The silence is nearly unbearable.

It feels like I'm still me on the inside but it's almost like I'm stuck inside this bigger body. It's been nearly a week but I'm still not used to it. I put a glass of water down and accidentally smash it onto the counter. I pick something up and it's like it weighs nothing. I nearly broke one of the rickety white kitchen chairs just sitting on it.

They gave me a physical body exam and all the stuff going on in my daily life makes sense but it's still insane. For example, before, I was five foot four inches and barely ninety-five pounds. Now? I'm six foot two and pushing two-hundred-forty pounds.

They had me push my limits at the lab a few days after the whole chase down thing... I did the one-hundred yard dash in 9.38 seconds... as for bench press, they had to make a special machine just for me. I benched 2,000 pounds.

Aside from that, my vision and hearing are perfect... my heart arrhythmia, asthma and scoliosis are all gone, too. I feel like a completely different person. Nothing hurts or is sore or is impossible anymore, and I'm not quite sure how to act with myself.

It's like I don't even know myself anymore... I mean, I barely recognize my own reflection.

But, when I think like this and when I slip into that dark place where I feel so incredibly alone in this world, I always try to remember all the little pieces of advice my mom used to give me.

I remember, as a little kid, I used to get scared to sleep in my own room, especially in the dark. I wanted to sleep in her room with her, or at the very least in my own room with the door open and with the lights on. She'd tell me that I had to be a big boy.

That was her way of telling me to face my demons.

I was afraid of the monsters under my bed, I would tell her. She'd always tell me that there was nothing to worry about... not because there were no monsters under my bed, because there certainly were, according to her... but because they were there to protect me.

But, now... now that I look under my bed again, and now that I'm in this dark house all alone, I realize that they've all gone away. That, now, there are no monsters.

There's only me.

—————

Ugh, my mind always gets dragged into deep thoughts like that for no reason. I mean, I know I'm no monster (...right?), but I feel like I'm damn capable of becoming one.

What if Dr. Erskine was wrong? Then what happens? What if I'm simply incapable of staying a good person after everything... after all of this? Looking at what I did not even a week ago to that Hydra guy without even trying, I'm afraid that I'll really be a monster when I push myself to the farthest extent possible.

Oh my God, I need to stop. I need to stop thinking like this.

It's nearly midnight and I should get some shut-eye soon anyway, despite the demons whirling around in my head.

Okay, okay... relax, Steve. Think about something - or someone - else. That's it, I've got it.

I sat up in my bed and reached over to the dresser in attempts to find the picture of Bucky and I that I kept in the top drawer. I turned on the lamp, and there it was.

I looked at my former self in black and white and realized how awful I really must have looked to everyone around me, despite how Bucky admired me. God, I can only imagine how my mother must have felt when she realized she raised her 'sunshine boy' to be scrawny and sick and, well, worthless.

Nothing.

I guess I can only wonder what would she think of me now, huh?

I shifted my gaze to the other man in the photograph. He looked like an angel standing next to me... not that he didn't when he wasn't next to me, but, you know.

I guess I knew it then, too, because I'm not even looking at the camera in the photograph... I'm looking at him.

His big smile even now has got me going. I wished, more so now than ever before, that I could see him again. Just for a few minutes, even.

I wished the photograph hadn't been in black and white, either, as it would have been nice to admire that ash-brown hair of his and those ice-blue eyes. At least he was in a wife beater, though, so I could admire the rest of him. I let my eyes trail down his neck to his exposed chest and broad shoulders... ugh, and his arms. Damn, those arms... they always felt so warm and muscular wrapped around me when we were together.

He was the strongest kid I knew from Brooklyn... well, until now, anyway.

I felt my lips tug up as a smile fell upon my face. I missed him so much, but at least I still had the memories of him imprinted in my brain.

Every last memory would keep him alive for me and I knew I had to continue to look back on them so long as I wanted to make it the rest of the way through this war without him.

I stopped my thoughts for a second, though, and I wasn't quite sure why I had in the moment until I looked away from the photograph.

I placed it on the nightstand and looked down at my own body... my bare chest and arms and, well, I was only in boxers, so my legs too.

Seeing as I hadn't had a lot of time to go out and buy all new clothes for myself, I was sleeping in my old underwear and they were tight as it was but... just now they had gotten sufficiently tighter.

I reached down and placed my hand on my crotch for the first time since before he'd left for the hundred and seventh... I hadn't felt like doing anything with myself because I missed him so damn much.

I looked down at what I was grabbing and I... there are no words.

I was so... I had gotten so inexplicably and unimaginably hard within a matter of seconds - just from looking and thinking about Bucky ever-so briefly - I didn't even know what to do.

Honestly, I was scared. I was afraid to look at how much I would have... grown.

Everything else nearly tripled in size, so... what did I look like down there after everything? I mean, I've peed before but. I was always a grower (not a shower) anyway, so that's no way to determine what it looks like right now.

Judging myself based on what I was feeling right now I was... ridiculously hard, and pretty big too. Christ, I need to pull these boxers down. Now.

I closed my eyes and took in a breath, preparing myself for what I might see. I re-opened my eyes and pulled my boxers off, watching my dick spring up and extend past my belly button.

I sat there for a moment and didn't move... I just looked at it. 

I was definitely bigger than Bucky at this point, which is saying a lot seeing how he's... massive. I mean, I gotta be at least eight and a half or nine inches, right? God, I can't tell, but it looks more... vein-y too. Fuck. I can't stop looking at it and thinking- no. I can't do this. I miss him too much.

Well, maybe that's all the more reason to do this, isn't it?

I just can't help but picture him looking at it too; the look of pure shock on his face when he pulls my boxers off. I can see him now - pulling all of me into his mouth without a second thought. 

Fuck, I was touching myself. I had gotten so lost in my own fantasy that I hadn't even realized that I'd taken hold of myself and started stroking. I could literally feel it throbbing in my grip, so I stopped. 

I stopped and waited to see how my body might respond. I wondered if my cum had the serum in it too and if, maybe, it'd feel different... what is wrong with me?

I looked over to the nightstand. I saw the picture, a tissue box, a cup of water, the clock (it was now one in the morning) and a canister - which was just what I was looking for. 

I screwed off the metal lid and placed it back on the counter. I then took out a small scoop of lotion with my right hand and brought it down to my dick... and it was really, really cold. 

Yet, as I continued stroking myself it warmed up and I couldn't find it in myself to stop... not that, at this point, I would have wanted to. 

I pictured him in my brain and, for a moment, I forgot that he had even left... that's how Goddamn high I felt. 

I heard myself cry out and felt my body jolt as I came longer than I think I ever had in my whole life.

I finally opened my eyes and only saw a little bit of cum on my hand... that is, until I realized that the rest had hit the ceiling.

"Holy fuck," I whispered under my breath. I didn't even know that was possible. 

—————

The strangest thing of everything was that, after I finished, I was still hard. 

I, actually, had to go at it again because I just felt strange going to sleep like that. Yes, it hit the ceiling again, too. 

It's incredible, right?

I mean, I don't feel all that changed but... I suppose, physically, there is no escaping the new me. 

~ S. Rogers