Once I was alone in my room it was hard for me to keep the depressing thoughts at bay.
Despite what I had said to the Avengers there was still a plaguing depression weighing down on me. How could there not be?
Regardless of what she had said about not wanting me around my brain spun with thoughts of the ginger haired witch and my body was torn apart with guilt, the back and forth slowly chipping at my sanity.
She had said that, but did she mean it? People say things when they are mad. She probably didn’t even know I wasn’t there anymore. Did she realize?
It had been a little over two weeks since I arrived here and I couldn’t help but wonder what was happening with the Hex, and if she was okay.
A knock sounded from my door and I blinked at it, my brain trying to recall what exactly I was supposed to do when someone knocked.
“I, uh, made you something to eat. I’ll leave it out here.”
I immediately recognized the voice as Wanda’s and I slipped off my bed, padding to the door and pulling it open. She jumped, surprised to see me.
“Sorry to disturb you, I would have just left it here but Pietro would have gotten it so I wanted to let you know” she explained and I looked down at the plate in her hands. A pastry. “It’s Potica.”
She pushed it into my hands before smiling and starting back down the hall. I bit my lip and set the plate down on the dresser before going after her, catching her by the wrist.
“Thank you.”
“It’s no problem” she said cheerily and I shook my head.
“For everything. I’ve been kind of a bitch to you and you made sure I didn’t starve and you helped me earlier and now this. So thank you, and I’m sorry.”
“I went through your head without asking, twice, and I was far too rough on you during training. I believe your actions were justified. I am the one needing to apologize.”
I simply nodded and ran a hand through my hair, glancing back at my room. I really didn’t want to be alone. “You made a lot of potica and I don’t really want any of it to go to waste…”
“You can always give the rest to Pietro. He will eat it” Wanda reassured me and I frowned. For a mind reader she was oblivious.
I let go of her wrist, nodding slightly. “Right. I’ll do that.”
She shifted a little, opening her mouth as if she was going to say something before changing her mind and smiling, turning back around.
“For someone who can read my mind you’re kind of ignorant” I grunted before she had even taken a step.
She whirled back around, looking at me as if she wasn’t sure if she should settle on anger or annoyance. Thankfully, she chose neither. Instead she sighed and looked down at her hands.
“I actually can’t. Read your mind. At least not right now.”
I blinked, furrowing my brows at the comment. “What?”
“Ever since the night of the party there’s been this barrier up. It’s been silent” she elaborated, her voice soft. “It’s like you aren’t alive.”
“Oh.” I muttered, shuddering a little at the thought. I stayed quiet for a second before clearing my throat. “Well, that was an invitation to come with me and eat what you made. Maybe watch a sitcom. Kind of start over.”
Wanda looked up, her eyes meeting mine. I forgot how green they are. “Really?”
I nodded, backing up a couple steps before turning and walking back to my room. I grabbed the plate and climbed onto my bed. Wanda entered a couple seconds after me. She looked cautious, as if it was a trap.
“Come here” I invited, patting the place on the bed next to me. She nodded and crept over, settling onto the edge of the bed. I turned on The Office and grabbed a piece of the pastry, taking a bite.
I saw Wanda watch me out of the corner of her eye and I smiled at her to show I liked it, earning a happy one back as she took her own slice and started watching the show.
It really was good, and it brought back a multitude of memories; of my mother in the kitchen, of my great aunt scolding us, of the bakery in Novi Grad.
I turned to look at the woman next to me, watching as her eyes flickered with the reflection of the TV. What Pietro had said a while ago struck me and I realized why I had held her to such higher standards; why I had refused to let her get close.
“What’s your favorite food?”
Wanda’s head turned to me, her eyes flitting between mine before a small smile graced her lips. “My favorite food?”
I hummed around another mouthful of pastry, internally moaning at how good it was.
“It’s this. Potica” she answered, her smile growing. I felt my own lips curve into a smile as I looked down at the plate.
“Why?”
“My mother used to make it whenever me or Pietro got sad. I started helping her when I got old enough, but this was the first time I made it alone” she answered, her tone full of love and loss.
“My mom used to do the same,” I said softly, remembering the blonde woman. “Couldn’t cook at all but she was amazing at baking.”
Wanda looked surprised at my revelation, her head tilting to the side. “Is your mother Sokovian?”
“Yeah, she was.”
Wanda didn’t question the change in tense in the word, only nodded. For a minute the only sound was the characters on the screen before Wanda broke it. “What’s your favorite color?”
I met her eyes, for the first time since arriving seeing the best friend I thought I knew.
“Green.”
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