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“Wanda, do you know why you're here?” You ask, as you’ve asked everyday of her improvement.
3,538 days of asking, at first they put her on far too many brain dumbing meds.
You’d done so much work together.
It took a while to fluctuate off, between the drooling and her muttering names “Pietro, Vision, Billy, Tommy..” she’d say them over and over.
You’d wipe the drool off her chin and wait.
The agency had you here for one purpose. Even with your fancy degrees and experience.
You’d been given only one job.
Keep Wanda calm, at all costs.
After a horrendous life of medical testing, Avengers, infinity stones and sitcom Hex.
You had sorta assumed they’d either have her drugged or electrocuted until the end.
Why they’d woken her up completely you could only assume.
Much like the little red book with a star for Officer Bucky Barns.
You’d figured you were sent to torment Wanda, in some sick way.
Keep her under the governments thumb.
And while that feels cruel, you’d read the long list of her victims.
Understood that Wanda Maximoff was not to be underestimated.
But after the first thousand days. You’d admittedly grown bored of the therapy sessions.
Your heels became flats, slacks evolving to jeans.
Silence turned to putting in a little music in the confinement room.
They’d always turned off the camera. You knew it wasn’t HIPPA. But rather if you’d died there were not witnesses.
You’d grown sloppy by the second thousand days.
Wanda still hadn’t spoken aloud, so you’d done what you had on medical rotations as an intern.
You talked to her.
You weren’t dumb at first.
It was just little things.
Small things.
Traffic was bad, your hair curler died, a movie you saw the previous night was funny.
Then it got a little more personal, what dirty books you liked, a bad date you’d been on, a birthday spent alone.
That’s when you started to notice it.
And you were sure you were nuts.
But when your favorite flower showed up on your doorstep, you’d assumed it was a friend, an ex.
When you’d gotten the raise you’d thought it was odd, seeing as how your boss didn’t acknowledge you.
When your bank account grew with no transaction record, you asked about Maximoffs medication dosage.
Asked if she’d done anything to her cell.
Everything was a no.
But her eyes…something about Wanda’s eyes began to track you.
Flicker, a light in them once more.
You asked her, asked if she could hear you, if she could speak.
But Wanda sat, comatose, but still… her eyes… they bore into you.
In sessions you began to feel nude under her stare.
You stopped speaking about yourself, but somewhere deep inside you were sure - the damage was done.
You’d awoken a monster.
Then came the dreams.
Full blown horrible sexual dreams.
Where you had no choice, where you were dressed in a sitcom. Black and greys, your face stuck in a smile.
The first few dreams she’d called you Vision. Vision as she kissed your neck. Vision as she’d bitten your skin, Vision as she’d climaxed.
All Wanda said was Vision, Vision,Vision.
It wasn’t until you’d moaned in the dream, body spent from all this sexual frustration.
That your name leaked from her lips.
A new silent prayer.
A preditors latest fetish.
A brand new shiny obsession.
You.
Her forced therapist, in a maximum level facility. Off the books so deep in nowhere. That she spoke to everyday.
A new brain.
A new habitat to play in as she deemed fit.
Wanda started to drive you insane, like a mad woman.
You could have diagnosed yourself.
The paranoia, sure that she was in your every waking moment.
The endless conversations churned your anxiety. Causing insomnia where you’d begun to have delusions of grandeur.
Actually seeing and hearing Wanda in your everyday life.
She was everywhere. Where you ate, in your bathroom, in your closet.
In your skin.
Learning about her favorite meals, her first kiss, about her childhood.
How was that even real?
It had to be a psychiatric break.
It had to be.
But who would you tell?
You’d end up in a padded cell.
Physiatrist in confinement over fallen avenger?
But as you turned off all the lights and showered, seeing red eyes watching you. Lathering your skin until your knuckles were raw and bloody.
You weren’t so sure anymore.
You thought maybe that would be better.
Away from Wanda, away from the root of your psychosis.
The days ticked by, and the moments bled together. The hallucinations and insomnia like the chicken or the egg.
You couldn’t be sure what was real anymore.
“Wanda, do you know why you're here?” You question, needing an answer.
Proof that she could speak!
That she was behind all of this.
Wanda blinked at you, once, twice, slowly.
Static.
“Wanda, do you know why you're here?” You repeat, sure that you can forgive yourself if she just speaks.
“Would that make it easier?” Her ruby lips asked.
You stared dumbfounded at them.
Your eyes bulged.
“You-“
“Yes, but you have known that for some time sweet girl.” Wanda smirks and you want to jump out of your chair.
“Wanda?” You murmur like an idiot and she leans forward.
You should jerk back, be terrified.
But you are just so very proud that you’re not crazy!
“Sweet girl, you are though. Remember?” Wanda asks and you flinch.
“Don’t you remember?” Wanda asks you and you shudder, but she stands and walks to you now.
Where do her bindings go?
Why wasn’t she strapped down?
“Remember?” You repeat and Wanda reaches out to your face.
You try to retract but find…your arms are….bound?
“You remember when I put you in the straight jacket now? Do you?” Wanda asks pushes the drool over your bottom lip.
The sound of your shoulder snapping as she’d fucked you from behind plays in the corners of your mind.
No.
Your mouth feels like it’s got marbles as you yell out.
The memory of her slicing it - holding it with the medical forceps. Piercing it, running her pussy on top of it like you were nothing more than a wet wipe.
What had she done to you?
What had you forgotten?
Your tongue was swollen, was it still there? You tasted blood.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You're remembering it all now.” Wanda says again and it works like one of her distorted spells.
Memories throwing you like an ape in a cage. Thrashing and deranged, bent on escape.
“You liked some of it, remember? You begged for it.” Wanda reminds you and the memory of those red eyes in the dark.
Had they given you to her, were you the cheese and she the rat?
Were you ever in on the experiment?
“You have such a mind sweetling, such a thing to waste.” Wanda smirks and that look you see again;
“You want to be a good Doctor again, sweetling?” Wanda asked as you naked bucked against her. Barking and drooling, you’d been her sitcom dog.
Pissing on yourself, having your nose put in it.
That’s when Wanda changed the game.
You were once again the ‘Therapist’ and she had you doing paperwork.
“Doctor, sign here, write my name. Write it here.” Wanda egged one, handing you a ballpoint pen, you stuck it straight into your thigh.
“Write it.”
You pant.
“Write it.”
Wanda sticks her finger into your puffy cunt.
You’re not in an office.
Her fingers are black from the darkhold.
Your poor sex is so sore you cry out.
How long have you been like this?
Who were you?
Were you ever even a doctor?
“Write who owns you. My sweet little puppet. Oh, the things we will do together. Vision couldn’t see it, but you can, can’t you?” She begs you.
Curling her fingers in your g spot.
You can’t breathe, held under the weight of her spell.
Yet the blood flows from your thigh as you carve her name.
The ridges white flesh as you work the W into you.
More pertinent than a tattoo.
Wanda wants you to go down to the bone.
Deep, deeper than possible.
You drool and bleed and what’s worse.
Wanda smiles big and bright.
And you orgasms again.
“Go ahead, ask me?” Wanda adds, as you open your mouth to scream.
Do you know why you're here?