teen spirit|| peter parker [1]

seven

Then she'd wipe away her tears and the mascara dripping down her cheeks, and she'd ask me about Mom, and then it'd be my turn to break. While I never quite went into the specifics regarding my telekinetic abilities the way she was able to- the memories of Killian and the 'meetings' being far too painful to revisit- I'd talk fondly of Mom. I'd reminisce over the way she wore her sunglasses nestled in her hair, and the faint dimples that would show on her clear complexion whenever she'd smile. It is only beginning to occur to me now, how scarce that smile was in the last few years of her life- after London.

We'd envelop each other in the tightest of embraces, as if we were too afraid of losing one another, while humming the tune to 'Blackbird' by The Beatles. Coincidentally, that was an incredibly popular song in both of our households'. More tears would be shed, until we'd eventually fall asleep while dawn would be initially breaking.

I cast my eyes around the room again. The cardboard boxes stacked up against the walls make me realise how much is changing- again.

But I should be immune to change, right?

I mean, I've moved houses more times than I could count on two hands.

But why does the pain of saying goodbye to the Compound feel so raw?

I suppose walking through the doors was the first time I had really felt safe and secure since before London- and in the two years that followed, I had been living through my worst nightmares. And those 'meetings' really are my worse nightmares now.

I suppose my life has been packed up in boxes, too- alongside Dad's and Nat's and Steve's and Wanda's, not forgetting the rest of the team who lived here. I haven't been able to sort through the files about Mom, which I have kept stashed away under my bed ever since Dad photocopied them and gave them to me when I first came to live with him. I know I will have to revisit them soon, as moving day is nearing, despite how much I am dreading it with every bone in my body. I know it's juvenile and completely melodramatic of me, but I think that reading through all of the harsh truths of her death would quite literally be as if I had crawled into her empty casket.

I'd be submerging myself in the memories, knowing the fond ones have lost their sweetness and have now turned bitter. I'd be putting myself through it all over again, and I've not even finished the first round of grief.

The unfamiliarity of the end of the Avengers plagues me even when I'm away from the Compound. I feel as lonely as ever, on my second coffee run of the day. It's not as if we don't have at least thirteen different coffee machines back at home, but Dad thinks it's good for me to get out of the house- considering those that I had once labelled as my friends and family have gotten up and left, it seems about time to start acquainting more people.

I familiarise myself with Dad's order by checking the note typed up on my phone, even though I've been to this same Starbucks perhaps fifteen different times in the space of four days and bought the same black coffee drinks in the same to-go cups. I'm sure I could make his preferred beverage in my sleep, though I mumble the words under my breath over and over until I reach the front of the line.

Venti Dark Roast, no milk, no room, and four of those tiny sugar packets.

Normally, when I really can't stand to stay in the Compound, I come to this coffee shop and sit by the window with a cappuccino whilst reading. Sometimes I read, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I look over the top of the pages and watch all of the people walking by or walking in. They usually sigh heavily with contentment when they get enveloped in the warmth of freshly brewed coffee, especially if it's been raining. I think a coffee shop is one of the only places where it's seen as 'cool' to come by yourself; mysterious and intriguing. At least, that's what I hope. I think I'd never be able to come back if all of the baristas behind the counter had secretly been laughing away at how lonely I seem.