teen spirit|| peter parker [1]

cемнадцать [seventeen]

"Hey kiddo."

After taking my prescribed pills, I pretty much passed out immediately due to the lack of sleep and the overall exhaustion of the past few days. I could lay in bed and not move for hours, though the sheer weight of the heaviness of my brain is enough to make me feel as though I've been training all day. Dr Greene told me that a panic attack takes up about as much energy as running a marathon. I'm not sure how accurate that is, but I wouldn't be surprised if the statement was true. I cannot count the sheer number of times I have fallen unconscious from anxiety just due to the lack of energy in my body.

"Come in," I groan as I sit up. My whole body aches, and my vision seems as though I am looking at the world through fish-eye lenses.

As my eyes scan across my bedroom, I suddenly remember my previous outburst and jump up to inspect the left wall for any cracks. There it stands; loud and proud. Right in the centre of the wall and awfully disguised and covered by storage boxes. Surprisingly, there's a moment where perhaps I'm not absolutely torn apart by the move, and maybe I'm slightly thankful that we're relocating. Though this goes as soon as it came, and I'm back to the usual irritation and upset.

Dad slowly swings the door open and slides into my room before taking a seat at the foot of my bed. His voice is soft and gentle, which I don't think is positive given the reasoning behind his visit. He's here to call me out and punish me for my outburst against Pepper, and I'm beginning to think rightly so. "Pepper tells me you had a little spat. She didn't tell me what it was about, but she was pretty distraught. Mentioned something about Shakespeare and therapy."

I resist from rolling my eyes, and drop down onto my bed. I busy myself with tracing over the lace on my comforter, while I attempt to piece together some sort of answer or apology. "I didn't mean to upset her, I swear. I'm just so sick of being treated as if I'm made of glass."

"You know, we're not trying to make you feel shitty or anything, we really are just worried." He pulls me into a side hug, and I let my head rest on his shoulder. "And for the record, of course you're not made of glass; you're my daughter— the world's Strongest Avenger."

I giggle gently as I sniffle and stifle the tears threatening. Dad turns to his left and hands me a hardback book— the notebook I had left in my office in the tower. I flip open the front cover and trace my finger over the cursive writing and block penmanship of the rest of the old team, while tears hit painfully against the pages and completely alter my vision. It's the sort of hurt where you're unable to sob or scream out— you just feel it, absolutely everywhere. And it's almost paralysing.

From Wanda's cursive looped handwriting to Bruce's untidy and almost illegible scrawl, my heart continues to shatter until it feels as if I truly am Death in its most accurate form. Death doesn't have to mean the literal loss and passing of a person— it can be interpreted in the ending of a vicious cycle, moving on, saying goodbye...

I wipe at the tears tracking down my cheeks and remain staring intensely at the different colours of ink scrubbed across the lined paper. Dad plants a soft kiss on the top of my head and slips out of room; he knows I need to be by myself for a while, though also keeping in mind that I should never be alone.

1 NEW TEXT MESSAGE: NED

ned
Hey... u still alive? you've not
sent a meme in a while and I'm
kinda worried about you lol

ned
Are u avoiding peter???????
He told me what happened

I debate on whether or not to talk to Ned— unsure if it would make things even more complicated in my messy mind or if having an outside opinion would make me feel any better. It's times like these when I wish Wanda and Nat were here.