Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn how to swim ~ Vicki Harrison
The curtains are drawn, no bit of light entering my room despite the beautiful, sunny day it's supposed to be.
Fifteen days, sixteen hours, twenty-six minutes.
That's how long it's been since I got the news. The funeral was yesterday in Malibu, where he asked to be buried. Malibu was more of a home to him than Queens ever was. Was. It seems surreal. He can't be... he can't be.
It's felt like ages since I've actually had a proper meal. With this factor and with all of the tears I've let go of, the amount of weight I've lost is understandable. I'm all skin and bone now, every teenage girl's dream. But I hate this. I hate feeling empty and sorrowful. I hate not seeing anyone. I hate being pitied.
Mom seems to have forgiven me for the money incident. She checks up on me more frequently than I prefer, but it's not her fault. It's mine. I worried him. He should've been resting and not stressing, but I stressed him out and he's... it can't be.
Or maybe it could be Tony's fault. He could've given dad the money and he wouldn't have been stressed and he wouldn't be...
I'm empty. It feels unreal.
Cam took the first flight to Malibu as soon as he heard the news. Little, pure, innocent Cam went on a plane by himself. I should've gone with him. I'm his big sister, goddamnit. But going to the funeral means accepting the death and means saying goodbye. I'm not ready to let go of him yet. He can't be dead, he can't be.
Dad, who helped me when he found out about my powers, who was the most resilient yet most stubborn person I've ever met, who suffered in silence so as not to worry me or Rory or anyone else around him, who would die for the people he loved, who loved mom more than anything and still survived after she broke him, who's voice was a relief in the worst of situations. Dad... my dad.
Stuff Peter. What he said hurt me, of course, but I'd rather relive that over and over again than feel the pain I feel now. To lose someone you love like this... I'm never going to be the same again. And the worst part isn't even losing him, if I'm honest. It's the last words we exchanged. We fought because I was trying to prevent this from happening and he didn't seem to want my help, that stubborn man. If I knew that was going to be the last conversation we ever had, I would tell him I love him over and over again and how much I'll miss him.
But I didn't. I even hung up on him. I should've let Cam go. We would've made up soon, we always do. My phone screen lights up, several messages sending several ringtones. On any other day, I would've immediately checked to see who it was sending all of these things. But who cares anymore?
If I get one more I'm sorry, I will lose it. My eyes shut, hoping that the phone will stop ringing eventually. But it doesn't. It keeps flashing over and over and over and over and over- I can't take it anymore. My hand reaches out from the blanket and I throw my phone to the nearest wall as hard as I can. It hits the wall with a crack! before falling to the floor. Much to my dismay, it doesn't stop. Someone's calling now.
I should've just turned it off completely. It's probably time for a stretch anyways. I lift myself out of bed and charge towards the phone, nearly stumbling over from my jelly-like legs. Every muscle in my body is in pain when I bend down to pick it up, but the little bit of adrenaline from getting up is helping me. The contact photo makes me want to curl up in a ball on the floor now. Peter's photo is displayed largely on the screen. He's sticking his tongue out, reminding me of the day he took it.
That day, he snatched my phone from out of my grasp as I was texting my mom that I might be home a little late. The four of us were staying back, wanting to study for a test, but study didn't necessarily mean study. Him and MJ weren't dating yet and I hadn't realized my feelings for him yet either. When he looked at his contact while getting off of the messages app, he began to tsk at the fact his photo was just an anonymous person one. He held the phone high above my head and even though I was protesting against him taking my phone, he snapped a selfie of himself and of me jumping in the background and made it his photo.
I didn't change it after that.
Why is he calling? What could he possibly have to say? It stops ringing. I don't stop looking at the now black screen. All the messages are from him then.
The door creaks open a little bit and I stand up instantly. Mom's head pokes through and he smiles at me wearily, "it's good to see you up."
I don't say anything in response, but my eyes catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Is this even me or am I seeing things? The sclera of my eyes are completely red, contrasting against the bright blue irises. Bags sit comfortably underneath the both of them. If I didn't know myself, I'd assume I was living in poverty because all I can see is bone with only a thin layer of skin. There was a larger loss of weight than I had previously thought. My once thick and luscious hair is now mangled and resembles a bird nest. I don't even recognize myself. If I look out the window right now and see any random pedestrian on the street, it's strange to know that they aren't affected by this but here I am, looking like a tornado gone wrong.
Mom enters my room, a tray filled with a variety of food and drink in her hands. "I know you aren't going to want to eat any of this, but it's here in case you feel like it," she says sympathetically. When I continue to stare into the mirror and don't reply, she sighs, places the tray on my desk and takes a seat on the edge of my bed, "can we talk about this? Please? I know it's hard, but you're going to kill yourself if you keep all of the pain inside of you."
No, I want to tell her firmly. But once my eyes shift to her's and see how worried and devastated she is, I realize that his passing has badly affected her too. Her once straight and stern face is now tired and broken. She loved him, I know it. She'd take back that moment, I know it. No matter how much I didn't want to believe it, she told me over and over again that it was her biggest regret.
So I gulp and take a seat on the chair in the corner. My head rests at the head of the chair and I avoid her face. She understands that I will talk about it and she starts. Her voice breaks, "why didn't you tell me, Raven?"
Tears spike my eyes again. It hurts to cry again. I don't want the feeling of my chest heaving and my eyes being irritated to come again. My fists clench as I fight the tears, not wanting to break down in front of her again.
When mom came home that night, seeing me on the floor weeping all of my pain away, she sat by my all night, stroking my hair and comforting me in her arms even though I didn't utter a single word. I finally told her a few days later and she immediately sent Cam to Malibu without hesitation, knowing I would refuse to.
"I would've helped, sent the money if I knew," she mutters to herself.
She is right, but I don't respond, instead staying quiet and staring at a spot on the wall.
She shakes her head sadly, "he was always very stubborn. You know that he didn't want to get divorced in the first place?"
This gets my attention and I perk my head to look at her but still remain silent.
"I... cheated on him, I know. But he loved you and Cam so much, he refused to get divorced at first knowing that it would tear you guys, especially you, apart," the corners of her mouth tilt upwards at the memory, "the fact that he was resisting made me feel even more guilty. He didn't want this family to fall apart. But when I told him that it's only worse for the kids with the lingering tension, it was then that he came to senses. Whatever's best for these two, he told me."
He was stubborn but he was selfless. He was willing to suffer by living with the woman who broke his heart for Cam and I's sake. He was indeed, nuts. But I guess love does that to someone. And the love he had for us was endless and the same applies for my love for him. Forever.
"The wedding is postponed by the way," she adds quietly, "a month was an unrealistic period of time to plan one so Phil and I unanimously decided it would be best until all of this is solved." She says it as if grief can be fixed, as if we can bring dad back or something. The doorbell rings and mom stands up hesitantly, "I should get that." Her lips press into a thin line before she exits my room, leaving me and the stacks of food alone.
My stomach growls, feeling empty and my mouth, dry. Some food might do me good, but there's no energy left in me to even get up, let alone eat. Hushed voices appear in the hallway, one belonging to mom and the other... familiar but unknown.
My head falls back onto the head of the chair and I lift my knees up to my chin. My arms wrap around my legs, relieving me from the chills I feel with some warmth.
Fifteen days, sixteen hours, forty minutes.
Mom's head pokes through my door again and she speaks softly, "someone's here to visit you."
I drop my arms to my sides and look up worriedly. There's only one person on earth who would visit me right now. She opens the door a little more and Peter enters quickly, letting out a sigh of relief to see me. "I'll leave you two alone," mom closes the door behind her and for the first time, I don't want her to leave. But she has left and she left this heart-breaker and I alone in my room.
I turn my head away from his distraught face and out the window instead. Still no sound comes from me.
"Hey Raven," he beams, expecting a response. Still nothing from me. He sighs and continues, "you haven't been at school for a while now. I got worried about you." I chew on the insides of my cheeks as an alternative to pinching my arm, praying that this is just a dream and that he isn't really here. But a sharp pain pierces through my gums meaning that Peter Parker is in my room right now. "Your mom told me abo--"
I face him with appall and cut him off sharply, "--yes, he's gone. You're sorry for my loss? Okay, good. Thank you. You know how I feel? Okay, good. Thank you. You hope I feel better soon? Okay, good. Thank you. If that's all you came up here to say, then feel free to go."
At least I said something.
He sits on my bed and buries his face in his hands, flustered. "I shouldn't have walked out on you that day," he mutters.
"Peter, just leave," I tell him.
Peter stands up immediately and walks over to me, crouching down by my side and staring into my face. I instantly throw my head to the side. It doesn't surprise him. He maintains the same facial expression and speaks with determination, "it was wrong of me, and not just because of your dad, but because no matter of whether I have... feelings for you or not, I care about you, a lot. And what I did hurt you and was wrong."
"You just walked straight out of my life like I was nothing. You didn't just hurt me, you made me doubt my worth," I raise my voice a little.
He simply runs a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry, okay? If only there is anything I can do to take back that night or at least make you feel better."
This gives me an opening. I face him dead in the eyes and practically shoot ice from my glare, "if you want to do something for me, leave. Just... just go, Peter."
He bites his lip, looking miserable and guilty at the same time. He stands up and advances towards the door. But right before his hand reaches for the doorknob, it pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket and he places it on the floor beside the door. "Whatever you need," he murmurs before leaving.
He doesn't close the door behind him so I have an excuse to walk there. I get off of the chair and straight away recognize what he left. The blue cotton sits on the floor, folded neatly. I shut the door quietly. His sweater. It still feels the same as it did that night between my fingers. When I inhale the smell, it even smells the same. My back rests against the wall and for the first time today, I break down, letting the tears free.