The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness if the attribute of the strong ~ Mahatma Gandhi
Peter
You're not picking up.
Are you okay?
Just let me know if you're okay? Or if you need anything?
Please?
It's been three days.
Three days.
It has been three whole days since the best and worst day of my life. The day my heart was split into two and the day it was filled with love and warmth.
After seeing the scene unfold on live television, mom being the mom she is, has been checking up on me every two minutes and forbidding me from leaving the house. And at this time of her life when everything's going wrong, I wouldn't dare defy her just as I wouldn't want anyone to defy me during my low point.
Peter hasn't picked up any of my calls or replied to any of his messages which means I don't know how he's doing at all or whether he needs anyone.
Tonight's the night of the winter dance and guess who isn't going? Don't get me wrong, I would take any chance to see him, especially in a suit, but I'm not really in the mood to go to a dance and socialize, let alone getting all dolled up.
My phone vibrates on my bedside table and my heart rate accelerates drastically. He finally replied! He got back to my millions of messages! He's okay! He--
Never mind.
A few messages from Ned displayed in our Group o' Geeks group chat.
That was Ned's idea... which doesn't really surprise me.
The phone vibrates in my hand and my heart once again skips a beat, yet lo and behold, it's just MJ. It's time for me to jump into the conversation and hope Peter replies from all of these messages.
GROUP O' GEEKS
Ned
Hey guys, you're all going to the winter dance, right?
MJ
Unfortunately. High school social events are so typical and I feel downgraded going, but it should be fun.
Me
I'm not going. I'm not in the mood for it.
Ned
You're not in the mood for it?! It's going to be fun! All of us friends hanging out and stuff.
Me
Ugh, I dunno.
Do you know if Peter is going?
MJ
Of course you would ask that.
Me
What do you mean by that?
MJ
Nothing.
Ned
Um, okay then.
Yeah, I was at his place today. He's coming.
Me
You saw him?!
Ned
Yeah, why?
I immediately drop my phone on my bed and beam to myself a little. Anyone who saw me right now would think I was crazy, smiling gleefully alone.
He's okay.
At least I know that.
The smile instantly fades when I realize that he's okay... but isn't replying to me. The least he could do is respond after you know, I kissed him and told him that I loved him.
And he said it back!
But everyone has a reason for not doing something, the only thing I can do is hope that it's a reasonable excuse and that it's not a grudge or anything against me.
So as it turns out, there is a way to see Peter.
My eyes glance towards the time at the top of my phone, standing out to me among all of the other clatter on there. It reads five forty-five... the dance starts at six. Is it possible for a girl to get ready in that time? Obviously not. Most of the girls from school would have taken hours to get ready.
However, I am no ordinary girl.
I can get it done in maybe half an hour.
"Mom!" I call out, bolting down the stairs hurriedly.
She appears at the bottom of the stairway, her eyes expressing high levels of panic, "what's wrong? Did something happen? Are you going out again?"
I fiddle with the rim of my tee frantically, looking her directly in the eyes, "no, no and n-- actually, yes. I'm going to the dance and I don't know what to wear!"
Mom lowers her head and shakes it, letting out a highly amused chuckle. "I thought that something had happened to you, but instead you sound like every other teenage girl," she manages to say between gasps for air. "Who knew that it was possible for the legendary Raven Garcia to be just as the stereotypes say?"
"Look, can you help me or not?" my fingers now entangle with my very tangled hair anxiously, yet I still can't help the smile on my face.
Her lips curl, almost reaching her ears, and she turns as bright as the sun.
"I may have an idea or two."
Honey spills onto the once blank walls, providing warmth to a place otherwise cool. Birds sing their dusk tune, bringing delight to even the most red monsters. Lavenders dance around, spreading their scent silently.
Here I stand, my attire standing out boldly from the peaceful atmosphere. The night blue contrasts directly with the vivid yellows of the sunset yet match the strong color of my eyes that look back at me through the mirror. It flows at after my waist, stopping my thighs from the front and at the back of my knees from behind. My upper body is concealed by an intricate lace pattern, sown on by someone, no doubt, experienced and who has put hard hours of labor into it.
Mom's hand combs my hair, calming the beast, while the other hand curls the ends into light swirls.
Excluding the infrequent jolts of pain from a large knot, the moment feels just right. Just a mother helping out her daughter to prepare for a school dance. Nothing similar to this has ever really happened, not after the divorce and certainly not after dad's death.
No matter how long it lasts, peace, clarity and serenity are all bound to break at one point. This moment's point is the moment mom opens her mouth.
"We haven't had a chance to talk about the other day," she lets out an awkward giggle as if to make it better.
This could go either one of two ways: continue the war or sign a treaty. And it is dependent on how I respond. My palms grow sweatier and no matter how fast I clench and unclench, it only makes it worse.
I clear my throat, "what about it?"
"Well um," she too, clears her throat. Clearly, she hasn't scripted her speech in her head. "So you've been The Butterfly the whole time?"
"Yes," my head nods once, wanting to stop there, but judging from the way her face longs for more, it is evident that more of the story needs to be told. I have told it too many times for it to be enjoyable, but she is my mother and nothing can change that fact. She deserves the truth and the whole truth. "I want to keep the story short. It all started mid-summer, in Miami. I was alone in the Butterfly Room, cooling off after dad told me his cancer relapsed. There was some kind of chemical leak and dad gave me suit because I can do stuff like this."
My mind reaches into her's, something I haven't done in a long time. It's unlike all of the minds I have reached into before. There's something about it. Not its purity or its kindness, but its... almost defensiveness. It seems much harder to reach into there.
Nonetheless, my strength overpowers her's and I'm in. I turn my plain white room into a Christmas wonderland with twinkle lights lining every wall and a pine tree in the middle, surrounded by festive gifts, ranging in sizes. A snowman pops up, Cam kneeling beside it and adding accessories. Finally, a feast to feed hundreds. Turkey, eggnog, all of the traditional foods. My stomach roars voraciously, reminding me to eat before going to the dance.
Mom stands up, admiring the whole room, her jaw dropping with awe. She spins around multiple times, showing more passion for my powers than anyone else ever has.
Then, her eyes fall upon the top of the tree. Here lies a photo, replacing a typical gold star. This part was unintentional, almost immediately appearing without me willing it to. Inside of it, is an un-taken photo of us, me, mom, Cam and... Phil.
We are all wearing ugly sweaters, basically thrown up on by Christmas, sitting by the fireplace. A typical family picture. Even if I want to loathe him with my every being, I can't. There has been a certain empty spot in the house and even in my heart. He may have followed a manipulative dictator, but he would have had his reasons to. Besides, even though I was cool and calculating towards him, he was a decent step-father.
The best part about him was that mom had loved him.
Her eyes remain glued to the picture frame, a layer of gloss forming, threatening to break free. She extends her arms, her fingers curling towards it.
She still loves him.
And she deserves someone to love.
My hands clap, dissolving the image from her view before her hand makes it to the top of the tree. She snaps back into reality and stares at me in shock. I continue to tell her the rest of the story, excluding the part about me being able to see how someone dies because that will just drag the mood down, so as to distract her from her broken heart.
Looks like I'll be even more late to the dance.
"Thanks for meeting me here on such short notice," I hop out of the car and leap into his arms.
Tony doesn't hesitate wrapping his arms around my back, "anything for my only niece." His hands find themselves on my shoulders and he forces me backwards, staring into my face with concern. "Have you heard anything from Pete?" he asks worriedly.
I shake my head sorrowfully, "he hasn't answered my texts or picked up my calls at all. Ned checked in on him though and he's at the school dance right now."
"The dance?" Tony furrows his brows. "There's a dance right now? And you're here?"
"Tony, you should have seen her face. If not now, then I will never do it. After seeing that unfold, I feel motivated to help her. I can still make it to the dance before it ends," I sigh and press my lips together. "I asked you here to help me out. You're an adult and you can be intimidating and that's just what I need. So will you help me?"
Tony mimics my sigh without realizing and avoids my gaze, looking off into the distance. His head shakes in disbelief, "I can't believe I'm going this. By the way, just prepare for all of the things they're going to shout out. You are too dressy and you're young. Let's get this over and done with."
My insides light up, knowing that this is my good deed for mom and that it will hopefully better our relationship.
The prison looks dingy from the outside. The whole place needs some work with all of the walls covered in some kind of dirt which got in here somehow. My heart beat increases, a shiver running down my spine. It gives me the creeps.
We pass a first stage of security but already, criminals in the cell beside us whistle and try to get my attention.
The things they shout out give me shivers and I hunch my shoulders upwards doing my best to ignore them.
Pigs.
"We are here for Phil Perry," Tony declares to the guard at the visiting desk in a determined voice.
The guard looks back and forth between us before finally landing on Tony again. His eyes widen with excitement and overwhelming joy as he realizes, "hey, you're Tony Stark! What are you doing visiting this scum?!"
My fists tighten and whiten at both this and the continuous shouting from the prisoners. "That so called scum is actually my mom's fiancee. So if you don't mind getting the niceties over and done with," I scowl.
He raises an eyebrow and snorts, "and who are you to be telling me what to do, girl?"
Tony tenses at this and he cocks his head, an amused smile on his face. His arm snakes around my shoulders, much to the dismay of the guard who's blood drains from his face. "Actually," Tony booms, "this girl is my niece."
The officer's face falls and he licks his lips worriedly. "You can skip the additional security part, Mr Stark, sir. Put these on, go on straight though the doors there, take a seat and Perry will be out in a minute," he mutters before providing orders to another guard.
I beam up at my gun of an uncle and he does the same to his gun of a niece. We place the visitor badges visibly on our clothes and solider through the doors, away from the dirtbags who deserve to be locked away for the things they said.
As soon as we enter, I instantly think of our high school cafeteria minus the food and if it were made for animals. The room is filled with prisoners and their loved ones, nothing shady much to my relief. Young children brought here with their mothers. How can a father be devoted to doing something so horrific that it separates them from their children? There are many alternatives to being a criminal.
A bench sits in the corner, secluded from the rest and empty. Tony leads me there, knowing that Phil would want this conversation to be private. My hands tremble and my foot refuses to stop tapping on the floor. The world seems so far away and hazy from here, in my own anxiety bubble.
Tony seems to notice my discomfort and leans over to whisper in my ear, "it's okay. You know Phil and he knows you. He won't hurt you and there is no way he will say no to you."
He's right. Why am I so nervous? There is no reason for it.
Yet when the man in the blue jumpsuit enters the room, my heart leaps out of my chest. It's as if the world is dropping at a hundred miles an hour. With my head all over the place, it's difficult to maintain focus. My fingers toy with the hem of my dress bringing me back to reality.
Phil makes eye contact with Tony and I and laughs in shock. Although we're the reason he is in prison in the first place, his eyes are filled with delight. He has no family here and there's no doubt that he has had no visitors for the past while and all of the other prisoners have family and children to visit them. Phil doesn't have that. So even if we're the only people who came to visit him, the poor guy is ecstatic that he finally has visitors.
"Raven and Tony Stark," he states before taking a seat on the other side of the table. "To what do I owe the pleasure? And why are you so dressed up?"
Tony eyes me from the corner of his, urging me to go on. I am the reason he's here in the first place otherwise he would have let Phil rot here. I would have as well, if only he hadn't meant the world to mom.
"Look, I don't have much time. I have a school dance to get to. But Mary is dead and we are getting you out of here," I tell him straight out.
It takes him a minute or so to register my words. To be honest, I don't blame him. If I were in his shoes I would be just as shaken up. "Well, I don't know what kind of drugs you have taken to say this," he finally begins, "but it's too late anyways. My court hearing is tomorrow morning. I don't think you will have time to get me out completely let alone get me out on parole."
Tony grins proudly, "and that's where I come in. You know, money is a powerful thing in this world and I happen to have plenty of it."
"Tony is going to help out tomorrow and he will get you out on parole. I don't want you to explain what happened to me, but explain to my mom when you get out," my fingers wriggle around in anticipation. "She knows everything about me being The Butterfly but she needs to hear your side of the story from you."
Phil's brows furrow in confusion and he throws his hands through his hair, utterly flustered, "okay, okay, but there is a lingering question that you haven't yet answered." He lifts his head, his face completely confused, "why are you helping me, Raven?"
Now it's my turn to be flustered. My mouth goes dry and my fingers go crazy underneath the bench. Instead of breaking down, I focus myself and squint my eyes at Phil before spilling out t the speech of all speeches, "my mother went through a stage of depressive like symptoms, after you going to jail. She didn't eat, didn't drink, didn't go out and just slept all day in bed. After ages, today she helped me get ready for the dance and I explained to her the story about my abilities. That's when I showed her what I can do and that's when she saw this."
My hands twist underneath the table as I deceive Phil to see the photo that mom saw. His eyes widen and his jaw gapes. It's almost as if I can see the love heart emojis pouring out of him. I clap my hands before he can say anymore. "Phil, she was devastated. But she still loves you and she was happy with you and if my mom is happy, then I'm happy," I lean forward, clasping my hands together atop the metal table. "So we get you out of jail and you tell my mom the truth. Do we have a deal?"
Phil is completely speechless, at a loss for words. He stutters, grasping for the right words to say. There are no right words in this scenario so he should hurry up and just choose one.
"I-I-I-I don't know w-w-w-what to say," he stammers.
"Do we have a deal or not, Phil?" I repeat, emphasizing the seriousness in my tone.
He gulps strongly before shrugging and nodding slowly, "yeah. We have a deal."
"Good," I smile broadly and stand out of my seat. "Thank you for your time and thanks for coming Tony, but I have a dance to get going to."
And I run to Peter.