Picking Up The Pieces

83. The Cut That Always Bleeds

  "She's not eating."

I could hear my father's muffled voice through the door as I laid sideways on my bed, facing toward the window. My blinds were halfway open, allowing rectangular slivers of light into my room. I hadn't moved much from the spot. The suit Stacy had made for me sat crumpled on the floor by my mirror. I didn't want to touch it, nor did I let anyone take it away. I'd just stare over at it whenever the screams in my head faded, letting them start fresh again.

"She's in shock, Tony," Earl Fox said to the older Stark gently, most likely beside him outside. "You did the same after New York. Just give her time."

"Yeah, I know, just..." I peered over at my bedroom door, watching the shadows move back and forth through the small gap at the bottom. "Part of me hoped she'd recover faster than me." It had been almost two weeks since the battle. I wasn't sure when I had slept last; every time I tried to close my eyes, I saw Thomas's face.

"She'll come back to you," Earl told him, "but that has to be on her. Isabel knows you're here for her. That's all you can do." I sat up in my bed, blinking groggily as my vision went blurry for a moment before sliding my legs out from under the sheets. The doctor came every two days for a check-in, and I knew from experience that he'd wait until I came out to corner me. He didn't pressure me to talk, which I was grateful for, but my taking my vitals was something he was stubborn about.

My father jumped when I opened the door, backing up to give me some space. He had similar dark bags under his eyes, mine the worst of the two, and his hair unkempt. The corner of Earl's lips turned up as he offered a small smile, one I did not return.

"Afternoon, sleepyhead," the doctor greeted me. "Sleep well?" As usual, I said nothing, but the small narrow of my eyes spoke for me. "Thought so." He glanced down at the power inhibitor cuff I wore around my left ankle, waiting until it gave its flickering blue light of confirmation before nodding at me. "The weather's nice today. You okay with us doing the session outside today?"

"Do you need anything?" the older Stark interrupted him. Earl let his head drop a little with a quiet sigh, but my father ignored it. "Peter called this morning. He said his aunt wants to come visit with him soon. Would that be okay?"

Peter had stopped by once a few days after the battle to see me, but I knew he left a little disappointed. How could he not? I just sat there mute while he filled me in on the small friend group from Midtown Tech. There had been a memorial for the students Hawkes had taken into his army, and Stacy had been quite popular once she returned. Her family had welcomed her back with open arms. I'd give a nod every once an a while, but it seemed futile. Six months ago, I was thinking of college and club involvement, but now... now, it didn't matter.

I gave a single nod of confirmation to my father, whose face seemed to brighten for a moment before reverting back into an expression of poorly concealed pity and desperation. I took note of the extra grey hairs popping up through the black on the top of his head. My predicament was ruining him.