There are demons in the girl's head. They make her wish she was dead.
Two years ago, the infamous Tony Stark told the world that he was Iron Man and that came with consequences that his precious daughter, Lisa, had to suffer. Despite all odd...
if 'i love you' was a promise would you break it, if you're honest tell the mirror what you know she's heard before i don't wanna be you anymore idon'twannabeyouanymore ─── billie eilish
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tennessee december 24, 2012
I'm still shivering as I stay curled up in the passenger seat. Dad's speeding like he always is, but it's oddly soothing as the hum of the car, the heat from the vents, and my dad's presence brings a kind of peace over me. I sniff a little and drag my sleeve across my nose. I'm either suffering from a bad cold or the disease is getting worse. Dad glances over at me and does a doubletake as I rest my temple on my right kneecap.
He reaches a hand over and gently pushes my bangs back, glancing at my bruises with a small and worried frown, "You okay there, Smalls? Ya look awful."
"Wow, thanks, Dad," I tiredly smirk.
"You know that's not what I meant." He gives me a look.
"Mmhm," I hum back with a yawn, "I'm okay."
"Alright." He playfully bumps my chin with his knuckle before looking back at the road with a concentrated look on his face.
I smile softly in his direction. He's coming back. We're coming back. It's all going to be normal again. My eyes slide closed as I bury my cheek into my knee.
"Hey." Dad speaks quietly, "Pass me that file."
Pulling one eye open, I squint and hand the the file over to him, "Here."
The file ruffles as he takes it one hand and rests it up against the steering wheel. His eyes leave the road and narrow in thought as he opens the file and looks through the papers. As I continue to watch him tiredly, he sets the file back into my lap and he pulls one specific paper from it. He glares down at it for a few moments, unable to make sense of the acronym of MIA in the corner. He irritatedly drops it on top of the file, rubbing his forehead as he stares at the ground.
"Oh man," he distantly whispers, deep in thought, "Happy, Happy, Happy,"
All chances at sleep have completely abandoned me now. I swallow harshly and my shoulders straighten as the guilt weeds it's way back into my heart. Happy. I try to picture him lying in a hospital bed back in Malibu with a tube down his throat as his mind is stuck in a coma. The thought is enough to bring tears to my eyes and I sniff once more. Suddenly Dad jerks, snatches the lone paper back up, and he harshly flips it around. I feel all of the blood drain from my face at what we both see.
