The Butterfly Effect: a Peter Parker Fan Fic

Part 50; Booze and Betrayals

Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment ~ Buddha

A party. The last party I went to was the large one at Cassie's house, where MJ confessed her love for Peter and threw up all over me at the same time.

A mess. That's what it was. A complete and utter mess.

Luckily, the fire fighters were able to revive a few items from the fire, ones that were stashed away in boxes, otherwise we would be clothes-less.

Right now, in the present time, as I take in my reflection, it's as if looking at a stranger. Perhaps I haven't changed anything about my physical appearance, but there's still a random person staring back at me.

I knew that I was a tornado, but I didn't know how much destruction I could really bring upon the people who are dearest to me. Dad? Dead. Mom? Heartbroken and as good as dead. Cam? Traumatized at my expense. Tony? Having to deal with the demons of his past that I brought back. MJ? In a relationship with someone who has feelings for someone else. Ned? In the middle of them. And Peter? Sacrificing his life for me, sacrificing his relationship for me, sacrificing everything for me.

The letter was sweet and it made me feel loved, however on the contrary, it is also a bomb waiting to detonate and blow up in both of our faces.

Everyone is sacrificing something for me. Everyone is crumbling away, falling apart, breaking down.  

My eyes shut, unwilling to look at this idiotic person anymore- no. Not even a person. A monster.

There is something I could do though. A pair of scissors reside in the cookie jar on my desk. My wood-brown hair flows down almost to my rear, which is far too long for me right now. It's only extra weight on my shoulders.

It's now or never.

So with my hand in a fist of white, I clench the scissors and delight in the sound of hair being snipped away. It falls delicately to the floor, like feathers. The whole haircut is slightly uneven as to be expected and roughly up to my shoulders. That's short enough.

But it did nothing.

I still feel like a sack of bricks.

I let out an angry cry and throw the scissors into the mirror, hearing the crack! My fingers entangle with my hair tightly as I process what I just did. My knees feel weak and buckle under my weight, making me fall to the floor.

Looking at the shattered fragments from the mirror and how my face is split up into dozens of pieces, it makes me realize how broken I really am. That is, if the mental breakdown didn't.

Someone flings the door open, the commotion sending my heart to jump out of my chest. "I heard the noise. What happened? Are you okay?" Cam bursts out.

"I'm fine," I blatantly lie... or am I trying to reassure myself? "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine," I repeat over and over again.

"You don't look fine," he mutters, collapsing onto the floor beneath me. "You kind of look like me after that night." After seeing the horror on my face, he takes it back, "what I meant to say is, did you cut your hair?"

Am I seriously that fucked up?

"Cam," I change the topic instantly, "you never told me what happened that night, why you went to her instead, why she took you, all of the smaller details."

Instantly, his entire mood changes from the content one to a now solemn one. He turns his head to face the mirror instead of looking at me. He scoffs before quietly muttering, "I guess I didn't."