"Now I see. The demon is me."
Lisa May Stark is so much more than the child she used to be when she and her father were kidnapped in Afghanistan five years ago. She's Iron Man's daughter, she's the Red Raven, she's, well, you know who she is...
sooner or later your legs give way , you hit the ground save it for later save it for later───the beat
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parker residence, queens, new york september 1, 2016 — september 30, 2016 ( lisa's point of view )
My feet make quiet pats on the floor as I pace the small bedroom. Maria sleeps on the bottom bunk behind me, her curly hair stuck to her head and tears becoming dry on her face. She's so used to Peter being here and now that he's not, she's been crying nearly nonstop, and the stress of what happened today definitely has not helped. My blonde hair stays wet on my dark-blue covered shoulders, making my shiver in the Midtown School of Science sweatshirt I stole from Peter. I worriedly stop by the dark window, hoping I'll see that adorable dork show up any second.
He doesn't.
I groan, bouncing my leg as I turn and pace away.
After the ferry kerfuffle this afternoon, I had to stay on the sinking boat and get evacuated with everyone else to avoid being noticed. Which sucked. A lot. And then when I got back to the apartment, May panicked over the fact that her niece and grandniece almost drowned in the middle of the Hudson River, which was fair. But then when she asked where Peter was, I had to lie to her face and say that Peter wasn't with me since we got separated and I didn't want to get him in more trouble but that panicked her even more and now everything is terrible.
Michael is in the wind.
Which means he's likely planning my murder.
Peter is missing.
Which means I might die from worry.
And Tony knows I'm in New York.
Which means he's ticked enough to want to kill me.
So, overall, I'm pessimistically expecting death.
The bedroom door suddenly is thrown open and I quickly spin around to find a teenage boy standing in the doorway with his eyes on me.
Peter. My dumb dorky amazing Peter.
Neither of us speak.
Peter and I stare at each other for a long moment, both of us just studying each other's faces. His big brown eyes are red and heavy with tears and he suddenly looks just like the fifteen year old kid he really is. His hair is wild and disheveled and he swallows hard, trying to keep back the tears still welling up in his eyes. He's wearing these weird pair of Hello Kitty pajama pants and a big white t-shirt two sizes too big that says, "I survived my trip to NYC". Ah. Punny.
