I Can't Make You Love Me || Peter Parker x OC

Chapter 24: The High Life

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

Verbal arguing/mild abuse. Implied domestic issues.

Anneliesa's perspective

It's been nearly a week since I've seen or heard from Peter. He hasn't called me, assuming that he got a new phone, he hasn't gotten ahold of me in any way, even though Tony knows how to reach everyone in my family through our private numbers. Unfortunately, I hadn't been thinking ahead, and didn't get Peter's number before he left, or before I disabled his phone. I didn't think I would need to, because one of his final words to me was that he'd be back and still wanted to spend time with me.

A few days I could maybe understand. He needed to get caught up with school, and he probably got a new phone, even though he doesn't need it. But it was now Monday, a whole 6 days since he left me, and I was running out of excuses to tell myself.

A blaring horn from the street below me that I couldn't see broke my concentration. I was sitting on the balcony of my house, the penthouse, not my apartment, trying to separate myself as much as possible. My favorite blanket was draped over my legs, my nails were bitten to the quicks, and I was dozing off as the uncharacteristically warmer breeze rustled up above the city.

Peter had been occupying almost all of my thoughts since he left on Wednesday. Even the rush of emotions that I got upon having to come back to the Hillcrest wasn't enough to distract me for more than a few hours. Neither good things nor bad things could suffice on their own in terms of distraction, because I had memories of him that fell on both sides. It was a losing battle that was never destined for me to win.

" 'Lisa, are you out here?" The voice of my mother, who had come back home a few days ago, asked.

I was surprised at first that she hasn't seen me, but the outdoor chaise seat that I was laying on was large enough to swallow me twice over.

"Hey mama. What's up?"

I never have, nor do I ever want to, spoken to my father quite as casually as I do my mother. Fear was perhaps the nearest description to put with how I felt about my father. He was never one to show a lot of compassion or respect towards me, so I have very little in return for him.

Footsteps thudded lightly as my mom walked towards me, and I turned my head to her as she approached me. A smile warm enough to combat the now December temperature split her face as she sat on the foot of the chair next to my legs.

Dad had gotten home late last night, as a result of him deciding to take on yet another leg of his trip that landed him in Whittenburg, Germany. Rather than staying with his family, or really caring about us at all, he found another opportunity for more money and dove right on it.

All this did for me was prove further that this family is a second-priority for my dad.

"I just wanted to check in on you. You've seemed a little off since I got back home. Especially in the last day. Everything alright?" She prompted.

As my mom looked at me, brows drawn together in concern, the natural lines in her face looked deeper. She had this sort of timeless beauty to her, my mom did. Since as far back as my memory could reach, and the tentative parts that were enforced by pictures, she's always looked the same. Classically beautiful, thin but suiting lips, dark hair not unlike my own that was cut into a bob that fell at her collar bones.

Very little has changed about her in the decade and a half that I've been able to remember, and there was something almost comforting about it. Whether I'm looking at her now as a 19 year-old, or staring through my mind's eye ten years back, she's still the same. She's my mom, and she gives me the closest thing to love that I can find.