[Kübler-Ross | Stage Two | Anger]

[daretodo]

The kitchen table's been overturned and the splintered remnants of a chair are scattered across the floor, along with broken plates and glasses, silverware. In the living room, a bookshelf's collapsed in on itself, the end table responsible for its destruction still hanging through the slats of one of the shelves. One of the couches has been torn

Comments

[crossyourpath]

It is a dance, this thing. One where she knows the steps and might actually be kind of good at it, but it will never be one that she enjoys. Felicia Hardy has said good-bye to more than her fair share of people and missed her opportunity for a farewell with even more. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that something is amiss. That that something is bad, but in a quiet sort of way. The sort of way that Felicia hates more than anything else because it can't be fought against. It simply exists creeping in and ruining everything

[daretodo]

If only one of them had to stay, I would never have picked Felicia. The shock of white blonde hair that greets me when I stalk out of my workshop and down the hall to investigate the noise at the door should come as a relief -- I haven't lost anyone else -- but instead I'm struck by the unfairness of it all. That she should be stuck here instead of my wife is cruel. A mockery. Mary Jane had made a life here, with me but Cat's true home'll always be in the city, in the chase.

Left alone again, my every nerve raw from grief, I know it's where I belong, too, back in a world where my every day is a fight for people who'd rather see me persecuted than be saved. It seems so hopelessly naive now that I'd ever want to stay here, that I'd ever want to rest. I don't get a happy ending; it's a miracle I've lasted this long.

Standing my ground at the edge of the hallway, not stepping into the mess that is the living room, I look at Felicia, my gaze inscrutable for all that it's clear I've been crying. My voice comes out hoarse.

"Cat got your

[crossyourpath]

Felicia's always had a knack for surprising people. From time to time she even manages to surprise herself, to slip things in unexpected and unannounced. This isn't a place that she wants to be stuck in, a fancier sort of prison that seems to be missing its walls. Everything is so final, the people so oddly content it is enough to make her want to scream. But she's stronger than that. She's not going to let her expectations get in the way. This is the hand that she has been dealt. She might as well play it the best that she can.

He's been crying. She might occasionally run head first into insensitivity but she's not stupid. Who can blame for shedding tears? It's the normal thing to do. His words don't even make her flinch. She simply straightens her back an carries on.

"You see any cats besides me?" she takes a quick look around. "Don't be an $**#!@&, Peter. It doesn't actually suit you."

[daretodo]

The insult catches me so by surprise that, for about a second, there's little I can do than stare at her, mouth agape. I blink once, twice, and scoff, her absolute gall shocking me into silence. After a moment or so, I finally come to my senses, anger replacing my disbelief. I press my lips together in a thin line, and swallow, thickly. I'm not going to stand in my own house and be called names.

"Get out."

[crossyourpath]

Felicia has always been fearless. The things that scare her are buried so far down that she forgets about them, in that way that people tend to forget things that are always there. They make her stronger. They make her want to carry on.

Peter Parker doesn't scare her. At least not right now. He just makes her sad.

Rolling her eyes, she touches her temple for a brief moment before shaking her head. "Fine. You know what, Red deserves better than this," she pauses and gestures towards the room, already taking a step backwards. "I don't know much, but I know that. So fine. Have a nice sulk."

And just like that, it's sorted. She misses people and what they mean, but she can't watch Peter being the destructive one. That's always been her thing and she doesn't feel like sharing it which is why she doesn't look back as she walks away. But that's not new either.