Caroline Stark

The Car Crash

I've been driving for a while now. To New York City actually.

I wasn't really sure where I wanted to go, but New York seemed like a pretty ideal prospect. Stark Towers used to be there, so I sort of know my way around, but once I got to Stark Towers, I decided I didn't want to be near them. Nothing that reminds me of my Dad. Plus, that's the first place the Avengers would think to look. I'm not stupid.

So I carried on driving, trying to avoid busy streets so that nobody saw the Stark number plate or how young I looked. I can drive well enough, but the government doesn't know I exist, so it's not like I have a license. Being pulled over would really suck.

I stopped to get some coffee and some gas on the way at a middle of nowhere gas station, and I'm still awake and driving, despite the fact that it's around three am.

I drive through the deserted streets. Eerie street lamps flicker and discarded litter tumbles across the pavement and the road as I drive past. Crude and explicit graffiti covers broken walls and derelict buildings.

See, the trouble with avoiding roads where I'll be seen, is that the back alleys are full of creeps.

In a way it reminds me of Middletown where my old foster home was. The resemblance of my ghetto orphan days doesn't exactly make me feel better, but at least I'm free.

No more rules.

No more adults.

No more fucking loneliness.

I just need a plan for some income, I'll probably get a job as a waitress or something, then work my way up from there. Get some reliable girlfriends who'll take care of me...

This reminds me of Wanda and Nat, and I squeeze my eyes shut to try and get them out of my head.

They always followed the rules. Hardly ever came to visit me. Almost never took me anywhere with them. They didn't love me. They just felt sorry for me. No one fucking loved me.

Well that's going to change.

I open my eyes again. I'm met with a formidable wall and swerve dangerously, skidding on the broken uneven tarmac.

I'm met with another wall and have to swerve again, violently yanking the steering wheel and trying to keep the car under control. My breathing is way out of control and my heart is hammering against my chest. Still panicking, I try and straighten my path so that I don't scrape the car on the corner of an abandoned building.

Little did I know, around the corner was a dirty white van doing eighty fucking miles per hour.

I crashed into it, or rather, it crashed into me. Hasn't the driver ever heard of road safety? Speed limits?

I try and think fast, even if these creeps (who drive a white van, pretty sus if you ask me) are actually nice people, I'd probably still need to pay for the damage, or do something that involves the police, which I don't want to do.

So I grab my bag, kick open the door and start to run back the way I came.

Slinging the bag over my back, palms sweating, I dash down the street, hopefully in the direction of somewhere a little less shady.

I hear people getting out of the van, a gang of guys by the sounds of their voices and heavy movements.

"Get back here!" One of them yells at me. This is met with a chorus of more shouting and outrage from the others.

I chance a look over my shoulder at them; there are five, maybe six guys. One of them is hunched over the steering wheel, their head resting on the broken windshield. I'm pretty sure I can see blood on the shattered glass scattered on the crumpled bonnet.