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CHAPTER SIX Take Me Home
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WHEN UNCLE DROPPED Cecelia off at her apartment, leaving her with a wave and a 'see you soon' as if he hadn't just beaten the shit out of her, the world seemed to crumble at her feet. She glanced up at her apartment building, going two, three, four, five stories up until her eyes locked onto her bedroom window. It was lit up with fairy lights and plastered with a few stickers Eva had insisted on putting on. The blinds were closed halfway, revealing only peeks of the room. Cecelia could picture it all in vivid detail, anyway.
She backed away, and her sneakers scuffed against the ground, accidentally crushing a cigarette. When she lifted her foot, she found it flattened to the ground, and her stomach twisted. Which was stupid, because they hadn't even happened today, but her mind wasn't making much sense right now. So, she couldn't go back home now. Mom and Dad would ask questions, and Cecelia certainly wasn't in the right state to answer them. Cover story or not.
It would have been comforting to have the hood of the Phantom suit to shield her face with, but instead, Cecelia was back in her party dress. Other than the drops of fruit punch that had speckled it after Uncle had called her, it was in a fairly clean state, which was antithetical to... everything else. Her hair, now out of its bun, was frizzy and mangled, tied up in knots. Her legs were streaked in dirt, with bits of gravel still implanted into her skin. And her face...
She couldn't see it, but she could tell it was bad. Every time she even took a breath, pain exploded into her cheek, her forehead, her nose. Blood flooded her mouth from her swollen tongue, and given the way it protested at the slightest movement, it was easy to assume that eating was going to be a pain tomorrow. Maybe talking, too.
Rubbing her bare arms in an attempt to bring some warmth back into them, Cecelia began to head down the sidewalk. She had no idea where she was going, but she did know that she just couldn't handle seeing her family right now. Not Mom and Dad, with their creased brows and downturned lips. Not Jules and Eva, too innocent for Cecelia's world. And certainly not Alex. His earlier words were even more mocking, now.
"Maybe I'm sick of being completely ignored by my own fucking uncle."
"And you never say anything. Anything to spend more time with good old Uncle Rick."
"I get that you're his favourite, but that doesn't make it hurt any less, okay?"
Everyone knew that it was dangerous to walk the streets of Queens alone at night, even with Spider-Man (ugh) on the prowl. Tonight, though, Cecelia didn't find it in herself to care. She still had her stunners in her bag, so if she really ended up in a rough spot, she could get herself out. Probably. Maybe.
Did it even matter anymore?
Sirens blared. Car horns honked. Planes rocketed by. Garbage, piss, car exhaust and vent fumes all combined into a nose-pinching stench that invaded Cecelia's nostrils. She kept walking, keeping her head ducked and letting her hair act as a curtain. Suddenly, New York's dirty sidewalks—littered with abandoned gum, more cigarette butts, empty plastic bags, and the occasional weed sprouting from its cracks—were the most interesting things in the world.
