Wrong Number, Kid

☏Chapter 6☏

TW: Brief implication/mention of suicide. Nothing big, but it's suggested at some point.

Arabella's pov:

I don't normally cry, so when I do, it's a pretty big deal. And I'd say right now it's more than called for. 

I was on my own, it was raining, and all it would take to break me completely is getting mugged or something. So I just let it out and found a bus stop to chill at. 

I decided to cross the street to go steal some food from a local grocery store. I hate stealing, and I would never do it normally, but this was an emergency and I haven't eaten since Tuesday, and it was currently Friday. I began to cross the street, but a car almost slammed into me. I hated everything right now, but dying wasn't an option. 

"Hey- Arabella?" I looked up. Tony Stark almost hit me with his car. Happy also jumped out to make sure I was okay. "Are you alright? Did you make it home safe?" Happy asked. "Wow, Happy is showing genuine emotion for once in his life." Tony joked. I smiled weakly. "Seriously not the time. Arabella, are you okay?" I nodded. I couldn't talk right now, or I would probably break down in front of them. Not gonna happen. 

"Why are you out this late?" Tony asked. "It's only six at night..." I mumbled, keeping my eyes downcast to hide the tears that didn't look like rain. "You have your bags with you." Tony deadpanned. "Yeah, look I really should be-" "Are you running away." Tony asked, but it was more of a sentence than a question. I shook my head. "I kind of got kicked out..." I admitted. "Okay... Oh- your arm is bleeding. Here, if you come to the tower, we can have Bruce look it over." "Look I appreciate the offer-" "Then it's settled. Get in." There was no point in arguing with him, plus my cuts really hurt, so maybe I could just ask for some bandages and let that do it's thing. 

I stayed absolutely silent and somehow held in my tears as we drove to the tower, and even as we arrived. Somehow I even kept my composure as we walked through the tower to the Medbay.  "Okay, just roll up your sleeves." Bruce instructed. I just rolled up my sleeves and tried not to cringe at the gasps. It looks really self inflicted when you don't know the context. "Look, it looks bad, but I swear there's more to it." I tried to reason. "Did you hurt yourself?" Tony asked. I shook my head. "Look, I don't want to get into it, but it wasn't me and it's not what it looks like." "Okay, right now we need to focus on keeping these clean. How old are these?" Bruce asked. "About twenty, thirty minutes?" I said, sounding very uncertain. "How did these get here? I mean like what was used?" "I think it was a pocket knife. Can't be sure though." "Okay. Can you bandage these up yourself, or should I do it?" Bruce asked. "Can I do it in the bathroom?" I asked. I needed to fix my stomach too.

When I finally got that fixed, I got a good look in the mirror. My mascara was smudged, and my hair was kind of messy. Great, now I look like a hot mess in front of my boss and my favorite scientist. Fun. 

I nervously stepped out after removing the smudged makeup. "Everything good?" Bruce asked. I nodded. "Perfect. I already arranged a guest room for you, and everyone else knows you're here, but they don't know why. That's up to you. Now, follow me." Tony led me to the elevator, and eventually to my room. "You really didn't need to do this..." I mumbled as he took me to the room I'd be staying in. 

This room was nicer than anything I've ever seen. Don't get me wrong, my parents weren't poor, but we sure as hell couldn't afford anything like this. The bed looked comfortable and soft, and the bathroom was the size of the kitchen at my parents house. "Do you have anything to sleep in?" Tony asked. I just nodded and he left the room, which was good. I need a moment alone. I changed into something comfortable, but in all honesty, nothing would be comfortable with these kinds of bruises. 

Tony's pov:

It doesn't make sense. The scars on her arms looked self made, but they also looked sloppy and rushed, like she was desperate to draw blood or something. She even admitted she didn't know what exactly made those scars. It was either a desperate attempt at something, or she really was telling the truth, and it wasn't her. It's just the way she also ran in front of my car... none of this is adding up. I'm tired, and it's so much easier to just go work in my lab. But I also have Arabella to deal with. Not that I don't want to help her out, it's just that I don't get this. It's so strange.

Arabella's pov:

I brushed my teeth and flopped down on the bed, and instantly passed out.