Believe in yourself

Chapter 2

There is the sound of the TV news in the background as I enter the house. I take off my shoes and take the fluffy slippers that mom insists I wear in the house and leave my jacket on the hanger.

I turn the corner and see mom sitting on the couch, watching TV intently. She is **very** attentive.

And as I turn my gaze to the screen, I begin to realize why she is **so** attentive. It's a news story about one of Tony Stark's engineer creations. A reporter talks about an attack on the base where the weapons created by Stark industry are kept, and some modifications have been made to one of the missiles.

Damn it!

Now I know what the deal is with the missile in Afghanistan. It seems that it was not an attack in the true sense of the word, but rather a suicide. It was done in such a way that the blame fell on Stark. Because the weapon was his, it had his logo on it.

But who would be so crazy as to want to kill a group of innocent people who were just doing their job? In a war zone...

One of Grandfather's men was sent there and never returned. Grandfather told me, because he had no choice, the whole story, exactly as it was.

I'm not a fan of the news. I only liked to listen to what my grandfather told me.

I shake my head and look away from the TV. I decide to leave mom to her world and head to my room.

But it seems she has already sensed my presence.

"Jas? You're back already?"

Already? I look at her confused. High school classes usually end at this time.

"Yes, mom."

She was supposed to come pick me up, but apparently she forgot.

"How was it?"

How was what? To find that my mother is not coming for me, or that Peter has disappeared again since the last two classes?

"As usual. New lessons were taught, we were made to solve some equations..."

I shrug. It really was a boring day today.

"Do you want to eat something?"

I stop again, turning to her. I'm really hungry and my stomach is already making a weird sound.

"Yes, please."

I smile and turn back to her, leaving my backpack on the couch.

Maybe mom is just having a bad day.

Her father died a few days ago. None of us expected this.

Grandma died a few years ago. We didn't expect that either, at least I didn't.

You can have a worse day. A day when you feel like you can't do anything and feel like everything is crashing down on you. I have days like this quite often.

And my mother was the responsible adult, she always took care of me and still does.

I have no right to be angry with her.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

We are seated at the dining room table, each holding a glass, but none of them contain alcohol. I could have opened my can of Coke and drank straight out of it, but mom insisted that I put the juice in a glass. And I like her decision better. She has strawberry syrup with mineral water.

I like to eat with my mother, breakfast, lunch and dinner. Even if they are later than usual. This shows me how much she cares about me and that she still does everything she can to make me feel good.

After 17 years of raising a child alone, without the help of the one I continue to call my father, even though I've never seen him, she hasn't given up on me. She didn't let me know that she didn't love me. I didn't feel like a burden to her.

She wanted me, even though when she had me she was still young, a little older than I am now.

I would like to ask her about dad. At least one small detail.

But I won't do it. Because I don't want to twist a knife in the wound.

Maybe he didn't love her and she was just a distraction for him. But mom sure loved him. And even if she doesn't now, I know she cares.

I'm lost in my thoughts again and when I hear mom clearing her throat I turn to her, carefully holding the glass in my hand, so as not to spill it on me.

"I know you and your grandfather had a…very special relationship." Mom clears her throat again and I can see from her look that she doesn't feel comfortable talking about it. But for my sake she does. "He basically took your father's place. And I'm glad for that." A small, sad smile appears on her face as she says these words. "So I decided to keep the house. After all, it was his. And you were his. So it belongs to you. With everything in it."

She gave me a quizzical look. I think she already knows I got my hands on one of Grandpa's things.

"Well… I'm glad to hear that. Because I already need his garage." I chuckle and drink my juice, glancing at my mother out of the corner of my eye.

She looks lost again. She seems to be thinking about something. Maybe... To someone.

Although I don't want to leave her alone because I like spending time with her, I get up from the couch and take the glass from her. The bottle of syrup is finished and there is very little mineral water left. And my dose of cola was really small, just enough for one glass.

"Mom?" I say softly before I walk away from her.

"Yes, honey?"  She seems to be next to me again.

"Do you want to rest? I'll wash the dishes and do some cleaning."

Anyway, I don't have that much homework to do. And it's going to be a while before I can get to grandpa's house.

"Are you sure, Jas?"

I give her an encouraging smile and motion for her to get up and go to her room.

"Yeah. I'm fine here."

You have done more for me than washing a few plates and glasses.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Two hours later I had another cane of soda, washed the dishes and put them in the cupboard, then swept and mopped the floor. Mop that I used as a microphone because a song I used to hum with MJ popped into my head.

And I did my chemistry homework. Homework that took me half an hour and I'm still not sure I did it right.

Peter isn't that good at chemistry either, but at least he still has a functioning neuron and can remember the formulas the teacher gives us as homework.

I can finally sit comfortably in my big bed, decorated with many small fluffy pillows. But I don't use any to sleep. I still have the stuffed puppy that I use as a pillow. The gift from grandpa.

I pull out Grandpa's journal from under the bed and lie on my stomach on the bed, lifting my legs which I move in the air.

His name and some initials are written on the first page. There's also a signature that I know for sure is his.

I flip through the pages until I find something that catches my eye.

On the page on the left, it's drawn in pencil... No, it's charcoal. Real charcoal.

It's drawn in charcoal some kind of suit with long wings. I say **suit** because I find it hard to believe that a human has wings. It's kind of a dark figure.

A sketch, only it's black. Not the way I make them, using a few colors.

But that's not what matters. It's the fact that the letter **F** appears to be written on the chest of the suit.

The drawing doesn't give me much detail, and I can't find anything on the other pages to help me understand what it means. But that doesn't stop me from staring at the drawing for more than ten minutes.

If I use my imagination a little, I can redo the sketch. And maybe I'll add some colors to it.