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010. hell is a teenage girl
𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The air around her felt thick with the weight of the battle just passed, smoke and dust swirling in chaotic patterns, choking the space like a fog. Her fists clenched at her sides, flames flickering faintly around her knuckles, though they seemed more like dying embers now. The drones were gone, vanished into the sky like specters, leaving behind nothing but silence and ruin. It should have felt like a victory. But it didn’t. The emptiness settled in her chest, a hollow ache that gnawed at her insides.
She wasn’t done. She wanted to be done. To feel the satisfaction of knowing she had given everything. But the thrill of the fight had dissipated too quickly, leaving her stranded in this strange stillness.
"Hey," a soft voice broke through the haze, familiar and grounding.
Ingrid turned sharply, her heart lurching in her chest. Peter stood a few feet behind her, his suit battered and streaked with grime, the mask in his hands, revealing a face smudged with dirt, sweat, and blood. His eyes, though tired, carried a softness that cut through the destruction around them. A small, weary smile tugged at his lips, like he had been waiting for this moment just as much as she had.
“Is it over?” Ingrid asked, her voice rough, strained from both the fight and the emotional turmoil swirling within her. The adrenaline buzzed beneath her skin, making it hard to settle, hard to breathe.
Peter nodded, stepping closer with a cautious ease, his own exhaustion evident in the way his shoulders sagged. “Yeah. For good,” he said. His gaze drifted over her, taking in the bruises, the cuts, the tension still rippling beneath her skin. “Are you okay?”
The question lingered between them, heavier than the dust hanging in the air. Ingrid didn’t answer immediately. Her flames flickered one last time before snuffing out completely, leaving her hands cold and trembling. She exhaled, a shaky breath escaping her as she finally allowed herself to feel the weight of the battle. The silence echoed around them, unsettling and vast.
“Yeah,” she muttered, though the word felt foreign on her tongue. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince — Peter or herself. “I guess.”
Peter’s face softened as he stepped closer, and without a word, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. For a split second, Ingrid stiffened, unused to such tenderness after the chaos, but then the warmth of his embrace began to thaw the ice in her veins. The tension that had coiled tightly around her muscles began to melt away, leaving her feeling vulnerable, exposed. But safe.
“You did good,” Peter whispered, his voice barely audible above the distant sounds of the city still recovering from the chaos. For the first time in what felt like hours, Ingrid allowed herself to close her eyes, resting her forehead against his shoulder. The weight of the world, the battles, the constant fight for survival — all of it seemed to fade, if only for a moment.
