Every family has demons, but none of them seem to scream as loudly as they do in the Stark family.
Tony Stark is known for many things; a father being one of them. Before he was Iron Man, before he was the CEO of Stark Industries, before he was...
don't need money, don't need fame, i just want to make a change oh no! ───marina and the diamonds
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malibu, california may 13, 2010
Then he's gone just as quickly as he came. I sit there for a long time, trying to control my flow of tears. My head is all jumbled again and it's hard to think straight. Eventually I push myself off of the floor and stumble to a far away bathroom where I'm sure no one else will be. With trembling hands, I pull out an extra toilet roll from the cabinet and begin balling the paper up to press against the slice. There's blood on my hands and all over my dress, messing up any chance I have at remaining indiscreet about all of this.
As a small pile of bloodied toilet paper forms on the counter before me, I think back to when this was all my life was and it's terrifying to think that I'm going backwards. I wash off my face, but it doesn't do much good because my face is still red and puffy. The slice has stopped bleeding, but it's still way too noticeable. I don't have any other choice but to go back out there though. I'm just making my way down the long hallway when I see Dad jogging around the corner.
When he sees me, his eyes widen and he throws his hand up over his heart in relief, "Oh, thank God! Where were you?!"
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out as my heels clip closer.
As Dad nears, he catches sight of my blotchy face and the new wound I'm sporting.
He sounds scared and actually angry when he asks, "What happened?"
How easily I lie is astonishing.
"I needed a break from the party so I took a walk. I slipped and cut myself on some old, sharp doorhande. It just hurts a lot, that's why I've been crying."
He is not convinced, but he sighs, trying to calm himself down from whatever edge he is on, "Does it need stitches? Here, let me see."
When he moves closer, I instinctively flinch and step back. I lick my bottom lip and clench my jaw, angry at myself for not letting him touch me. I know he'd never hurt me. He does his best to hide the hurt and anger on his face. His outstretched hands drop to his sides as he stares at me, studying, analyzing. He knows I'm lying.
"Lees," he says very slowly, "did someone hurt you?"
My face pulls back in a surprised and annoyed expression, "What? No, Dad, I told you what happened. Do you know how infuriating it is that you're questioning me?"
"Lisa, I'm serious," his eyes narrow and his jaw sets.
"Yeah, so am I," I give him the same stubborn expression.
