Bless The Broken Road

Epilogue

Waterfalls.

Peter closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath and thought of waterfalls. He imagined the sound of the water running, almost deafening as it prepared itself for the fall off the cliff. He thought of how the water splashed down onto the rocks below in such a violent way that it sent water shooting off in different directions. It was almost scary to imagine until he thought of how the water then drifted calmly back into its usual current, swaying and meandering like nothing had happened.

Whenever Peter got too scared or the bad memories of the events a few months ago plagued his mind, he closed his eyes and dreamt of waterfalls. Of how scary they were . . . and then how calm they became. Dr Hart always said that his coping mechanism was somehow very mature for a kid of his age. But with Peter slowly moving towards the age of 12 every day, he disagreed with his therapist's thoughts.

It was usually at night when the thought of waterfalls was needed the most. In the darkness of his room, Peter couldn't help but be reminded of the hours he spent paralysed, eyes closed and fear consuming him as the world believed he died. If he strained his ears hard enough he could almost hear his Dad's sobs and Ned's begging words for him to wake up.

"I am awake!" He wanted to scream but his mouth would be clamped shut with fear. The darkness always enveloped him and each night his eyes closed, he would once again be laying on the museum floor with his evil teacher lurking over him. . .

"Peter?" Dr Hart's voice cut through the boy's thoughts, shutting off the bad memories and brining him back to the white-painted walls of his therapist's room. Peter had argued that he didn't need a therapist ever since his return from the HYDRA base but his Dad had set his foot down so 2 times a week, Peter found himself on the same white sofa, opposite the same grey haired man.

"Sorry, i—uh— zoned out," he cleared his throat, trying to blink away the embarrassment. In another situation, Peter didn't care if he zoned out. But here, with Dr Hart scrutinising him with such intensity, each time Peter felt as if he slipped up almost gave the therapist another sign of how screwed up he was.

"Do you do that a lot?" Dr Hart leaned forwards so his elbows were on his knees. "Zoning out?"

Peter wasn't sure what was the best answer. Yes or no? What did the man want to hear? What seemed like a more normal response?

In the end, Peter settled on shrugging.

Dr Hart hummed before scribbling something down on his notepad quickly. The man must be in his early 60s Peter assumed, with grey hair and a thick, bushy moustache, he played the part of the child therapist who was equal parts kind yet patronising.

"How is school going?"

Peter tried not to think about how his class still stared at him like they could see a ghost despite the whole museum-incident having occurred a little over 3 months ago now. He tried to ignore how his teachers always treated him like he was an angel, smiling too widely when they passed him and giving him more praise than others. He tried to ignore the conversations he overheard about how he was a zombie or even possibly some religious symbol.

To the outside world, Peter had died. To his class, his heart had stopped.

"It's going okay," Peter lied. He thought for a second before letting a smile grow on his lips. "Ned is still as hyper as always."

"And how is Ned handling you being back?" Dr Hart nodded, encouraging Peter's slight happiness of the subject.

Peter chuckled lightly. "Really well. He lets me decide who i want to be when we play Jedi vs Sith at lunch— i always want to be the Jedi."