"𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴.. 𝘶𝘮, 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯... 𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘴!"
"𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴."
Amelia was raised on sweet tea and Sunday mornings, but after the untimely passing of her father, her family trades Texas wheat fields for...
┍━━━━ ∘◦ ✾ ◦∘ ━━━━┑ Babysitting Peter Is Not A One Person Job ┕━━━━ ∘◦ ✾ ◦∘ ━━━━┙
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𖧷
Tonight has been very eventful for the young girl. Amelia has run through the hallways on a bell cart with Blake, crashed into the decathlon team, went swimming, and has the strangest vision-dream-thing. In simplistic description— her father laid on a bed in a padded room, and he wasn't breathing, when she would touch him, he would breathe and she wouldn't. In addition to this, she couldn't stop crying. The tears were uncontrollable, the unfathomable sadness welling up inside her like the blood-red water of her tears. They filled the room, and she returned to reality with the feeling she was drowning, and she very well could've been.
But she pays no mind to the dream— it's almost been a year since her father died, and nightmares are bound to arise.
As Blake washes up, Amelia lays in the soft, silken sheets of the heavenly hotel bed, curled up in a ball as the covers wrap around her.
Her mind has cleared more than she'd like, and now she has to clear it even further.
She has to talk to someone about what happened. The urge is a fire swirling inside her, and she's ready to release it, but she holds it back. The only person she can talk to is Peter. He understands super-hero struggles, he understands Amelia's past, and he won't let his loose-lips slip. He'll nod, say a short, one-lined response, before letting her ramble on.
So quietly, like a mouse on Christmas eve, she unravels the towel which pulls moisture from her still wet hair, hanging it on a ledge before slipping on her clean socks and Birkenstocks. She walks lightly, treating the ground as if it's a glass cloud she's treading on, as she passes the bathroom, slipping out the door and quietly closing it behind her.
Peter shares a room with Ned down the hall, with five other doors sandwiched between the room she and Blake reside in.
Amelia walks slow, pressure on the outsides of her feet, though it feels loud all the same.
Eventually, the agonizing path has been traveled, and Amelia finds herself in front of the hotel room, anxious. The backs of her index and middle finger wrap against the wooden door lightly, through which she can hear the muffled movement and shuffling of one person; Ned.
He opens the door an inch, the lock securing it still attaching it to the wall as Ned quizzically frowns under it. "Amelia? What are you doing here?"
Amelia scoffs lightly, a tone which heavily implies that her soon-to-come words are all in a joking manner. "Well if I ain't wanted here then I'll just head on back to my-,"
"Wait," Ned shuts the door, the golden chain clanging against it as he jiggles the lock free, "what's up?" He steps to the side as the door swings wide open, revealing two very different sides of the room.
