I'll let you win (a falsettos x marvel au)

Chapter 24: Abbie Jean's lament

not going to lie to you, I just had to include a 1st person perspective bc they're so much fun to write 

also, we haven't heard much about Abbie Jean so here we are.

I'm so sorry if you're an American reading this, I'm keeping my fingers crossed for y'all but you never know. In better news, this is written directly after the previous chapter (it's slightly confusing sozzers)

There's something poetic and broken about my Dad and I don't think anyone's ever seen it before. Looks can be deceiving and in his case, where he looks so perfect and put together, I don't think anyone's seen him cry other than me.

I learnt a long time ago that what's unsaid is more important than what's said. People bring their guard down around me because I'm the girl whose mute, I'm the girl who can't tell anyone their secrets. They underestimate me.

But I don't think I've been correctly estimated my entire life.

My Mama told me the truth about my Dad when I was little, and I think I'll always thank her for that. She told me that I wasn't meant to be on this earth, but I was the best thing that happened to her. She told me that his name was Whizzer, and that he was handsome in an almost angelic way. That he held a halo above his head and when he smiled, the bleak room would turn golden, and he could always hold the attention of everyone.

She also told me he didn't know about me yet, but one day he would and one day he would love me.

She was plucked from the earth far too soon. We travelled a lot because of her job, she was a consultant for a very rich guy, he would ask her to go to new galleries across the world, pick out paintings and sculptures of all kinds that she believed would make money in a few years. We went almost everywhere, Europe, Australia, Africa, and everywhere we went she would teach me about their cultures and their art.

Marvin underestimates Whizzer. He's much smarter, much, much smarter.

My childhood was a mess of different cultures, but in the best way possible. Like the way a Jackson Pollak piece somehow can fit perfectly into any room. She taught me about her heritage, taught me about how important my hair was to our culture. But she also taught me some Jewish values, knowing that even though Whizzer didn't practice the religion, it was important I knew where I came from.

And as she always reminded me, it was from a place of love.

My heart breaks every time I think of her final trip because I begged and begged to go with her. I had school work that I wanted to get out of, but she refused, leaving me home alone, and like any teenager left home alone, I hosted a party to spite her.

It wasn't major, I never really had close friends, but I texted a couple of people about it, and they invited their close friends, and they invited theirs and theirs and theirs. My mum got a call as she made it to the airport, my neighbour complaining about the noise.

What a fucking hypocrite.

She left me a voicemail that she was coming home.

Then the taxi was hit by a drunk driver.

My heart breaks every time I think of her final trip because it's my fault she's dead. It's simple and honest that way. I'm the reason my Mama's dead.

The first time I met Whizzer I was sitting in a police precinct, drunk and destroyed inside, listening to the voicemail over and over again, in shock as this dark, hollow hole opened up in my chest.

I didn't notice him walk into the room. I didn't notice him speaking to the desk sergeant.

But he tapped me on the shoulder and in my intoxicated state, I thought he was an angel sent to take me too, relieved that I would be with her again, until he said, "I'm Whizzer." And all my mama's stories flooded back.