Amy sat on her bed in silence, staring out the window as the sounds of traffic filled the space between her thoughts. She hugged her legs to her chest tightly, resting her chin on her knees. Amy’s eyes were still puffy, and a heat lingered on her face. She blinked repeatedly, as her vision blurred, still staring at the rust red bricks of the adjacent building. She glanced down at the Icon funko pop next to her, it’s head poorly glued back onto its body. She’d thrown it at him. The last gift she’d ever gotten from her Dad, and she’d thrown it at Lucas in a fit of rage. She buried her head into her knees, feeling her insides twist up in a mixture of guilt and self-pity. She couldn’t understand why she was pitying herself. She didn’t deserve it, and it only made the guilt feel that much worse.
She let out a haggard sigh, and looked back up at the wall, eyes wet. She was the worst. She’d disrespected her dad’s memory and insulted the one person outside of her family who knew about all this. Not even, he was actually involved, helping her live her dream. They’d gotten close, she felt like she had a real friend, someone she wasn’t hiding anything from. And she’d turned on him in a second. The memories from earlier flashed through her mind. Amy flinched, not wanting to recall. She’d been so angry, so upset that she couldn’t even remember what Lucas had said. She just remembered that he’d looked so distraught. She’d forced him into this, convinced him that he had to fight crime with her. She’d thought his concern about getting hurt was silly. And then the second she’d gotten her wings burnt to a crisp she’d lashed out at him.
She still didn’t know what exactly she’d been angry about. That he’d run? That she’d had to save him and lost her wings? He’d just been afraid. He’d told her that. He’d tried to tell her so many times. She’d seen it in his eyes when she’d first fought the fire girl. She’d ignored him till it was too late, and now everything was a mess.
She’d called to apologise. She’d called so many times. He’d picked up for a second. She’d been hopeful, but he’d hung up immediately after hearing her voice. And now she couldn’t call him. The phone had rung before but now it just told her the number was unavailable. It probably meant he’d blocked her. How was she supposed to talk to him now? She knew he went to that fancy prep school, but she couldn’t just show up and ask to talk to him. That’d just be weird, right? But she needed to talk to him. To tell him how sorry she was. To tell him that she hadn’t meant any of it; she’d just been angry and afraid.
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She scoffed. Ironic.
She’d lost the one thing that had made her special, and she’d lashed out at everyone around her. Maybe she had deserved to lose her wings.
No.
That was wrong. She’d done everything she could to be a good superhero. She’d sacrificed time with friends, grades, her mental health, and any form of free time she could imagine, just to do a better job at this thing. Even her family had gone above and beyond. They’d done so much to help her fulfil this silly little dream, and now it was gone. She wasn’t angry at any of them, or even really the supervillain. She was just angry at the world, for giving her all this hope. For giving her the chance to live out her dream and just snatching it away. She’d finally had an actual passion. Something she was good at, that she enjoyed, that she could dedicate herself to.
She’d never really had anything like this before. She wasn’t good at anything, aside from fighting and she didn’t even really enjoy that. She wasn’t like her sisters. She couldn’t make people happy like Heather could, she didn’t have her creativity or skill. She wasn’t kind like her mum, she clearly wasn’t kind-hearted or smart and she definitely wasn’t supportive. And she was never going to be able to help people the same way Rachael did. Before she’d gotten her powers, she’d just messed about at school, hung out with her friends and gone to the boxing gym every Thursday. She’d kept her fascination and obsession with heroes under wraps. She’d kept the daydreams of beating up bad guys and protecting people all to herself. Because she hadn’t been strong enough to protect anything. Then the whole hero thing had happened and it had been so amazing. She’d helped people, felt actually useful for once, and even made a great friend.
And now it was ruined.
She could probably still be a hero without her wings, but it wouldn’t be the same. If Lucas ever spoke to her again, and they somehow ended up sorting everything out, she’d just be a burden. She’d just have to become a fire-fighter. That had been the plan from the start, right? She glanced at her wall, looking over the pictures she’d taken all around the city. Pictures of the Bears hideouts, from high up in the sky and of cool things she’d seen during patrols. Her eyes settled on the selfie of Lucas and her, that she’d taken on the Flatiron. Amy wiped her eyes sniffling. At least it had been fun while it lasted.