"Just go away, [Y/n]," your dad snaps, clearly not in the mood for questions about an assignment he'd promised to help you with earlier in the day. "I'm tired."

"You...You promised you'd help me," you defend, your voice softening. "I don't know anything about angles. You said--"

"--I'm not in the mood," he repeats, brushing past you. "Ask your mother."

"She's...She's..." You don't finish your sentence. Your mom wasn't home, but no logic was going to get your dad out of one of his moods. All you can do is scurry back to your bedroom with your tail between your legs, feeling anxiety and shame build up in your chest.

Your back slides down your bedroom door, the textbook held tightly to your chest. You can feel it building in your chest, the sadness that wants to burst from your body in sobs. It's a weight on your heart and rib-cage you always feel after a bad talk with one of your parents, a feeling that makes you want to do nothing but run away and cry.

You do the next best thing. You fumble for your phone and text your boyfriend Peter.

You: Hey, can u pick me up rn?

Peter: Right now? As in right this second?

You: Yeah. Plz.

Peter: Is something wrong?

You: Fight with dad.

Peter: Be there in 2. Ily.

You put your phone in your pocket without responding. You know Peter will be at your bedroom window in a matter of minutes thanks to his super-powers, but you can't help the feeling that heightens as you hear your dad walking past your bedroom door. He's never physically hurt you, and normally your relationship is fine, but his mood is unreliable sometimes.

Peter has always been your saving grace on those days. He truly is your superhero.

To Be Continued...