BRONWEN DID NOT GO TO SCHOOL THE NEXT DAY.
No, instead, she laid in the tent, listening to the world.
It was late in the afternoon when she finally emerged, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright atmosphere of the bustling city.
Uncapping the bottle, she guzzled down the last drops of her bottle of water, discarding it in a garbage can before she knocked on the door to their apartment.
She swore to herself as she remembered that her father would still be at work. Sighing, she rapped her knuckles against the hard wood of her neighbours.
"Bronwen! Oh dear, my child, come in, come in." the older lady fussed over her as she entered the apartment.

"Thank you Mrs Ravenswood." Bronwen muttered, pulling her hood off.

"Sit down, sit down." Mrs Ravenswood bumbled around the small apartment, pulling out a rickety chair for the blonde to sit on.

The visit was expected, of course, as every time her father kicked her out of their home she would shelter herself inside the neighbours. Her father knew of this, except he had no mind to stop her.
Maybe there was a little bit of empathy left in his soul.
Mrs Ravenswood lowered her voice, pulling out a chair to sit across from Bronwen, "Now, Annie, what did he do this time."

Annie was a fond nickname Mrs Ravenswood had given Bronwen as she saw the resemblance between her late daughter and the former. Annie passed away not long after she turned twenty, from a drug overdose that — as her friends had claimed — was never meant to happen. Mrs Ravenswood never approved of her daughter's activity's, but never mentioned it around her. Her daughter was happy, the lady had claimed, and that was all that mattered.
Bronwen swallowed, her mind telling her not to say, he'd have eyes everywhere, "My head." she whispered.

Mrs Ravenswood nodded and stood, Bronwen bowing her head as the lady parted her hair to look at the damage.
The blood that had slowly trickled out of a small cut in her head was only created from a few shards of the plate digging themselves into her skin, it wasn't as bad as Bronwen had feared. Bruises had slowly began to form over the course of the day, and all Mrs Ravenswood could do was remove the tiny shards and clean the blood.
Bronwen thanked her as Mrs Ravenswood set a steaming plate of spaghetti bolognese before her.

It was unlike anything she had eaten before, anything she had dumped on a plate and called it a 'meal'.
The cheese stuck to the strands as she lifted the fork to her mouth, chewing slowly, wishing that the moment could never end.

But everything had to come to an end at some point.

Bronwen flinched as she heard her apartment door slam shut, her father having returned home. He was coming back earlier and earlier each day, and Bronwen had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't working too much.
With a sigh, Bronwen listened to the thumps on the other side of the wall, waiting for her father to move to the couch, or maybe, for once, his bedroom.
"I am sorry you have to live with that man." Mrs Ravenswood said, listening to the productivity that was happening on the other side, the sounds faintly coming through the hole made the previous night, "I don't understand why you don't report him, dearie."

"If I do, he'll take me for a trip in his car."

The older lady sank into the chair beside her, a hand rested on the girl's shoulder, "Is that the worst that can happen?"

A haunted look filled her eyes as she turned to the woman, "I'll never come back if that happens."

Mrs Ravenswood caught on, and the corners of her mouth tilted downwards.
Bronwen took a deep breath, and slipped out of the woman's grasp, "Thank you so much, Mrs Ravenswood, but I need to go get food for my father when he's done. I'll see you again, and not in this condition." Bronwen forced her muscles into a smile.

"Annie, why don't you stay here the night? I'm sure your father is perfectly capable—"

Bronwen shook her head, "I don't want you getting caught up in this. You've done so much for me, thank you."

Her hand shook as she held onto the handle, opening the door, and slipping outside. The sounds of her father were muffled out in the landing, and she let out a sigh of relief as she stumbled down the stairs, counting the change from last night's dinner.
Bronwen pulled her hood over her hair and took the back way to the grocery store.

The bright lights inside took her a moment to adjust to, and the mouth-watering smell of cooked chicken filled her nostrils as she passed the deli section.
Her sneakers were silent as she passed through the store, those around her would've sworn she was a ghost, and that there was a purple tinge to her outline.
Bronwen's scar pulsed as she gripped the basket, her jumper's sleeve wrapping around her hand. With the other, she picked out the cheapest options for dinner, a cooked chicken, few vegetables, and a loaf of bread that could be toasted and made into garlic bread.
She learnt to cook from recipe books, rummaging through them in her spare time in libraries, soaking up as much information as possible. It wasn't a challenge, cooking dinner, it was the approval that she had to seek from her father that was the hard part. If she failed, she'd be sent out and would have to sleep in the tent for another night.
Bronwen made her way to the registers, being served almost immediately. The clock ticking behind her server's head struck nine o'clock when she paid for her food, the tax at the end of the docket always a surprise.
Lifting the plastic bag with her scarred hand, Bronwen took off. She launched herself into the empty street and around the corner, slipping past stray wanderers.

She did not recognise the masked shadows following her through an alley, nor did she stop to investigate the source of the sound of a puddle being stepped in. She did not look over her shoulder, only to quicken her pace and find her way to the main road once more.
Her breath hitched in her throat as she spotted the shadowy figure ahead, standing in the centre of the path, the main road only metres behind it.
Bronwen halted, shoes soaked in the puddle she stood in. Her scar flared and she gasped, dropping the bag.
She whimpered and she clutched at her right hand, bending over as the pain spread across her arm. If anyone could see her, they'd think she was having a heart attack.
That was not the case and the figure stepped closer towards her, something slipping out from under their sleeve.

Bronwen glanced up, eyes widening as she took in the advancing figure. She forgot about the bag and scuttled back, only for her to slam into another figure behind.
A second person.
She yelped as arms lifted her up, shoving her closer to the figure. The object in it's hand lit up, and crackling electricity buzzed in her ears.
"Please, don't." She croaked out, wondering whether it was for her safety or theirs.

"Please, don't." The figure mocked, it's gruff voice echoing, "Sweetheart, you don't know how many times I've heard that."

She whimpered and silently prayed. It didn't matter to who, just that she begged for help, from anyone, "Please, don't do this. Please."

The man stepped into the moonlight, and a grin spread across his face as he struck her. Her body lurched and she gasped out, the purple energy from her scar beginning to seep through her clothes.
"You've taken much from us, girlie." the man growled, "So it's our duty to repay the favour."

She pushed herself against the wall, head turned to the side to pretend she was protecting herself.
Her body jolted as strike after strike hit her, the two men grinning, they relished in her torture. Bronwen's skin was beginning to burn, and she could feel the heat from the stick as it neared her face.

Bronwen screamed, and in a flash of violet light, the two men were thrown back. They groaned as their backs hit the brick wall on the other side.
The blonde's eyes fluttered as she heard a new sound, not a siren, no, but a voice that never ceased for breath.
She tilted her head, eyes slitted as she took in the blur of red and blue as he fought the two men. Bronwen swore she had heard the voice before, but could not pinpoint it as her attackers were strung up.
"Bronwen— I mean, ma'am are you able to walk?" The person shook their head as if they were double checking whether she was really there.

Her mouth felt like paper as she forced herself to lick her lips. She braced her scarred hand on the ground, cradling the other to her chest, as she pushed herself off the ground. The man looked on in awe, and as she extended herself to her full height, she realised that there was no way this person was an adult.
No, he was a boy.
"M-my...my shopping." She whimpered, forgetting that her right hand was exposed.

She could not see as the masked hero's eyes darted to her hand before collecting her bag, stuffing the soaked groceries inside.
"Where do you live? I can take you there, and you can recover—"

"No." She wheezed, bending over for a moment to cough, "If I-I return home he'll take me for a drive."

The boy tilted his head.
Right. She thought, he doesn't know what that means.
"Is there anywhere else you could go? A family-friends, a grandparents?" He asked, wrapping an arm around her waist so she could lean on him as they walked to the main road.

Bronwen paused, the corners of her mouth tilted down, "No." She lurched forward as her foot stumbled over a rock, cursing as she felt something in her body shift uncomfortably.

"Hey, you're looking pretty bad. Maybe we should get to a hospital. If you held on tight I'd be able to use—"

"No!" She unlatched herself off him, "No, no, no, no, please don't take me to the hospital. I-I've survived worse, I can heal." She pressed herself against the wall, hoping the concrete would expand and swallow her up whole.

"You're badly hurt, I don't want to leave you alone like this." The boy stood his distance, only reaching out a hand. "Please, let me take you to a hospital."

She shook her head, "No."

Behind the mask, the boy made a face, more out of frustration than anything else, "Alright. Okay. This is fine." He muttered to himself, "Stay right here, okay?"

Bronwen nodded and watched as the hero took out his phone from some hidden pocket and dialed a number, turning his back to hide his face as he pulled the mask halfway up. She could hear him let out a sigh of relief as the phone was answered, and he hurriedly whispered.
Without making a sound, Bronwen eyed the boy carefully as she slowly began to scoot along the wall. The boy hadn't heard her until she kicked an empty glass bottle.
She swore as he turned around, muttering into the phone and hanging up.

They stood in a stalemate until Bronwen decided to sprint, clutching the bag tightly in her hand. The masked hero called out as she ran down the path, swerving through alleys as she made her way to the apartment complex and ran up the fire escape. Once she made it to the roof, she chucked her bag in her tent and hid inside.
Her breath was loud in her ears as she heard the boy land on the roof, calling out for her. It was unusual for someone she just met to already know her name, and she held her breath as he looked over the pipe, and down at the tent.
The zip was moved from the outside and she watched him — wide eyed — as he sat down in front of her. He didn't remove his mask, no, as he didn't want to risk his secret identity.
"I've got a place you can go to, but you have to come with me."

She swallowed, pressing herself against the canvas, "Is it a hospital?"

The boy shook his head, "No." He held out a hand, "Nothing like a hospital."

Bronwen allowed herself to be pulled out of the tent and to her feet. She held the shopping tightly in her right hand as he tugged her along, "What's your name?"

He turned, and she swore she could see the muscles around his mouth shift, "Spider-Man."

∆ ∆ ∆

Spider-Man was right when he said the place he was going to take her wasn't a hospital. Crazily enough, it was the headquarters for the band of heroes known as the Avengers.
She didn't see much of the inside as she was let in through a window high up on the building, escorted by Spider-Man. Whoever was on the other end of that phone call must've been quite tired to allow her into such a high-tech building. They had waited moments outside the window as the alarm system was turned off, hanging freely as she clutched onto the boy, eyes squeezed tight in fear of dropping the many stories below her.
Bronwen was greeted with a larger man that wore a scowl on his face like someone would wear glasses to see, "You're not supposed to bring strays here." The man said as he dragged Spider-Man out of the room and into another.

Bronwen surveyed the furniture around her.
It was simple, yet elegant, with the large bed set in the centre of the room, mirrors lining the opposite wall to the window. They covered the entrance to the vast wardrobe underneath, and pieces of art were hung on the wall.
The room was decorated, though unlived in.
It was far better than anything Bronwen and her father could afford.
She turned her attention to the mirror, to her stained jeans, to the holes left in her jumper from the weapon, and finally to her matted hair that could almost be considered as brown instead of blonde.
Bronwen reached out to touch her reflection, the City That Never Sleeps behind her, making her feel suspended in air as the reflection of the view did not include the glass windows.
Hushed whispers could be heard from outside the door, the boy's mask clearly taken off. Bronwen tilted her head at the thought, that the man she saw briefly knew Spider-Man so well that the latter had his phone number, and that Spider-Man was comfortable to take his mask off in front of him.
She perched herself on the edge of the bed, studying the city, back to the mirror. Bronwen had forgotten all about her father in those brief moments of peace, and she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed from the past forty-two hours. The back of her eyes stung and she allowed hot tears to flow freely.
She was silent as she tilted her head down, studying her right hand. Though, there was nothing for her to find, every time she stared at it during a sleepless night she had already known what she would find.

It was as if she was wishing it would suddenly disappear overnight.

"—she had nowhere to go! Even when I asked about her home she would freeze up and—" Spider-Man's voice cut off as the door was opened once more, a pair of footsteps stopped by her side.

A hand was placed on her shoulder and she flinched, mind turning to auto-pilot. She grabbed the hand and manoeuvred the person around so that she had the upper-hand, dropping them to their knees which a sweep of her leg.
Once she realised what she'd done, and in the corner of her eye she could see the once again masked Spider-Man watch her, she'd let go of the stranger, jumping back and into the corner. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry." She stumbled, pressing her back into the corner of the room as far as she could.

The stranger brushed off his pants as he stood, "No need. That was quite impressive. What was your name?"

Her lips parted to speak, but she couldn't make a sound as the figure turned around.
Before her was Tony Stark.
And she had just dropped him to his knees.
"Bronwen." She stuttered, "Bronwen Deirdre."

Tony nodded, "I remember watching your case on the news. You lost all your memories, right?" His eyes flicked to her right hand, exposed, and with no second thought she tucked it into her hoodie's singed pocket.

"Yeah." She edged forward, watching the man carefully. It doesn't matter whether he was a billionaire, or Iron Man, good men could turn sour in the blink of an eye. It happened to her father, and he decided to stay sour.

"How come you were taken here instead of your home?"

Her hand twitched in her pocket, Tony tracking the movement with his eyes as he shuffled back. He knew how an experience could change a person, and for a while, it was best to give them space.
Bronwen stared at the masked boy's face, "If I came home in this state he'd take me for a drive."

"And what does that mean?"

She licked her lips, "I can't say."

Tony nodded, understanding, "Okay, so, Bronwen, do you have a nickname or something?"

Her mind drifted to Mrs Ravenswood's kind face, the way she fondly thought of Bronwen as Annie, "My neighbour, Mrs Ravenswood, she calls me Annie." The man nodded again, turning to leave the room. She stepped forward, arm outreached, "Could you check if she's alright? That-That my father hasn't done anything to her?"

Tony gave her a small smile, pushing Spider-Man out of the room. His hand was on the doorknob when he replied, "Of course." He paused before shutting the door behind him, peeking his head through once more, "You can stay here for the night. Until we can figure it out, good night, Annie."

Bronwen as he shut the door, the soft sound echoing through the silent room.
She blinked, eyes tearing up as she collapsed onto the floor.
The salty taste of tears touched her lips as she allowed them to flow freely, head in hands, as she laid on her side.
With a final glance, she looked at her reflection in the glass.

Sometimes it was best to look away.