Agent Barton tells me, in that odd half-life of the hospital, that he doesn't remember a thing. That the last thing he can recall is his own bow poised and ready to demolish the threat, and then nothing but the light. I wish I had been granted that luxury. To me, every moment is painfully clear. The memories hide just behind my eyelids, lying in wait to catch me off guard and chill me to my bones. The nights are the worst. During the day I can distract myself, fool myself and everyone around me that I am healing, adjusting back to life as it was. But as soon as I lay alone in the darkness, I see his eyes. I feel his hands on me. I feel violated, open and vulnerable. Haunted.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start at the beginning shall we? I know, I know, exposition. It's a necessary evil. I promise it'll pay off in the end, so stick it out.
Right.
So.
Everything you need to know about my humble beginnings, you can garner from a few basic facts. My mother, Cherlyn "Cherie" Tyler, was a twenty two year old flight attendant. My father was, well himself. You seem like a smart bunch, so I'll let you figure out the nature of their first meeting. Their little foray into airplane romance left here with me and him with a hefty child support payment. After the paternity suit, of course. I don't think my dad had ever even lain eyes on me before the enterprising Ms. Tyler decided that I was cramping her style, and figured it was time to dump me on my father's posh doorstep; right into the arms of his then brand new assistant, Pepper.
God I wish I could have been there for that phone call.
My earliest memories are compiled of various nannies and excessively expensive toys. Pepper was a constant as well and, if we're being honest here, she was and still is the only mother figure in my life. As for my dad…well, he tried, but this was not a man prepared to raise a child. So when I was school aged, I was shipped off to the most prestigious of boarding schools to ensure that I returned a well rounded and educated member of society.
It kind of worked.
I of course went through the obligatory "My dad is super famous but you don't know my life so I'm going to act out" phase; dating musicians, actors (oh the stories I could tell you…) and throwing massive parties in my very own penthouse, which I had received as a sweet sixteen gift. I got most of the rebellion out of my system, and settled down enough to get accepted to Stanford. All in all, my life was pretty chill, considering.
And then the storm hit.