"Antonia, you can't keep living like this!"
Antonia looked up from the pieces of metal that she took from an old gun that her dad built. She was taking it apart to give her hands something to do. She already knew how it worked, and every detail that went into it.
"Leave me alone, Tara."
Tara Jensen nee Bradford, James' older sister, sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Antonia, please. It's been three months. James wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."
Antonia flinched and glared viciously at the redhead.
"I wouldn't know. He's not here, now is he?" Antonia said scathingly.
Tara's hazel eyes flashed. "That is not fair, and you know it."
"No, what's not fair is that James was killed because I pissed off the douchebag that tried to take my ass out. What's not fair is that I lost the most important person in my life. What's not fair is that you keep bugging me and bringing up James, and you don't understand!" Antonia jumped to her feet and stalked over to the wide-eyed redhead, poking her in the chest with every word. "How would you take it if Joel was killed because you pissed someone off, huh? How would you feel?" Antonia stopped and took a deep breath, then whispered the last part. "How would you feel if you lost the person you love more than life itself, and it was entirely your fault?"
Tara took a step back, unsure what to do as the inventor's eyes filled with tears. The brunette looked away as she composed herself, and then silently pointed to the door, sill not looking. Tara left, but paused at the door to turn back to the brunette.
"It wasn't your fault, you know. They would've killed him anyway. Do you honestly think he would've let that guy take you without a fight? If so, you're a fool, and you underestimated his love for you."
Without another word, Tara swept from the room, leaving Antonia to stare at her retreating back.
Antonia looked at the bottle of bourbon that was on her desk and grabbed a glass. As she went to pour some, she paused then ditched the glass, grabbing the bottle by the neck, and drinking until she stumbled back and fell on her ass in a chair.
The more she drank, the angrier she got. How dare he leave her alone, right after he proposed? He should have just run. But no, he had to be all noble (stupid) and try to find her, make sure she was okay. And who did Tara think she was, telling her she underestimated his love for her? That's what made it worse; she knew he'd do it again in a heartbeat if he was given the chance. He'd give his life to protect her pathetic one. He had friends, family, people that loved him. What did she have? A few robots and an AI, that's what.
She stood up abruptly, so fast she almost went back down, and stormed to her room, tripping on the stairs, she'd swear they were moving and rearranging themselves like the ones in Harry Potter. When she got there, she ran into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it (she might've had a minor disagreement with the corner of doorjamb and her foot).
She looked in the mirror and examined her reflection. Long brown hair, with wild curls that never wanted to behave; pallid skin, slick with sweat; dull brown eyes, full of pain and grief and anger, framed by her dorky black glasses; and dark circles that showed how little she's been sleeping lately.
"I love your long hair. It frames your beautiful face like a halo."
She grabbed scissors from the drawer and started hacking off her hair. Lock by lock, her long hair fell to the floor in ringlets.
"You look so cute with your glasses."
She grabbed her glasses and snapped them at the bridge, then threw them at the wall. Pulling open another drawer, she grabbed her contacts she only wore at public events, like charity benefits and her disastrous birthday party, and put them in, blinking at the uncomfortable sensation.
"You're so beautiful with no makeup on."
She grabbed the makeup kit that she only uses every so often and put on mascara, eye shadow, lipstick, concealer, blush, and every other type of makeup in there.
"Jeans, t-shirts, sneakers. Stick to them."
She tore out of the bathroom and ran into her closet. Pushing the jeans and tee's out of the way, she grabbed a short dress (no sleeves or straps, just her boobs holding it up), sky blue with neon green netting over it, and light pink with yellow beading on her breasts, and put it on, with matching neon green and neon yellow 4 inch heels.
She then grabbed a bright yellow clutch and put her wallet in it along with her phone.
She looked in the mirror and smiled. The plastic smile she gave her mom, the one she gave Jarvis, the family butler that died in the same car crash that killed her parents (though he always saw through it), the same one she gives the paparazzi.
She looked like everything that James always hated, a girl that was so fake, Barbie was jealous. She loved it.
She went back to her workshop and grabbed her car keys.
"Text Rhodey, Tara, Joel, and Obie to call me Toni, with an I. And only Toni, not Antonia. And tell Obie that I want the position of CEO of Stark Industries. I'll start Monday. Meanwhile, pull up the blueprints to every weapon ever made and sold from Stark Industries. I'll look at them when I get back." She commanded JARVIS, her AI.
"Yes, ma'am." He said in a robotic voice that gave her the creeps. She really needed to fix that.
Antonia hopped in her Porsche 911and put the petal to the metal.
One hour and 17 shots of tequila later, Antonia was grinding on some nameless, faceless guy, the first guy to offer to buy her a drink.
He had his hands on her waist and was kissing her neck, licking the sweat that trailed down the valley between her breasts.
"Let's get out of here." He suggested in a husky voice.
Antonia nodded in agreement. This was what she needed, to feel wanted, to feel alive.
But as she stumbled out of the club with the nameless guy hanging off of her like an overgrown monkey, she wondered why it felt so wrong.