AN: Mild swearing

"I told myself, don't get attached, But in my mind, I play it back, Spinning faster than the plane that took you, And this is when the feeling sinks in, I don't wanna miss you like this, Come back, be here" - Come Back... Be Here (TV), Taylor Swift

…

MJ can't stand it when things don't make sense. For example, when No-Shirt-Shane comes in the diner in the bitter cold and asks for a slushie. Or, when Ned claims he didn't build the entire Lego Death Star alone. Of course, he did. He doesn't have other friends, and I'm not into Legos.

But, alas, that seems to be the norm these days. No matter how hard she tries to figure things out and put the pieces together, she doesn't understand why this broken Black Dahlia necklace means so much to her and why she can't bear to take it off.

Her brain craves order. When the books on her shelf are not in size order, MJ fixes them. When there's an out-of-place smudge on her sketches, she erases it. But her memory can't seem to be organized, ordered, or even orated.

There's nothing there sometimes–no words to relay, no images to sort through, no voices to place. Sometimes she knows exactly what she did (like hang out with Ned and his Lola) but never why or what happened after. It was as if someone had just taken an eraser and blotted out entire sections of her life.

And ever since she met Peter and was saved by Spider-man (for almost the 3rd time in her life... she thinks), things made even less sense. Why would she feel a tug on her heartstrings at simply touching Spider-man, and why would Peter's eyes seem so familiar and homey when she was sure they'd never met?

Even more confusing was how he always got her to open up in conversation. When she talked to Peter, her walls broke down even more than they did with Ned. Peter made her vulnerable, and honestly, MJ was a little threatened by that.

So, she told herself that all of this investigation and shenanigans were in her self-interest and for her own security. She tried to push down any personal feelings toward Peter and Spider-man that included anything besides wariness (such as attraction, yearning, curiosity, intrigue). None of that.

But, even so, she still always wished Peter stayed a little bit longer at the diner when he visited. When he walked out the door, her heart fell, a sensation she didn't even know she was capable of feeling.

It was getting hard to sleep these days. MJ wasn't sure if it was a result of almost getting robbed (she doubted it), all of the mysteries surrounding her memories, or even regular shit like college. There was nowhere else to turn in modern medicine, as the doctors had concluded that the memories were lost either from the physical or emotional trauma of the fight on the Statue of Liberty and that there was nothing else she should do.

MJ took a deep breath. According to her phone, it was close to 4 a.m. No diner to wander to, nobody else to talk to. She really should've been asleep, but she was met with tossing and turning for the last few hours instead.

A usual remedy for MJ's insomnia was sketching. It was equal parts calming, stimulating, and reassuring. It was there for her when nobody else could be, and the pencil and paper always felt the same in her hand.

She was familiar with art therapy. Hopefully, the sketchbook would suffice.

MJ let her hand move along the paper. She listened to her heart because, despite her appearance, her heart was quite active and lately quite influential over her decisions.

So, she drew. When she was satisfied enough to process what she put on the page, she had to do a double-take.

It was a messy drawing–she would readily admit that–but it was a depiction of deft hands around a cup of coffee from the diner. At the top of the page was a small, awkward-looking smile. She drew Peter without even realizing it.

MJ didn't take this as a sign that she liked Peter. She didn't even know anything about him. But she did think this was some sort of Freudian slip.

Some part of her subconscious must have memories of this kid. It would be the only plausible explanation for the connection she felt to him and his uncanny ability to get her to talk.

But then why had he never said anything?

The first day he came in, he appeared to hesitate before ordering.

She's lost. MJ doesn't like feeling lost.

She has to take a deep breath to recenter, but she already feels a sinking feeling in her throat and chest. It's unsettling to be so confused about her own life.

MJ never would've expected to be in this situation–to be missing parts of her own goddamn life. How do you miss a life you don't remember?

In a fit of emotions, she takes a pillow and throws it against the wall.

It's 4:30 in the morning. She should try to sleep.