Ch: 227 [Cindy meets Peter]

Ch: 227 [Cindy meets Peter]

Cindy shrugged and let her head fall back onto the cushions of the old sofa. Static in the television was a better reality than the forced laugh was. It was some kind of weird noise that echoed inside, in her crazy thoughts, and for one reason, she thought to just leave them there. At least then she would have something to listen to at the end.

She shuts her eyes. The sounds of the bunker grow louder, clearer, in her vacant mind. In this place, the bad air chokes up into her lungs, warning her not to linger too long. She hasn't seen sunlight in... how long? The days blur by with an emptiness not much different from nothing.

Cindy pulled herself off the couch feeling exhausted, as if the gravity within the bunker had magnified with time. She moved to that messy pile of paper and bent down, stretching her arm out for the ball she had thrown just before. She flattened it against her knee and looked at the half-written page in front of her.

"Am I brave? Or just a coward," she whispered, tracing her finger over the words. She crumpled it again, this time tighter, and held it in her fist.

She stood up and paced the small confines of the bunker, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor. Her gaze darted to the keypad on the wall again, the door it controlled looming like a giant, unspoken challenge.

"You can go," the voice in her head sneered. "You should go. What is the purpose of all this if you feel hollow inside?"

"No," she whispered softly, shaking her head at the same time, strongly. "I can't. If I go..." Her words trailed off. She did not need to say another word. She already knew the answer. But the doubts kept coming, without letting up. 'What if Morlun was dead? What if something - or someone else - had already taken care of him? What if the world outside had moved on, leaving her out there as just a recollection of a battle already won?'

The what-ifs seemed never-ending, like a sea of questions that could overwhelm her.

"Stop!" Cindy yelled, shouting across the bunker. She picked up the closest thing she could find, a small metal stool, and threw it into the corner of the room. It crashed into the wall and fell to the floor with a great thud.

She collapsed onto the floor, her chest heaving for breath. Her hands shook as she looked at the mess before her. The stool was lying on its side, one leg bent from where it had hit the floor.

"I just couldn't take it anymore," she whispered, her eyes streaming with tears.

It was one of her many firsts, crying. For years, she had not cried for what would never again be hers: the life she lost, the friends whom she would never meet again, and the future that her decision snatched away from her. She cried for the girl she once was... Full of dreams, full of hope, and full of fire inside her that no one could put out.

She sat back as the tears stopped, shuddering in her with fatigue. Blowing across her palm from the back of her hand, she looked again at the keypad.

It was still there, waiting for her.

"No," she said, this time definitively standing up to clean herself. "Not yet."

But something in her had been affected. Doubts were still there, but they had taken hold and had bred into a small seed of rebellion.

Cindy walked over to the journal and picked it up again. She flipped to a blank page and wrote:

[Day Unknown]

[I'm still here. I'm still alive. I'm still waiting. But maybe, it's time to stop waiting.]

"What are you talking about? How do you know all this?" Her voice wavered, uncertain. "How can I trust you? Sims said Morlun is immortal, he can't be killed."

"Sims lied. Morlun isn't an immortal but a vampire-like being, or you can call him a vampire, surviving on life essence. Once you drain that life essence out of him, he dies like any other creature," Peter said, his voice calm, reassuring. "I am Peter Parker, the one who fought with Morlun and defeated him."

"What about Sims?" She asked. "Why isn't he here?"

"He's dead. That's all you need to know. Now, c'mon, let's get out of here," Peter extended his hand towards Cindy, offering it to her.

Cindy hesitated, her eyes darting between his face and his hand. Finally, after a long pause, she reached out and took it.

His grip was strong, but not crushing, as he helped her to stand up. She was trembling, both from exhaustion and relief. "So, what now?" She asked, looking up at him.

"Now, we go home."

"Home?" Cindy repeated, uncertainly. "I don't have a home. My family is dead, and my friends—I don't even remember their faces..."

Peter smiled kindly at her. "Don't worry, you'll have a new home and new friends. You're not alone anymore, Cindy." He put his arm around her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

For the first time in years, Cindy felt a faint flicker of hope rising within her.

Tears filled her eyes as she leaned into Peter's embrace, letting out a sob of relief and gratitude. Peter held her close, gently rubbing her back, and for the first time in years, she felt safe, secure.

"It's alright," Peter whispered softly. "Everything is going to be alright now."

Cindy burst out in tears as she clung onto Peter for dear life, letting all the fear and anger and sadness wash over her.

Peter let her cry, not saying anything more, just holding her while she wept. He knew there was nothing he could say to take away her pain; all he could do was offer her comfort and support.

As Cindy sobbed, Peter's words echoed in her mind: 'You're not alone anymore, Cindy.'

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