The Last Boss' Daughter

“He’s not a superhero, honey. That man is a danger to all of us. I need you to tell me more. Where does he live? Have you seen where he lives?”

“Oh, no. Asgard is very far away.”

“Asgard,” she repeats, jotting something down on a piece of paper I just noticed on her lap. “Is that the name of his apartment complex? Does he live in an apartment?”

I snort and collapse in a fit of laughter, because my mom is so silly. “He protects me. He makes me happy.”

She falters, her hand pausing in whatever she’s writing. She looks down at me, and a strand of long dark hair has somehow made it in my mouth with the rolling and crawling and long hair. I spit it out, pushing my hair out of my face and staring up at the ceiling.

“I feel a little queasy,” I tell her, suddenly aware of a tummy ache.

And then I throw up all over the clean, peachy pink carpet.

“You need to lower the dose.”

My eyes are still closed, but I’m aware of my mother’s voice—persistent, almost desperate.

“The dose is fine.”

“It’s too strong,” she says. “It shouldn’t make her sick.”

“That may not have been the medicine,” a male voice says, dismissively. Indifferent.

Pietro.

My heart leaps and it’s a struggle to keep my eyes closed.

“You didn’t see her—she was completely out of it,” my mother tells him.

His voice is dry. “Yes, I heard. Thor.”

I can’t see my mother, but her tone sounds defensive. “It could be a code name!”

“It’s a fucking Norse God,” Pietro returns, slamming something. “Nothing she said is useful.”

“We don’t even know if he’s connected. I’ll ask her again, I’ll get answers, but you need to lower the dose.”

I hear his heavy footfall. “She won’t talk to you if she’s off the meds. Not even about her goddamn superhero boyfriend.”

“Not off the meds, Pietro, just less. The doctor said….”

I strain to hear what she says, but they’ve left the room and they’re too far down the hall.

I’m afraid to open my eyes. I don’t know if I’m alone. I don’t want anyone to know I’m awake, because I’m not completely clear on what the actual fuck is happening.

I remember the exchange she referred to. I was high out of my mind, rolling around the floor and eating my own hair. Jesus Christ.

They drugged me? With what?

How long have I been here?

The lack of power over my own body is starting to get to me, so I stop thinking and slow down. Take a few subtle breaths, just in case I’m not alone in the room.

I get my shit together and peek under a shuddering eyelid.

Clear.

My eyes open and I look around. I’m not in my bed in my old room. I’m on a cot—I think it’s a cot. It’s narrow and white and sort of hard. Like a hospital bed. I’m in a lower level spare room, the now-blue one with a nautical painting hanging above the bed.