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Falling

The Echo of the Glass

The morning after Jack’s party didn’t just arrive; it crashed through my skull like a vibranium shield. I woke up on the guest room floor, the plush carpet feeling like sandpaper against my cheek. My mouth tasted like a copper penny dipped in turpentine, and my skin felt three sizes too small.

I didn't remember falling asleep on the floor. The last thing I remembered was the bourbon—the way the amber liquid had looked like a sunset in the bottle before I’d swallowed the light.

"Cam?" I croaked, my voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel.

The bed was empty. The sheets were a tangled mess of gray silk, a silent testament to a night I was already trying to bury in the backyard of my brain. I sat up, and the room performed a violent 360-degree spin. I gripped the edge of the nightstand, my knuckles white, waiting for the nausea to pass.

I looked at my phone. 4:00 PM. I’d slept through the entire school day. I’d slept through whatever fallout was happening at the Tower. I had a text from Chloe: *We all headed to the diner. You looked like you were in a coma, so we left you. Cam says hi.*

"Cam says hi," I muttered, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. He didn't check if I was breathing. He didn't leave a note. He just left a "hi" via a third party.

I stood up, my legs trembling. I needed to get out of this house. It smelled like everything I was trying to pretend I wasn't. I found my hoodie draped over a chair, the Stark Industries logo looking back at me with a judgment that felt almost sentient. I turned it inside out before putting it on.

The walk to the subway was a blur of gray concrete and biting wind. By the time I reached the Tower, the sun was dipping below the skyline, casting long, bloody shadows over Manhattan. I didn't want to go in. I wanted to turn around, find a bar, and disappear. But I was out of money, out of alcohol, and my body was screaming for something other than tequila-flavored air.

I used the service entrance again, but this time, the lights didn't stay dim. As soon as I stepped into the private elevator, they hummed to life, bright and unforgiving.

"Miss Stark," FRIDAY’s voice was devoid of its usual warmth. "Your father is waiting for you in the living area. He has revoked your privacy override for the next twenty-four hours."

"Of course he did," I whispered, leaning my head against the cool metal of the elevator wall. "Big Brother is watching, and he’s pissed."

When the doors opened, I didn't even try to hide. I walked straight into the lion’s den.

Tony wasn't alone. He was standing by the window, his back to the room, looking out at the city he’d saved a dozen times over. Rhodey was sitting on the sofa, looking less like a War Machine and more like a disappointed uncle. Steve was leaning against the kitchen island, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"I’m alive," I said, my voice projecting a confidence I didn't feel. "In case anyone was wondering."

Tony didn't turn around. "We knew you were alive, Jane. FRIDAY tracked your biometrics to a residence in Westchester. We knew your heart was beating. We just weren't sure if you were actually in there anymore."

"I was at a friend's house. I fell asleep. It’s not a national emergency." I walked toward the kitchen, desperate for water, but Steve stepped slightly to the side, blocking the path to the fridge.

"Jane, you missed school," Steve said, his voice soft but firm. "You didn't answer your phone for eighteen hours. That’s not 'falling asleep.' That’s disappearing."

"I needed a break!" I shouted, the sound echoing too loudly in my own head. "Do you have any idea what it’s like? Being watched by an AI, being lectured by Captain America, being the 'Stark Heir' every second of every day? I just wanted to be a normal kid for one night."

Tony finally turned. He looked ancient. The lines around his eyes were deeper, and he hadn't shaved. He looked like he’d been pulled through the same wringer I had, only he’d stayed sober for it.

"A normal kid?" Tony asked, his voice dangerously low. He walked toward me, stopping just a few feet away. "A normal kid doesn't come home smelling like a distillery. A normal kid doesn't have a blood alcohol level that would put a grown man in the hospital. And a normal kid sure as hell doesn't lie to the people who would die for her."

"You wouldn't die for me," I snapped, the alcohol-induced bitterness rising to the surface. "You’d die for the suit. You’d die for the mission. I’m just the side project you can't seem to finish."

Rhodey stood up, his face pained. "Jane, that’s enough. You know that’s not true."

"Is it?" I looked at Tony, my eyes stinging. "He looks at me and sees a mistake. He sees the drinking and the partying and he thinks, 'Oh no, I made another version of myself.' Well, newsflash, Dad: I’m not you. I’m not a genius, I’m not a hero, and I’m definitely not going to spend my life fixing your messes."

Tony’s jaw tightened. "You’re right. You’re not me. Because when I hit rock bottom, I at least had the decency to admit I was falling. You’re still pretending you’re flying while you’re cratering into the pavement."

"I’m fine!" I screamed, the lie tasting like ash. "I’m fine! I’m fine! I’m fine!"

"You’re not fine!" Tony roared, his voice shaking the glass. "You’re a seventeen-year-old girl with a burgeoning substance abuse problem and a group of friends who wouldn't know how to help you if you were set on fire! You think I don't see the tremors? You think I don't see the way you look at a bottle like it’s a lifeline?"

He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. "I’ve been there, Jane. I’ve lived in that bottle. It’s not a home. It’s a cage. And I will be damned if I let you lock yourself inside it."

"You can't stop me," I whispered, my stubbornness the only thing keeping me upright. "You can lock the doors, you can take my phone, you can have FRIDAY watch me sleep, but you can't stop me from wanting to forget."

Tony looked like I’d stabbed him. He backed away, shaking his head. "I can't stop you. You’re right. But I’m not going to watch you kill yourself."

He turned to Rhodey. "Take her to her room. Lock the override. No one goes in, no one comes out unless I say so. Not even Peter."

"Dad, you can't—"

"I just did," Tony said, his voice cold and final.

Rhodey placed a hand on my shoulder. It wasn't aggressive, but it was unyielding. "Come on, Jane. Let’s not make this harder."

I let him lead me away, but as I passed the kitchen, I caught Steve’s eye. He looked devastated. He looked like he wanted to reach out, to say something, but he didn't. He just watched me go.

***

Locked in my room, the silence was worse than the screaming. I paced the floor, my mind racing. I needed a drink. The craving was a physical thing now, a dull ache in my joints and a sharp itch behind my eyes.

I searched my room, desperate. I’d hidden a small bottle of gin in a hollowed-out textbook weeks ago. I found it, the clear liquid shimmering like a diamond in the dim light. I unscrewed the cap and took a long, shaky pull.

It didn't make me feel better. It just made the world stop tilting.

I sat on my bed, staring at the wall. I felt like a prisoner in a golden cage. I thought about Cam. I thought about the way he’d looked at me in that guest room. I thought about the way he hadn't even said goodbye.

*He likes me for me,* I told myself, but the words felt hollow. *He doesn't care about the Stark name.*

But he did. He loved the Stark name. He loved the parties it got him into, the prestige of dating the "Princess of New York." He didn't love Jane. He loved the friction.

I heard a soft thud against my window.

I froze. I was on the 92nd floor. Nothing thudded against the window unless it was a very confused bird or a billionaire in a suit.

I walked over to the glass. Peter was there, clinging to the side of the building, his mask pulled up to his nose. He looked ridiculous, his hair windblown and his eyes wide with worry.

I opened the window—Tony had locked the door, but he’d forgotten I could manually override the seals from the inside if I used the emergency latch I’d helped him design.

"Are you insane?" I whispered as Peter scrambled inside. "You’re going to get caught."

"I don't care," Peter said, his voice breathless. He stood up, dusting off his suit. "Jane, I’ve been calling you for two days. Your dad told me you were sick, but I knew he was lying. I saw the video, Jane. I saw you."

"Everyone saw the video, Pete. It’s a viral hit. Glad I could entertain you." I turned away, heading back to the bed.

Peter grabbed my arm, forcing me to look at him. "It wasn't entertaining. It was terrifying. You weren't even there, Jane. Your eyes... you looked like you were somewhere else."

"I was having fun. Is that a crime now? Is everyone in this building a member of the Fun Police?"

"You weren't having fun," Peter said, his voice cracking. "You were disappearing. And that guy, Cameron... Jane, he’s not your friend. I saw him at the diner today. He was laughing about last night. He was telling everyone about... about what happened."

I felt a cold splash of ice water in my veins. "What do you mean?"

Peter looked down, his face flushing. "He was talking about you. About the room. About... everything. He was bragging, Jane. Like you were a trophy."

I felt sick. The empty, hollow feeling from the night before returned, ten times stronger. I slumped onto the bed, my head in my hands. "I know. I know he’s a jerk. I’m not stupid, Peter."

"Then why?" Peter sat down next to me, his presence warm and steady. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You’re Jane Stark. You’re the smartest, funniest, most amazing person I know. You don't need those people. You don't need that... that stuff." He gestured to the gin bottle on the nightstand.

"I do need it," I whispered, the honesty finally breaking through. "Because when I’m sober, I’m just... I’m just a disappointment. I’m the girl who can't live up to the name. I’m the girl who’s always one mistake away from being the next headline. When I’m drunk, I’m just Jane. I’m just... nothing. And nothing is better than this."

"You’re not a disappointment to me," Peter said softly. "You’re my best friend. And you’re hurting, Jane. I can see it. Please... just let us help you."

"You can't help me, Pete. No one can." I looked at him, my hazel eyes filled with tears. "I’m already gone. I’m just waiting for the rest of me to catch up."

"I’m not letting you go," Peter said, his voice dropping into that stubborn, heroic register he used when he was Spider-Man. "I don't care if I have to climb this building every night. I’m not letting you disappear."

He stayed with me for a long time, talking about nothing and everything. He told me about a cat he’d saved in Queens, about a new Lego set he wanted to build, about the way May was obsessed with a new cooking show. He didn't lecture me. He didn't judge me. He just existed with me.

But when he left, the silence returned, heavier than before.

I picked up the gin bottle, looking at the clear liquid. I thought about Tony’s face. I thought about Cam’s laugh. I thought about the way the room had felt when I was dancing—the way the world had been a blur of color and light, where nothing mattered and no one could reach me.

I took another drink. Then another.

I wasn't trying to fly anymore. I was just trying to make the crash a little softer.

***

The next week was a masterclass in deception. I apologized to Tony. I cried, I promised I’d stop, I told him I’d cut ties with Cam and the group. I played the part of the repentant daughter perfectly. I even went to school every day, sitting in the front row and taking meticulous notes.

And every afternoon, I’d meet Maya and Chloe behind the gym. We’d share a joint, the sweet, skunky smoke filling my lungs and dulling the edges of the day. Every night, I’d sneak a few ounces of vodka into a water bottle and sip it while I "studied" in my room.

I was getting better at it. I learned how to control my breathing, how to keep my voice steady, how to fix my eyes so they didn't look so glazed. I learned that if I smiled enough and made enough jokes, people would see what they wanted to see.

Tony wanted to see his daughter coming back to him. So that’s what I gave him.

But inside, the cracks were widening. I was tired all the time. My skin was breaking out, and I was losing weight. I felt like I was made of glass, and the slightest vibration would shatter me into a million pieces.

I went to another party on Friday. This time, it was at a club in the Meatpacking District. Cam had used his brother’s ID to get us in. The music was so loud I could feel it in my teeth, and the lights were a strobe-lit nightmare.

I was in the VIP booth, a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Cam was next to me, his arm draped around my neck like a heavy chain.

"You’re back," he shouted over the music, his lips brushing my ear. "I knew you couldn't stay away from the fun, Janie. The old man can't keep a Stark down, can he?"

"Never," I said, leaning into him. I didn't care that he’d bragged about me. I didn't care that he was a jerk. He was the only one who didn't want anything from me other than a good time.

"Let's get out of here," Cam said, his hand sliding down my back. "I’ve got some stuff in the car. Real stuff. Not this bubbly trash."

"Yeah," I said, my heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and dread. "Let's go."

As we walked through the crowded club, I saw a flash of red and blue in the corner of my eye. I turned, but it was just a neon sign reflecting off a mirror.

I felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. I thought of Peter, waiting for me to text him back about our movie night. I thought of Tony, who was probably sitting in the lab, thinking I was safe in my room.

I pushed the thoughts away. They were too heavy. They were too real.

I followed Cam out into the cool night air, the city lights blurring into a smear of gold and white. I felt like I was floating, drifting further and further away from the shore.

"You okay, Stark?" Cam asked, unlocking the SUV.

"I’m fine," I said, the words a familiar refrain, a mantra for a life that was slowly unraveling. "I’m totally, completely fine."

I climbed into the car, and as the door shut, the world outside disappeared. There was only the dark, the smoke, and the long, slow fall into the abyss.

I wasn't Jane Stark anymore. I was just a ghost in a denim jacket, chasing a feeling that was always just out of reach. And as Cam started the engine and pulled away from the curb, I realized that I didn't want to be found. I didn't want to be saved.

I just wanted to keep falling until there was nothing left to break.