twisted | peter parker

chapter three

isabella lavin

I'm so tired.

Who knew following an Avenger would be tiring?

I stopped jumping from the previous rooftop to give myself a break and to catch my breath while looking down at New York. Looking down at my suit and realized how many pockets I had for weapons but none for a water bottle.

I should have just stayed back at the penthouse, but I need to make him trust me. Which shouldn't be that hard; he trusted the Avengers within five seconds.

I placed my hands on my hips, about to jump to the next rooftop, but I heard someone clear their throat making me turn around while grabbing a knife in response.

He was just standing there like a complete idiot. I scanned his posture, making me believe he had been following from me for couple of rooftops. I glanced at his hands to see a knife in his hands.

My knife.

"That's mine," I said, breaking the silence.

He looked down at the knife, then at me, "the one that you almost killed me with?"

I shrugged in response, "but yet you're standing in front of me and completely harmless."

Spider-Man stepped closer to me, making me cross my arms. We looked at each other in silence, but I couldn't see any facial expressions because of his mask. I knew he was looking at mine trying to analyze my expressions but my mask covered it.

We were both trying to analyze each other even though our faces are completely covered.

I want my knife back, and it's my favorite. I know I've been in his head for a while because he's tracing the carvings on it. Looking back at him, I held my hand to him, wanting the knife.

"The knife is mine."

"But yet it's in my hands," Spider-Man said, still holding the knife like it's his. "You know, what's interesting about this knife?"

I pulled my hand back and scoffed, "that it's mine and not yours."

He chuckled softly at my response. "No, that it's a Black Widow's knife. You tried to carve out the Black Widow symbol on it, but it's noticeable that it's still there."

That's when my heart dropped–so he did analyze the knife. I've been in his head, causing me to fully realize that there's no going back now.

Glancing at the knife, I didn't want to tell him my sob story, the things I've been through because I don't want pity. I don't want to be seen as "weak but grew past that" because I hate it when people give me sympathy.

"So you either stole a Black Widow's knife, or you are one," he concluded.

I blinked at him. He got it all wrong. I don't consider myself a Widow because I don't work for them. My father sent me to the Red Room to get trained since he and Dreykov are allies. That's where I learned all my skills from.

All the hits that I was sent to do, it was my father.

"You got it all wrong," I managed to tell him.

I could tell my sad background story, but I shook my head instead. He wouldn't get it, I know he wouldn't.

"You have no idea what you are talking about, so please give me my knife back," I said, not even recognizing my voice. I said it so harshly that I didn't realize it.

He stood silently before handing me the knife, "It's just a worthless knife."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "Glad that you know that you share a similarity with a knife then."