WILLOW , peter parker

01. sick of seventeen.

chapter one: sick of seventeen.
act one: gold rush.

Jamie should have known better trying to skateboard on her own in the dark.

She could have blamed her overflowing emotions, her absent father, and her workaholic mother. She could have blamed Midtown High School for overloading her with assignments and expecting too much from small-minded teenagers. She could have blamed her best friend for flaking on birthday plans, leaving Jamie at home with a box of pop tarts and the greedy family dog.

But Jamie had no one else but herself to blame, she took the unused ebony board (dubbed Satan's Hearse) out of her room and slammed the front door shut. She was the one who was crying while attempting to balance as she flew down her street. And she was the one who tumbled onto the pavement, ripping her jeans and gashing her legs.

She had only been seventeen for less than a day and she had already been struck with violence.

The moonlight was minimal, a meek glow cast upon Forest Hills through layers of New York pollution and smog. The thin March clouds didn't help, though the air was warmer than it had been in months. Winter was finally beginning its leave and allowing spring to sneak through the wind, tendrils bringing green grass and warm sunshine weaving through New York. However, warmer still meant moderately cold, and Jamie hugged her sweatshirt closer to herself as she cursed and winced while inspecting her damage.

It was almost midnight, Jamie's mother was bound to be home soon. At least that was the hope. There was only half an hour till Jamie's birthday was over. Surely that meant something to her mother, right? At least her father called. He didn't have his time with Jamie for another week, but he left a brief message and Jamie knew he was trying. And for that, she hated him a little less than she normally did.

While Jamie wanted to rain hellfire on Matthew Murdock for being the father he was, she couldn't bring herself to be exceptionally cruel to him. When he was around, they had a good time together eating Thai food from the place down the corner and exchanging stories about Hell's Kitchen and Queens. That only allowed the guilt to creep into Jamie as she resented her father for blasting off for a good few years. God knows Matt would simply play the blind card, bat some puppy dog eyes at his daughter and win her good graces once more.

"Shit," Jamie cursed, flinching as she tried to examine her scraped knees. The cuts were deep enough, adorning her kneecaps and palms. Little scratches grazed her fingers and her arms. Her head hurt like hell, but Jamie wanted to rule out a concussion purely for the sake of her mother never finding out. The last thing she needed was to worry an anxious person. Her mother worried enough just fine on her own.

With a wobbly stance, Jamie grabbed Satan's Hearse and pulled herself up. With a groan, she realized she flew past her house by a good distance, meaning an exceptional amount of walking had to be done to get inside. It would be Jamie's twenty-first birthday by the time she got through the front door, and with her luck, Sammy would bark until his throat dried up.

Although this was Forest Hills, Jamie was wary about hobbling alone in the dark. Did she think about this risk when she bolted out of her house? Absolutely not. But at the time, the only thing on Jamie's mind was freedom. And freedom came at the price of possible hospitalization for a concussion.

Jamie's head was beginning to pound violently. It pulsed against the edges of her skull, pain laced with mild concern creeping through her brain and behind her eyes. She ignored it and kept on trudging.

As she tried to block out the aches her body was radiating and the sound of church bells in her ears, Jamie heard a distant voice. It sounded far away, almost underwater. But it was still a voice calling out to Jamie from the shadows, which was enough to make her heart pound furiously in her chest.