Little Spy | Peter Parker ✓

[10]

I SWEPT A DARK HAIR BEHIND MY EAR AND CONTINUED MY TREK down the school hallway, carefully watching the people around me as they interacted and made their way through the day. My arms and slim fingers had been enveloped in a large sweater and they cradled the fabric closer to my figure, a soft knit rubbing between my fingers, a reminder of what lurked beneath. For even as Emily, nothing could truly be erased, not the scars and war-wounds of battles fought late into the night, 'training sessions' with a deadly lust for blood attached to the name.

Though Inga was smart, she had made the mistake of allowing her anger to rule her in specific situations. She only dared to get physically violent when we duelled, however, and despite her care to avoid wounds that were both visible or too drastic, there were moments where one of us moved wrong and her hands fell badly against my skin, creating marks that were not necessary to be seen by the public. There was nothing unbearable about the wounds, I had experienced so much worse before and her actions were out of the moment and not from true desire of pain, but they were still visible in sleeveless tops or shortened trousers.

However, I did not mind much. The 'scratches' were high enough to be covered by a loose sweater, and I had had enough scars to know that in that case, it would only take a couple days to heal over. The pain was a welcome reminder of who I was, too, what was at stake if any failure was to be had, and achingly, brought nostalgia when I laid awake, alone at night. As though it was hauntingly, horrifyingly welcome.

None of that mattered, at that moment or on that day, however - Freya's thoughts or torments were not Emily's, a fact I would be reminded of constantly.

"Emily?"

I did not look back. There was no need to bother with the motion when her voice immediately brought recognition. I knew exactly who it was coming from. The slightly high tone gave it away, not to mention the way her perfectly kept shoes clicked on the less than immaculate floors of Midtown High School. The girl seemed to have a very specific walking pattern; click-click, click-click, click-click. Perhaps it was unintentional, or a subconscious attempt to prove something to her peers. 

She edged up behind me, her footsteps growing louder, and I finally dared to recognise her. "Hello."

Gwen did not stop for a single second. She continued to follow closely behind me, surprisingly not accompanied by Mary Jane or anyone else. In her arms a maths textbook was clutched, it's faded blue cover ringing a tiny bell in my head. Her ebony locks, braided into two pigtails, bounced with her steps. 

"Is there something wrong?"

"No." 

That was sort of the truth, even if my movements might not suggest it - a flaw I would only think of later. For, I was not mad at her or really anyone at that moment, perhaps a little irritated at the attempt at conversation, but that came with the territory and lack of desire to make any, finding no interest to communicate with the students of Midtown without a need to. And Gwen was fine, she was certainly far better than others I had met at the school, albeit jovial in a manner I could not understand, but certainly no one I could find to truly dislike. She was just no one to be interested in, not my target and no one of direct interest to my business.

And I did, actually, try to make that clear.

Still, she followed me, books clenched in her arms as she struggled to keep up. "I just want to apologise for what was said the other day, about Peter? We didn't mean anything about it, it was just...a joke, you see."

I stopped at my locker and slipped out my textbooks, finding relief in hiding my expression from her. "It is fine. I just do not have an interest in relationships, as you put it."