Arachnophobia ⇒ Peter Parker

seventeen: a date

     I bit my lip and peered down at my phone again. Excited bubbled through me, resonating with my shaking hands. My eyes scanned the text messages that blared from the screen below me. A date. My first one, in fact. And I was about to have it with the most marvelous boy in the world.

     Peter: Remember, the Highline at 6:00. :)

     I shut my phone and pushed it back into my pocket once again. I scanned through the mountains of people, trying to find him. His appearance wasn't one to stand out. And based on the luck I was having, I considered giving up my search. There were thousands of heads and none of them looked like Peter's.

     "Hello, Rose." A thick New York accent rang out from behind me. I squeaked as my actions were interrupted by the sensation of a hand grazing by back. Peter shifted next to me and we locked gazes. He smelt of a small amount of cologne and he wore a soft sweatshirt. He had tasseled hair and wore a modest smile. Butterflies floated through my stomach. He looked wonderful.

     The luck that I had of spending the day with him presented itself in front of me. We had a trail of countless conversations to foster, something I was ready to do.

     "How has your day been, Parker?" I asked, playfully grinning once my sentence finished.

     "Fine, I'm just having some problems with the Stark Internship."

     I watched tentatively as Peter shoved his hands into his pockets and proceeded. I glanced at him for a moment longer. It soon became apparent that his 'modest smile' was contrived. I was panged with slight worry, but we continued to walk before I could press him further on it. The flight of stairs we had walked ended, and what stood in front of us was incredible. On a strip of concrete lay lush landscaping and a long pathway. Beneath this elevated pathway lay New York City in all of its brilliance. Towering sky rises covered the view, all with arrays of shining windows and people inside that were going about their normal day.

     It was unusual, the feeling of being an outsider in a city where you could be mistaken for an ant amongst the masses. Large groups of people walked quickly down streets and mingled with themselves. While life continued on, the pathway we stood on served as a bubble. Peter was just as mystified as I was.

     For the first time in all my days in New York City, I was able to finally take a step back. I was able to view other people's lives and how they interact. For a moment, it felt good to observe someone else's situation. I had been over analyzing my own situation for days now. And I wasn't sure if I would ever be able to stop. When would this be over? Would Isaac ever allow me to return to my previous condition?

     I gazed back at Peter, whose arms were crossed. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and he appeared as though he was trying to mask his annoyance.

     "Is something wrong, Peter?" I asked, raising my eyebrows and pursing my lips. I leaned in slightly. I felt like I was walking on a sheet of wooden flooring with him, and the thought that I might press on the wrong board terrified me. Peter didn't usually look this way, and it was unsettling to see him in such an annoyed state.

     "I don't know, Rose, does something appear to be wrong?"

     My eyes widened at this comment. I felt as though something was resisting me from moving forward. My movements were timid, and I was afraid to set Peter off. He walked quickly in front of me, and he didn't bother staring into my eyes. I grabbed Peter's shoulder. His posture was stiff and he sat on the edge of a bench that had presented itself in front of us. I cautiously sat down next to him.

     "Peter, is there anything I can do for you?" I asked cautiously. He ran his hand through his hair and his face slowly deepened into a dark shade of crimson, becoming red with anger.

      "I don't know, Rose, is there anything you can do for me?"

     "Stop answering with questions, Peter. I'm sorry, but I can't read minds." At this, he scowled. I was tempted to back off, but my mind wasn't thinking straight. I had never been one to back off, and this cursed me in situations such as this one. I wasn't going to take his cheeky nature, regardless of whatever 'mood' he was in. His jaw clenched, and he narrowed his eyes.

     "You want me to be honest?" Peter spat out. I was shocked at his behavior. He had never behaved this way before. Unwillingly, I slowly nodded my head. Looking back, the action was a mistake. As they say, curiosity killed the cat. At this, he opened his mouth once more and continued, "I wish you would just stop moping around all the time."

     "Me? Moping around all the time?" I said. My jaw lowered slightly and my chest heaved upwards and downwards at a rapid pace.

     His voice had raised to a yell, and people around us began to catch notice of the situation. He then shouted, "Yes, mopping. Every time we talk you can't stop thinking about all your problems. You're always tense and you can't speak three sentences without mentioning your abusive stepfather."

     At his last words, I flinched. He didn't know what my 'stepfather' had done. He had no idea of the situation that I was in, and he was here acting as though I wasn't entitled to emotion. He reined his privileges with practically being a billionaire's child and pronounced around in his Spiderman leotard, stopping bike thieves. He didn't have his family on the line. He wasn't being blackmailed by a torturous man. He couldn't understand the beginning of my problems, and he had the audacity to tell me what I was constantly "mopping".

     I had myriads of words beginning to escape my trembling lips, but only four words managed to leave. I said, "Go to hell, Parker."

     With that, I turned around and ran through the trail. My tear stained cheeks and my flowing hair caused people away from me. I couldn't think of the consequences I would be facing now; I just needed to run away. The time that I spent running felt numb against my pulsating heart and my limp muscles. Everything felt numb. Before I could process it I had reached the end of the Highline and my feet were running down the staircase below them.

     I was ignorant for not thinking of the consequences. What I didn't know was that one of Isaac's spies had seen me.

     And in the way that the spy had told my captor, I was: "spotted leaving the Highline after a date with the boy, Peter. She was running away, upset. She wouldn't stop crying. The boy himself slowly got up, teary-eyed as well, and clenched his hands into fists."

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Okay, okay. What do you think will be the consequences? Let me know below by commenting, and I would appreciate it if you could please vote for this chapter as well. Warning extremely intense chapter ahead. Until then, goodbye!