Arachnophobia ⇒ Peter Parker

twenty two: ever tried knocking?

      The water poured in sheets on the black pavements of New York City. The sweet scent of fresh raindrops floated through the streets. My shirt clasped onto my slender frame, and it pulled me down like an anchor. I trekked on, feeling my shoe caving through each step beneath the pressure of my foot, emitting a squishing noise. Once I reached my apartment building, I threw my narrow body into the entrance. My chest heaved as I lazily walked forward, leaving a trail of puddles with each step I took. Water fell off my drenched figure, spiraling in all directions. Once I reached my flat, I flung open the door and trudged inside. Finally, I had privacy. Checking to see that my cheap linen drapes were slung over my windows, I carefully roamed around my kitchen.

     Once I was sure that the outside world had no view into my apartment, I peeled my heavy jumper off my shivering body. Alone, I stood in a sky blue tank top. My toned midriff was exposed to the cold air of my room. A shiver ran through me as the sharp chill of the building pecked at my figure. After biting my lip and grabbing the dripping cotton of my sweatshirt, my legs scampered over to my room, begging for sheets of warm water to envelop them.

     I paused for a moment before turning the handle to my door, a small creak on my floorboard had startled me. After assuring myself that I was overreacting, I threw it open.

     Eek! A loud yelp left my mouth as I saw the figure of a bulky man sitting at the foot of my bed. I pronounced back and practically clasped under my loose footing. My feet slowly led me back to the room, wanting to reassure that what I had seen was right. Bald head, bulging arms, tight-fitting tank top; I knew the identity to which these attributes filled. This was much worse than some dingy street robber, this was...

     "Hello, Rose. I was going to ask you to get ready for tonight, but seeing as you've already taken the liberty to rip off your sweatshirt, I don't think there is much point in asking." His chilling voice stabbed through the bubbly mood that I was in. Though I was beyond terrified at the situation, I couldn't help but acknowledge what he had just said. Was he mocking me for undressing myself in my own apartment? He stood there, looking at me with his sinister grin. I was fifteen and this man was how old...?

     "Oh, I truly do apologize. Next time I'll do a cross-check of my apartment before walking around in, dare I say it, a tank top. I understand how difficult it must be for you - me barging into my own room in my own apartment," I said, lacing my voice with an unapologetic sarcasm. I pressed my arms firmly against my hip bones. Taking a valiant step forward, I continued, "You disgust me. A man in his late thirties over-sexualizing the body of a fifteen-year-old."

     At this, a loud chuckle left his lips. I tapped my foot impatiently, wondering why he felt the need to elongate his response. He slowly lifted himself off my bed, casting his dark shadow over me. He had a looming figure, and he stood like a skyscraper. A deep smirk covered his chiseled features, and he took a large step forward. I hunched over, intimidated by his confident stature. He was acting like a middle schooler that was hiding a secret from his crush. Isaac slowly reached forward and grabbed my neck. His large thumb began to stroke my jawline, causing goosebumps to appear over my bare arms. I wanted nothing more than to flinch back, but I knew that I couldn't, not now.

     His finger slowly trailed down, grazing over the scar that remained from when his men had slit my throat. The scar sizzled under his touch, and a sharp pain shot through my neck. His smirk widened, and I had to bite my lip back in an attempt to suppress the cry that pushed against the edge of my mouth. I blinked back the stinging sensation that swarmed my eyes. I refused to ever cry again in front of this despicable man. A fire burned through my eyes, and I straightened my posture. Isaac let one last chuckle leave his mouth.

     "Rose, I'm nineteen years old."

     At those words, my knees buckled slightly. Four years apart? We were four years apart. My parents used to be four years apart. What did that make us? The fact that we could have gone to the same high school or even could have even been friends was daunting. Under the circumstance that we were in, I could never have guessed that he was so young. I wondered many things, especially the type of person he was when he was my age. Everything somehow made sense now. His smooth features, the way he sometimes faltered, the subtle unsure movements that he made when he thought that you weren't watching him. His personality had fooled me. One thing was sure: he was wise beyond his age. However, I was unsure whether or not the sage nature to his personality was caused by the fact that he himself had taken upon the burden of self-growth or if he had been forcefully forced out of his childhood by his experiences.

     Regardless, his past was hidden behind the mask of those ink eyes. I knew that I would never know what lay behind them, but I could only hope that he had one shrivel of life in him. That whatever had tormented and beat the life out of him had left one small saving grace.

     I wished this, but it was a wish that would never come true. We stared at each other, and for a brief moment, I could swear that I felt a wish to break out of character. But this stage was life, and breaking out of character could cost it. I hated this, everything about this. But after all, we were all puppets hanging loosely from the strings of a master craftsman. Which craftsman could be so sick to doom us to an eternity of hell on Earth? It was one long play with no resolution, just puppets forced into deeper entrenchments of agony. I wished that I could break out of my part, and ask Isaac all the questions I had for him. But I knew that they would continue to be questions without answers.

     So, I followed along with the charade.

     I shakily walked over to my closet. My hand reached in and struggled to take out the dress. You could hear the shifting of fabric as my dress stubbornly stayed in its place. Once it emerged from the black abyss of all my other clothing, I stormed over to the restroom and slammed the door. The image of the dress briefly slipped my mind, and it felt as though I was seeing it for the first time all over again. It was beautiful. I slipped it on, feeling the smooth fabric press up against my skin. The dress accentuated every curve that strengthened my body and fit tightly around my small torso and tall figure. Once it was on, I felt wrinkles of loose fabric across my back. I wasn't willing to contort my hands in an attempt to zip it up so I slowly stepped outside. The cold air slammed against my body, and my eyes scanned the room to find Isaac. He was sat comfortably on my bed, arms sprawled across my bed frame.

     "Could you please help me?" I said timidly. He nodded his head and walked swiftly over to me. I turned my back around and grabbed my hair, pulling it to the side. I shivered under his touch. His hand trailed my visible spine. My arms shuddered and I felt the fabric close tightly around my physique. I couldn't stand this. The man had ruined my life, and now he was zipping up my dress. I hated him, and the thought of him touching me made me gag.

     He stepped back and looked at me, his eyes ran up and down my figure. After a couple of minutes like this, he slightly opened his mouth and said, "It fits."

     After everything he had just put me through, all he could say was that my dress fit. Unbelievable. I couldn't believe him. The man was full of audacity and had the pretentious spirit of a Harvard professor. Isaac started to walk over to the door. His footsteps contrasted greatly from when he had first entered the room, they were much softer. Quite possibly, it was the fact that I had just discovered that he was less than half a decade older than me, or maybe I was finally getting comfortable with the man - whatever it was, I was feeling audacious too.

     I signaled over to the door, ushering him to leave. I said, "Damn right, it fits. Do me a favor and leave. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

     I grinned playfully at him as he left the room. My words were quite possibly an onset of euphoria about the night to come. Drawing me out of my conversation, a quiet ding sounded next to me. I leaned over to see what the text read. My hands grasped the device and I read over it.

     Peter: Rose, I'll meet you at Stark Industries in 30 minutes.

     A small voice spoke in my head, reminding me that my relationship with Isaac had come with terms and conditions. It whispered, Time's up Rose. The show must go on.

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So, pretty intense. How are you all feeling about Rose and Isaac's relationship? Do you all hate Isaac? As always, please leave any questions or comments below! Also, please favorite this chapter if you enjoyed it. It would mean a lot to me. Love you all and I'll see you tomorrow! Goodbye. <3