Arachnophobia ⇒ Peter Parker

twenty six: tequilla and phone calls

     Isaac felt a sharp stinging sensation bite his throat as the thick alcohol ascended downwards. He felt numb, too familiar to the burning sensation of strong tequila. It was too late, he had already opened the gap between his thirsty lips and let the drink run out of the smooth shot glass that had contained it. A clank rang out, and the bottom of his glass kissed the hardwood table that he set it on. Isaac pressed his palms in front of him and groaned loudly. Water collected in the corners of his eyes, and a buzzing rang through his ears.

     He looked over at the bottle on his desk; it was the origin of all pain and all beauty. A small sting for the price of a night to escape. A thin layer of alcohol lingered at the bottom of the bottle. The wrapper that was plastered on the front read, "Tequila" in shimmering silver letters. Isaac had chosen this tequila because it did the best job the quickest. The burn that it produced felt like fire licking the edges of his mouth. The effect that it gave left him wondering the next morning what he had done in the trance that it had put him in. He loved it. As a young child, he remembered running around the old factory off the outskirts of Oaxaca, hand tightly grasped onto his mother's dangling purse of finely woven fabric. His sweet childhood had melted in the scorching hot sun, and he had spent the majority of it with his family in the land of his origins, Mexico. He thought of none of this now. To tell the truth, all he could think about was his sweet Rose.

     He couldn't help but imagine her beautiful figure, and her warm smile. He hated himself for it, but he could never manage to get her out of his head. He hated that he had allowed himself to become victim to something so unfamiliar that he couldn't recognize it as it danced in front of his eyes: love. In his sober state, the thought would have never crossed his mind. However, he was running off six shots of his heaviest tequila and his buzzing head filled him with blind inhibition. Isaac stumbled across the room and clasped onto his couch. He wasn't one to make a fool of himself when he was drunk, but he could become an awful flirt. He scrambled for his phone and speed dialed Rose, bubbling with the butterflies that pushed themselves in cyclical motions around his already unsettled stomach.

     Rose was alone with Peter, and the two faced each other. Their conversation drifted past the table that divided them, which was flooded with a variety of accessories for baking. The two were clad in aprons and had skin that was scuffed with marks of flour.

    "Peter, I told you that we needed to add extra baking soda. Look at this. It's practically a smoothie. What would Gordon Ramsay say?" I said, scolding him for not following the cookbook. He threw his hands up in guilt before quickly reaching down and dipping his finger in the mixture. Peter then raised his hand back up to his mouth and tried the batter.

     "Tastes fine to me," He said, walking forward. Both of his hands snaked their way around my hips and he gaped at me with a foolish grin. I shook my head, predicting what he was about to do. I jokingly yelled at him to stop, giggling and teasing him. He finally leaned forward and kissed me. I shut my eyes and couldn't help my lips as they curled into a smile. A lot had happened since our conversation last week, and all of it was for the better. He said, "You're a great kisser."

     "And your lips taste like egg," I said, pulling away from him. I grabbed the bowl and tediously began to pour the mixture into the cupcake tin, meticulously placing the perfect amount of batter in each division.

     A ringing noise blasted out from my phone, causing me to tip over the bowl and spill a string of the mixture. I groaned and placed what I was doing down. I read the caller ID, Isaac. He was always one to kill the mood.

     "You're going to make me clean this mess up all by myself?" Peter said, winning to me. I walked towards him and hugged him tightly, before pulling away and answering my phone. I sauntered into the next room and pressed the mobile phone against my ear.

     What I heard next shocked me. Isaac said, "Rose, Rose. I'm sorry for everything. Forgive me. I don't deserve you. I love you, Rose. Forgive me."

     His words were slurred and repetitive. I cocked an eyebrow and sat down at Peter's desk, propping my legs up. It was easy to deduce that he wasn't in the right state of mind. His words were practically buzzed with alcohol. I had two choices here: either take advantage of Isaac's drunken state or make sure he got to safety. Everything he had done flashed through my head, and I remembered what a cruel place the world was. Then again, I wasn't one to be cautious about people's feelings.

     "Isaac, what was your past?" I asked, cutting straight to the point. I wasn't going to fool around, especially not when I had business to get to. I needed to find his weakness.

     "Rose, my past... I don't want to talk about it." He hesitated and continued. "I grew up in the facility I run now. My dad owned the place when I was young. I don't remember much from then. I only know that the smell of blood makes me feel at home. And Rosita, things weren't easy. My mom never realized what his job was. She believed his dingy work ID and fake rimmed glasses. One day, my dad was in one of his rough tempers, and I cracked on him, telling my mom the truth. He murdered her in front of my eyes at age fourteen. Ever since that day, he would come home and beat the hell out of me. I couldn't stand it anymore, so I..."

     "Isaac," I nervously said, nerves jumping. He had taken a long pause. I was begging for an answer.

     "I murdered him. And ever since then I've tried to ignore what I did, tried to wipe my memory of him. I guess that I've been so caught up in the legacy he left, that I've become him. Oh, Rose, change the subject."

     "What are you going to do next?" I asked firmly, almost forcing the answer out of him. My breath was unsteady and my heart pounded in my chest, but I knew that it wasn't time to be weak. I was nervous. I was scared that he would wake up in the morning and remember what he had told me. I heard his footsteps on the line, he was pacing. His breath was thick and audible. I could hear Peter outside of the room, turning the kitchen faucet on and off.

     Isaac chuckled quietly and told me over the line, "I'm going to see how your first day goes at Stark Industries."

     Inquisitively, I probed, "How?"

     "Through the tracker on your phone," He chirped back. His words made me shift in my place, uncomfortable with the fact that he was tracking me. I suspected it but hearing his chilling voice say the actual words made it seem like reality. My brain pondered what question I should ask him next, knowing that it was only a matter of time until he fell into a deep sleep.

     "When are you going to kidnap him?" I finally asked.

     He responded coolly before returning to a regular tone, "Peter? Soon. Now, will you stop talking about him? Let's talk about us. Me and you, Rose."

    "What does soon mean Isaa--"

     Before I could finish my sentence, I was cut off with static noise. I yelled in anger and threw my phone onto Peter's bed. I ran my hand through my hair and jumped out of my chair. How long was it going to be until I got answers? Before I could continue that thought, the door swung open. It was Peter, and his facial expression was a mixture of confusion and pain.

     "Who the hell is Isaac, and who is he going to kidnap?"