Arachnophobia ⇒ Peter Parker

thirty seven: sunlit sky

     "No, no, no. Isaac, no. You're still alive. Open your eyes. C'mon, Isaac," I mumbled under my breath. His blood covered my face and his body was limp in my arms. His eyelids were slanted open slightly and in them lay the pitch black pupils that he had once used to look upon the world. His usually tan skin was vaguely tinted in white. His once tense muscles were now completely loose. Half of his scalp was drenched in blood. A thick wound oozed clots of crimson from a large bullet wound. His hand still gripped mine tightly. I yearned for any sign of life. Two of my fingers pressed into his scorpion tattoo. He had no pulse. He was so weak, so lifeless.

     It was too late. He was dead in my arms. The man in my arms would never feel love ever again. Tears dropped from my eyes in a constant, reserved stream.

    Peter came over and touched my back. He said, "Rose, it's going to be okay, but we need to get out of here."

     His words made no sense and his presence made no difference. I was terrified of myself. I had a man's blood on my hands. I had murdered someone. The day that I had dreamed of for so long had finally come and now I was sickened. I didn't feel free. I wasn't liberated. I would forever see the image of Isaac's body falling lamely onto the ground beneath me. It was shattering to see someone that I had known to be so vividly alive now lifeless.

     I thought that by killing him I would melt away the shackles that he had bound me in. I was foolish to think that he would not follow me for the rest of my life. He would never leave me. It never crossed my mind that maybe he had wanted it that way. Maybe he had taken me in his arms one last time so that I would never forget his soft embrace.

     Peter supported me on one side while Steve supported my other. They raised me from the ground despite my protests. I was laid on the couch. I felt cold water touch my lips and then travel down my throat. I felt Steve's hand press against my back as he tried to alleviate the pain. I felt Peter's words enter my ear as he attempted to fix the part of my heart that had already been broken. But none of it registered and none of it helped.

    They congratulated me for defeating a "villain", and it became even more apparent how alone I truly was. I had no one. I could never put into words the relationship that I had with the corpse across the room. Even worse, they could never understand. No one could ever know what it felt like to understand someone so deeply while also hating them. The triviality of our situation, our actions, and words, were insignificant.

    The two carried me out of the room. Both Peter and Steve took me up in their arms, and we left. They entered a hallway with a girl that was broken beyond repair. With Tony stumbling behind, we all somehow emerged at the head of the rest of the team. They all stared at me. They burned through my blood-stained exterior. I shouldn't have been worth fixing. But, they were the Avengers. And to them, everyone was worth fixing.

     The second we left the facility, my shaking body was engulfed in sunshine. The sun still breathed its warm golden haze and the world continued to turn on its pathway in the brilliant blue sky. People went home to their families and complained about the five o'clock traffic. The trees still released crisp air and produced sweet nectar. That was the beauty of life. Even when everything seemed hopeless and it seemed as though you had nowhere to turn to, the world continued to go on. And once you finally recovered, if you ever did, you could return to an unchanged world and continue on as though nothing had ever happened. You could still peer up and watch the luminous stars disappear into the night, and you could still feel the gentle afternoon breeze combing through your hair. And that was enough.

     That sunlit sky was my first step to recovery.

     The rest of the day was a blur. I received congratulations and hugs from everyone around me, but I still couldn't control the sense of helplessness that overwhelmed me. We entered Stark Industries. Tony, freshly sober, told me to clean up. We were going to dinner.

     And suddenly, I was alone. I drenched the hand towel that I had picked up in scorching hot water. Crashing waves of steam flew from the pure white fabric into the stale air. I touched it against my face and ravenously wiped away the blood. The cloth stung my skin as I tugged at every inch of my body. As much as I scrubbed, I could still feel the dry sensation of arid liquid and the freshness of his blood. The porcelain white basin beneath me became stained with the bright red. I jerked at my skin over and over again until it became flushed in a raw shade of rose.

     Finally, my skin was no longer burdened with the harsh stinging of Isaac's blood. The last part of him that had touched me was permanently expelled down the drain. The tragedy was no longer mine. I remember lifting the corners of my mouth upwards in a desperate attempt at a smile. It didn't work. My eyes, which had lost their brilliant glint, gave me away.

     I left my room and entered the hallway. Most of the Avengers were waiting patiently for the rest to arrive. Some were hunched over and on their phones. Others engaged in brisk conversations. They all seemed unfazed by what had happened.

     Tony jogged in and raised his arms. He said, "Who's willing to go for some shawarma?"

     "Let's try something new for a change," grumbled Natasha from the other side of the room. Steve and Bucky chuckled softly in the corner. The boss wasn't getting his way. Tony looked around the room, impatiently awaiting an answer.

     For some reason, an old restaurant came to my mind. I remembered the subtle light and the loud mariachi group. I piped up, saying, "I have an authentic Mexican restaurant that my family used to go to when we visited New York."

     And so we went.