The Masks we Hide Behind || Peter Parker [1]

forty-one: idiot!

Normally, this would be the part in the story where the main character stays up all night, tossing and turning in bed, deep and thought about their big discovery.

Nope. Not me.

As soon as I hit that bed, I'm out.

And, don't get me wrong, I'm extremely shocked and confused. After all, Peter was the last person I expected to be the Spider-Man. But, on my great adventure home, hauling Peter's heavy body back to his apartment, sneaking him in through his window and quite literally tucking him into bed and shoving his mask into the drawer of his bedside table. I was sure to pull the covers up to his chin and he literally drooled, his head hung to the side. I could only hope if his aunt walked in the blankets still covered him.

He sure is gonna he confused when he wakes up.

All the bruises, the tiny little lies that turned out to be not-so-small, all of the tiny tiffs we had over Peter randomly bailing out on things...it all leads up to this, and it seems I'm almost unbothered as I drift off to sleep.

How did I not recognize his voice?

And with that, I'm out.

God, I hope Peter's okay. It was just a tranquilizer, right? My feet slap in the puddles pooling on the concrete as I make my way to school the next day. Raindrops splat against the ground like bugs on a windshield, and all I can think about is my best friend.

What am I gonna do? What am I gonna say? Is he even gonna be here?

My stomach churns as I approach the front doors to my school, and I chew on my bottom lip nervously and I drag the door open. I wince, almost as I'm preparing for something bad to happen.

Nothing happens, obviously.

It's noisy, students crowd the halls and lockers slam shut. It's normal. Normal high school. And everything's fine until I see Peter's face, coming around the corner from the restrooms. His curly hair is messy and kind of greasy, and slight bags drag under his eyes. But he looks adorable as ever, and I start panicking when he meets my eyes. My heart pounds and my hands shake as my eyes widen and I begin to take off down the hallway.

I head straight for the restrooms a good three hallways down, and I slam myself against the wall once I'm in there and exhale, staring at myself in the mirror. I stumble towards the counter and grip the edge, digging my fingertips into the countertop as I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Such an idiot," I mutter to myself. I open my eyes and glance down at my hands. Slowly, I remove them from the spot on the countertop, and stare down at the large indents made from my fingertips. I sigh, and stare at myself in the mirror again.

This is going to be a very long day.