fearless || peter parker

seven || espionage, and the definition of a hero

My apartment was locked.

This was no surprise, really, considering that Madison was paranoid about leaving it unlocked even when we were home. I guess she had a thing with burglars or something, although we've never been robbed. No one in the building has been. We all respect each other, except for the odd woman on the fifth floor who always has her television blaring and doesn't keep the many men and women she brings over a secret. Sometimes I do wish the building was more soundproof.

I fumbled in my pocket for my keys, and hastily unlocked the door with my wet fingers. I was careful not to touch the door, so Nitara pushed it open for me. I used my elbow to try and find the light switch on the wall to my left, and after bumping a picture frame a few times, I successfully turned on the bare lightbulb attached to the ceiling and the connected ornate lamp in the corner of the kitchenette.

The navy walls of my apartment were illuminated, and I heard a thump come from my bedroom followed by four feet tapping the floor. I could hear each step individually, going tap tap tap until Chewie waltzed around from behind the couch and sat in front of his food bowl, waiting for his dinner which he knew was late.

"I'll feed him," Nitara said, just as I opened the cupboard under the sink that we kept his diet food in. "You go to the bathroom and clean yourself up."

I wasn't going to argue with Nitara's proposition. Not only was I covered in New York's signature city street dust, but blood still soaked my shirt, and I could feel the stain getting larger.

I tried to crouch as I walked to feel better about it, with my lower arm clenched between my stomach and my chest. This felt like reverse period cramps. I didn't bother closing the bathroom door, but I did kick the bath mat away from the middle of the small room so I wouldn't stain it. Madison would go nuts if I did- if there was one thing my sister liked, it was a quality bath mat and I didn't want to ruin the only one in our household.

I heard kibble tumble into Chewie's bowl from the main room, accompanied by a happy meow as I peeled off my shirt. Nitara could walk in any second, but I didn't care. She has already seen my back.

I stood in front of the cabinet mirror, blood already having found its way to the black marble floor beneath me. My stomach was entirely red, but I could see a deep scarlet line running parallel to my waist that told me the gash was not as bad as it appeared to be at a first glance.

I sacrificed a worn facecloth off the clean rack that would probably never become clean again from the stains. I ran it under the tap, though through the running water I heard Nitara turn on the television from the other room. Once the cloth was wet, I wrong it out and wiped the blood from my skin, which quickly transmitted from me to the fabric. I was right about the cut- it was only three or so inches wide, and thin.

Reluctantly, I took another face cloth that was dry and held it to my stomach to stop any more bleeding and walked into the main room, closing the curtains as my first course of action. I didn't need anybody looking through the window and seeing a) my stomach bleeding, or b) my purple back, or c) me topless in general.

Nitara was on the couch, watching the news. I knew I shouldn't have been surprised when on the screen was the exact setting from earlier tonight- the alley, dark and misty as we left it- except there was no Vulture.

I rushed over to the back of the couch, eyes fixated on the screen. "Do you think they got him?"

"Quiet," Nitara hushed, turning the volume up with the remote. There was an interviewer on the screen, holding a microphone to a woman. The woman, who we had already met as she was cornered by Vulture.

"It was insane," the woman described. "I tried to call the police, but as soon as I described him, he destroyed my phone. I couldn't even say my location.