"What's wrong with some light stabbing?"
Delving into vigilante-ism, Charlie Redmond has balance everything from her superhero neighbor to her math tests to her inability to talk about her feelings. Unlike her morally righteous co-worker, Spider-Man...
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My hair turns into wet tangled knots underneath my hoodie. I wrung it as much as could before changing into my usual clothes. Dull aches cover every inch and a headache begins to form, for someone so wet I felt really dehydrated.
If I get a cold, I'm suing Spider-Man for every thing his cheap red boots are worth.
I trudge up the stairs to my floor, dripping water on the dirty steps, thankfully no one ever really used them. I need a nap and possibly some marshmallows, or something else soft and sugary.
Reaching my floor, I begin pulling out my keys. A sudden force hits my shoulder, knocking the keys out of my fingers. Today is the day I break someone's nose. Clenching fingers, I move back, fluttering lights.
"Sorry," He croaks, in the same voice, I heard earlier tonight, sending the hair on the back of my neck up. His typically flattened hair bunches up into damp waves, the feeling grows in my stomach sinking down to the floor.
Paranoid, I must be paranoid. A trick of the mind and ears.
"It's fine, Peter." I pick up my keys off the floor but keep him in my sight. There's bags and a scratch on his face, fresh. Fuckity fuck. I fake a yawn and twirl my fingers in my keys. "What are you doing back so late? It's almost midnight."
"Nothing," He answers too quickly, almost dropping his own keys. "Just um, going to get the- um mail." I nod back casually, though he has no mail. He swallows. "What about you?"
"Just wanted to get some air but Mrs. Ramirez's sprinklers got me." No woman in New York would go out at night to 'get some air', but he seems to buy it. I glance at his hand. A bandage, one I wrapped no more than a few hours ago. Shit. "Goodnight."
"Night." He yawns, oblivious to my panic, and goes into his house.
Following his cue, I enter my apartment. Jittering thumps in my fingertips. The thought of having a normal alter ego-real life relationship oozes out of my brain and is replaced by one thing. Peter Parker is Spider-Man. I slam my head into my palms. "Oh, fuck me."
***
"I think we should castrate him." Jackie points to Jonathan with a cherry tomato on her fork, in a particular violent mood. Which isn't very violent, she's all bark no bite, but has been a little more barky since she found out about the whole punch in the face situation. I wanted to ignore it as quick as possible. It's not the first time someone's hit me and won't be the last, but Jackie still glares at him across the lunchroom.
Her long dark hair is let down with a pink clip-on streak in it and her sharp eyes are surrounded by navy blue. It's always impressed me that she can do her make up before school every day, I spend most of my morning trying to prevent myself from committing murder, but today I'm focused on other things.
