His eyes were swirling dark brown. He couldn't bring himself to quite meet her eyes.
"This isn't going to be easy."
The hand on her shoulder was trembling. The shake from his hand grew to her entire body like a plague.
"I'm having a baby, Claire," he said, his words sounding harsher than he intended.
Claire's stomach quivered and lurched as he spoke. Her hand flew to her mouth to keep from throwing up as the blow fell on her.
A feeble, "What?" was all she could muster.
Peter finally met her eyes, dark clouds dancing with the fury inside of him. He wanted to wipe that quiver away from her. He wanted her to hate him so he could cover his guilt.
She hated the way he looked at her, the harshness in his tone. Her brows gathered and she spat at him, "So you fucked her during the time we were..."
"I'm not your boyfriend, Claire!" Peter snapped, almost desperately.
Another blow. Another harsh slap in the face. She reeled back, landing against the wall and sliding down as if he had physically punched her.
All that time they had spent together. It had all been a lie. She wanted to cling to him like a child and cry, but she hated him. The molten hot lava of her love had hardened into ashy hate and she couldn't get the charcoal taste out of her mouth.
"We were never together," Peter insisted, his voice near crying. She had trusted him, had faith in his feelings for her. A child's hope that maybe... "I can understand if you hate me for this. If you never want to see or talk to me again."
Her eyes fell to the floor and the pain burned so bright she couldn't breathe or see straight. All there was was blinding rage, hurt, pain, anger, hate, love. She felt numb with all the feelings in her.
"Yeah," was all she could bring herself to say back to him. To this betrayal.
Peter waited for more, for something else to fall out of her delicate lips he had kissed on many occasions in secret. Where the world couldn't see his sin. Instead she sat, staring at the floor as though she hadn't heard anything. As though she were lost inside herself. A doll of the old Claire.
Peter wanted her to say something. Of all the powers, he wanted to hear her voice, even if it was just this last time. Just once more.
"I wish..."
He could hear her speak, both in her mind and with her voice, though softly. So softly. It almost sounded like a sigh.
"...I could turn invisible like you."
"You hate me," he whispered, leaning close to her.
He almost bent at the knee in front of her face. But the look she gave him was like a slap. She stood and started running, he followed close by, chasing her with her name on his lips.
But she had already slammed the door in his face.