Life After Gwen

Preface: Part II

My name is Peter Parker.

I killed the woman I love-

I killed the woman I loved.

I had to put down my pen and look away from the notebook precariously balanced upon my knee. They were only words but they held so much power. These were the dark words, the guilty accusations, I repeated in my mind over and over again:

"You killed Gwen Stacy."

I looked back down at the notebook. It had been well past three A.M. when I finally came back to the apartment Gwen, Mary Jane and I had once shared. For the first time in two weeks, Mary Jane wasn't sitting on the couch waiting for me, her sleepy face creased with worry. She had left a notebook, this notebook, on the kitchen table with a bright yellow sticky note on the front, her messy cursive scribbled across it, "I know you don't want to talk about it, and I won't push you but you've got to let it out somehow. We both do. P.S. More pancakes in the fridge." She knew I was suffering and I knew she was too… only, I couldn't find the heart or the energy to comfort her. Every fiber of my being was poured into finding the Green Goblin, and at the end of the day, I had nothing left to give.

I grabbed the piece of paper and ripped it from the spiral notebook, crumpling it in my hand and letting it cascade towards the city below. For a moment, I watched my crumpled accusations drift with the wind; the paper danced with the strong gust, alive with hope, only to begin its descent again with the dying wind. I sat perched on the corner of a tall skyscraper overlooking New York City. I used to always come to this spot – I called it my thinking spot, haha – but lately, I haven't been doing much thinking. Rather, I've been living off impulse… and what dark impulses they are.

Again, I took up my pen and began to write on the fresh piece of paper.

My name is Peter Parker.

The Green Goblin killed the woman I love… and God, how I miss her.

It was all I could write before the tears started pouring from my eyes. My mask began to flood and I had to pull it from my face to keep myself from drowning in the salty tears.


My name is Mary Jane Watson.

I've lost my best friend.

My world is spiraling out of control and as much as I want to be brave, I'm scared. I'm so, so scared.

I slammed my pen down upon the spiral notebook as the first tear dropped from my eye and landed upon the paper. My words began to blur, inky black puddles accumulating on the crisp white paper.

It was two weeks after Gwen's death and I still hadn't left New York. While the director of the play I had been casted for was understanding of my situation, he still had to replace me with my understudy. The home Harry and I shared in California still had everything I'd ever owned and for all I knew, Harry was still lurking somewhere here in New York. After leaving him in the hotel room after he nearly overdosed two weeks ago, I hadn't heard from him… partly due to the fact that I had left my cell phone in the hotel room and hadn't bothered to get a new one. I liked being disconnected from the world. I liked being disconnected from Harry even more.

Peter was silently falling apart. Where I exploded, he imploded. I never saw him during the daytime or the nighttime, only in the wee hours of the morning, the quiet time right before dawn. What frightened me most was the look in his eyes… His eyes were hollow. Soulless. Whenever I tried to speak to him, my words seemed to pass right through him without any comprehension of their meaning. He repeated over and over again, "Leave New York and go back home to California, Mary Jane," but what he didn't understand was that New York was my home. Gwen was gone, but Peter was still here and I had to do everything in my power to protect him… protect him like I hadn't protected Gwen.