Chapter two – New beginnings

The girls were getting restless, which made Harry and Peter feel they weren't half as safe as before. Sometimes, one of the crazy girl-folk would actually push the door open a bit. It was no longer safe to stray outside the cubicle. Harry was sure they were to die in the privy.

'Hey, I hope they flush our remains. If my father sees what's left of me after they're done with me, he'll have a stroke… On second thought, I hope they don't flush us.'

'Cut your dad some slack, Harry.' retorted Peter. He'd settled against the wall, and was reading a comic book.

'Why? Like he's ever cut me any slack. Here I am, hunted down by a practically armed force of girls and he just drives off and leaves me here. Leaves us here!'

Peter took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He'd been caught in a vicious circle of Harry ever since he asked him what he wanted to do after high-school. Harry was drowning in self-pity, and Peter wasn't feeling all that nice, either. He stood up and reached for the right-wall of the cubicle. As he pulled himself up and looked into Harry's cubicle, very willing to beat him to death with a toilet-brush, he came face to face with… Harry's ass?

'Harry, what the hell are you doing?'

'Hey, Pete. Look at this! There's a small window up here. I think we can escape through it.'

'Really? That's a big ass you have, Harry. Are you sure?' he answered mockingly.

'Shut up and give me a boost. Unless you want to stay here and life on toilet-water.'

'… Okay, I'm coming. Give me a second, okay?'

'Hurry up! We don't want the freekazoids outside to find out.' Harry insisted. Peter dropped back into his cubicle, put his comic back in his bag and made for the door. As he was about to turn the door-handle, he heard the voices outside getting louder. Careful not to make any noise, he stepped into Harry's cubicle. Somehow, he felt something bad was about to happen. Then, one of the girls outside began to yell.

'I'VE HAD IT! IT'S TIME FOR US TO GO GET WHAT WE'RE DUE!'

'Unlimited PUN-TANG!' a second voice yelled.

'MAN-PUSSY!' screamed a third.

'…What the who now?' asked a fourth.

'… Ehm, m-man-pussy?'

'What kind of ass-expression is that?'

'Yeah! It's man-meat, or pussy. But it can't possibly be both!'

'Well, actually, man-pussy does refer to a gay man's asshole…'

'What the- who the hell is this?'

'Rachel.'

'Well, Rachel… SHUT UP, HO!'

'… CHARGE!'

The door to the men's room slammed open, and there in the doorway stood lots of disgruntled women.

'Let's go find Harry!'

'Harry? Screw that. I'm here to find me a Parker.'

'Ooh, I've got a parker.'

'I meant Peter, you boil on the fat ass of humanity!'

'Jeez, like I was supposed to know.'

'Hey, aren't we all here for Peter? After all, he's so hot!'

'…Eh, no! We're all here for Harry, obviously. He's way hotter than Peter will ever be. Even as Spiderman.'

'…What?'

'You heard me, ho!'

'Doh!'

The sound of many women bitch-slapping each other was heard, and Harry wasn't one to waste a perfectly good opportunity to get the hell out of dodge. He hoisted himself out the window, and reached back to help Peter up. The girls, however, were done bitch-slapping, and were now making their way to the last cubicle. They opened the door, just as Peter was reaching for Harry's arm. There was a moment when time seemed to stand still, as the two parties looked at one another. The Harry did the only thing he could think of; he let go and made a run for it.

'I'm sorry, Pete!' He yelled. 'But I wanna life.'

As the girls closed in on him, Peter looked his death in the eye, and yelped as they pounced on him.

'Okay, girls, break it up!' A voice coming from the hallway said. The cloud of girls parted to reveal Alex, the girl Norman had been dealing with back at Oscorp. 'We made a deal with that other Osborn-hottie. The boys are free to go.'

The girls closest to Peter, who had before been eyeing him hungrily, we're making sounds of protest.

'That's not fair. We waited here all day, ALL DAY!'

'Yeah, man. What gives? Since when are you boss?'

'Since I'm One's right hand gal, that's why. You wanna refute that?'

Peter found himself being dragged out of the relative safety of the cubicle. One of the girls began to straighten his clothes, another handed him his glasses, which had fallen off in the commotion, and his bag. Then they escorted him gently, yet firmly, to the exit. Somewhere along the way, Peter saw a girl that looked different from the others. Dressed differently, and with the aura of undisputed authority. She looked at him benignly, and nodded towards the exit. More than slightly flustered, Peter Parker left the building and went home.

The girls turned back to their leader; the woman referred to as One. Some of them had a look of quiet resolve, some of acceptance, others were just too surprised to be anything but surprised.

'Where's the other one?' One asked.

'We saw him escape through the privy-window.'

'Smart move. Although I can't really see what anyone would see in that one. He left his best friend behind to safe his own ass. Doesn't that strike you as…well, just cowardly?'

'Hey, don't talk about our Harry that way. We're a deadly force of nature, so you can't blame him for making a run for it.' One of the girls answered fiercely.

'Okay. Let's just leave it. We need a new battle-plan.' Alex noted.

'Right. Oh, by the way, what's the deal you made with Normie, anyway?'

'… We got his shirt.'

'NO SHIT! What brand? Gucci? Prada?'

'Prada, baby.'

And there was rejoicing and much wine, as the girls started making plans to get their men. One looked on, and smiled.

Norman was tired, to say the least. As he made his way to the elevator, he hoped fervently that the girls were women of their word. He wanted to go to his bed so desperately. Any laboratory work would have to wait till tomorrow. He leaned against the elevator-wall and closed his eyes. There was no horrible elevator-music in the background (Norman didn't like it and, after all, this wasn't the Ritz.), and he found himself listening to nothing but the sound of his own breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. Not too fast, now. Concentrate. By the time the elevator had reached the ground floor, Norman was completely focused and ready to face whatever lay in store for him.

Which turned out, in the end, to be nothing. There were no girls anywhere. And there, oh exquisite joy, stood his limo. Alex held the door open for him, grinning stupidly.

'I'm sorry about the porn, mister Osborn. I'll leave it at home next time.'

'A stroke of true genius, Alex.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Oh, and… Alex?'

'Yes, sir?'

'… Never mind.'

The rest of the way home, Norman's thoughts were plagued by women. He knew this was just a temporary reprieve. In the end, he'd have to face them. This…horny horde of women. I think I'll call them that from now on. Catchy, easy to remember and very much the truth. Norman thought to himself. As the limo stopped in front of a traffic-light, Norman stared distantly out of the window. On the sidewalk, people were walking to where ever it was they were going. A man with a dog, a woman on roller-skates, an old man with a stick, a boy who, in Norman's opinion, should've been in bed by now. His eyes were drawn to the patch of grass right behind the sidewalk. There stood, shabbily-dressed, a man with a sign. Probably one of those prophet-types, who tell anybody willing to listen that the world is ending. Norman tried to make out the words on the sign, but they made no sense to him.

BEWARE THE PLOTHOLES!

THEY ARE HERE!

THE END IS NIGH!

The more Norman tried to focus, the more this man and his stupid sign seemed to fade into the background. Then they disappeared entirely, leaving Norman with more questions than he had to begin with. Once home, he went straight to bed. These questions could wait. Right now, what he truly needed was sleep.

Peter closed the front door behind him. Of all the days of his life, he'd never been happier to be home. Aunt May stuck her head out of the kitchen to greet him.

'Hello Peter. How was your fieldtrip? Did you get good pictures?'

'Sorry, aunt may, but I'm afraid it wasn't much of a fieldtrip to begin with. I spent about ninety-nine percent of it in the john.'

'I'm sorry to hear you're sick, dear. You should take a nice, hot shower and go to bed.' Aunt May said compassionately. Peter had half a mind to tell her the truth, then thought better of it. After all, who in their mind would believe he'd been besieged by girls? So he just nodded and went upstairs. There, he ran into his uncle.

'Hey, Pete. Not feeling well, I hear.'

'No, it's nothing. I just to get some shut-eye, that's all.'

'Okay, but if anything's wrong, you know you can tell us. We won't laugh at you. We're here to help you.'

Peter hugged his uncle. 'I know, uncle Ben. But really, it's nothing.'

Maybe tomorrow, this would all turn out to have been a bad dream.

Mary-Jane woke up at the sound of her alarm-clock. She turned off the sound, and looked sleepily at the time. Seven o' clock already? She stood up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She looked in the mirror, and found out she'd fallen asleep in yesterdays clothes. Still a bit fuzzy in the head, she dove into her closet for another outfit. Finally, she found something suitable. A pink sleeveless with a kitten printed on it, and blue jeans. Maybe a white blouse to go with it? As she was looking herself over in the mirror, Mary-Jane noticed something very out of the ordinary. She had muscles. Her arms didn't feel like their soft, skinny selves anymore. She looked down at her abdomen, and found even more muscles that hadn't been there the previous day. She prodded them, half expecting them to deflate. When they didn't, however, she couldn't resist and struck a body-builder pose. Her reflection smiled madly back at her.

'MJ! COME DOWN HERE AND MAKE ME BREAKFAST!' the rough, croaky voice of her father brought her back down to earth.

'OKAY, I'm coming!' She yelled back.

She ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.

'That whore of a mother of yours is still sleeping. Now get to work. And remember, I want my eggs runny, and you'd better not overcook the bacon, or I'll…' he continued like this for some more minutes. Then, when he was sure she got the message, he settled down in the brown chesterfield in the living room. Mary-Jane hated her father. He ruled the house with an iron fist, forcing his family to live in a way that he thought was appropriate for them. They didn't have much money, and what little there was went to the basic necessities, like food, clothes and water and electricity. This was not to mister Watson's liking, and he accused his wife and daughter of being the cause of his poverty. He, however, had no one to blame but himself. An overweight, underdressed man, watching television and terrorizing everyone around him. Mary-Jane could hardly blame her mother for staying in bed, and hoped she'd be up when she would be back from school. After all, her mother was the only reason she hadn't run away from home. She loved her mother too much to leave her heartbroken and alone with only this monstrosity of a man for company.

A column of smoke rising from the frying pan interrupted her musings. Her father's voice came from out of the living room.

' THAT'D BETTER NOT BE BURNED BACON I'M SMELLING, YOU WORTHLESS NO-ACCOUNT!'

Mary-Jane had just finished putting out the fire, when her father came into the kitchen. He saw the mess she'd made, and his eyes grew wide.

'YOU RUINED MY BREAKFAST, YOU LITTLE SLUT! THAT WAS THE LAST OF THE BACON!'

'I'm sorry, okay!' Mary-Jane spoke desperately.

'No, you little minx. It's not "okay"!' He said, mocking her voice. 'Someone is going to be punished for this. Guess who that's gonna be?'

He took off his belt, and eyed her threateningly. Usually, Mary-Jane would've run out of the house, knowing she'd be safe next-door. But, somehow, today was different. She looked at her father, and stood her ground. This seemed to confuse mister Watson somewhat. After all, he was used to seeing her run out the door the moment he took off his belt. This time, his daughter just stood there, and he knew he wasn't going to win this round on threats alone. A disgustingly evil smile spread across his face, as he advanced on her. As he brought his arm down, he expected to hear leather hitting flesh. Instead, he heard nothing. He'd hit air.

Mary-Jane looked on in absolute amazement as her father seemed to be moving at her in slow-motion. She saw the belt coming down, and evaded it easily. She looked at her father, whose expression changed slowly from anger, to surprise, to a look of such hatred it made her heart ache. Dad, when did you stop loving mom? Why did you have me at all, if you don't love me? Why do you treat us so badly? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, YOU MISERABLE SON OF A BITCH!

As she was thinking this, Mary-Jane felt herself getting angrier by the second. When her father tried to beat her a second time, she pulled back her right arm and punched him in the face. She had decided. No more miss nice-girl.

Her father was trying to get up, when she kicked him in the guts. She kicked him a second time. He tried to crawl away from her ,but she wouldn't let him. This was payback-time. She grabbed one of his legs, and flung him out of the window. She sound of breaking glass as he went right through it, and landed outside on the wet grass.

Shit! Mary-Jane thought to herself. After all he'd done to her, she wasn't ready to kill him. She didn't want to kill him. The anger had subsided, and all she was left with was pain. She did the only thing she could think of; she ran. Ran past her father's unconscious body, ran through the streets until she could run no more. She found herself in an ally. Luckily, it was empty. She leaned against the wall and sobbed. She fell to the floor like a rag doll.

'What the hell did I just do? Oh, my God. I…dad, I… shit…' She crawled behind a nearby trashcan, and curled up into a ball. Everything had changed, now.

'Everything has changed.'

She looked up. A man in tattered clothing was looking down at her. In his hand, he held a sign. Even though she was usually a bit frightened of beggars, Mary-Jane couldn't make herself be frightened of this one. Maybe it was her new-found strength? Or something else? Anyway, he looked friendly enough, she decided. He offered her his hand, and helped her up. She straightened her outfit, and smiled at him.

'Thank you.'

'Be careful. Everything has changed, now.'

'I'll say. I've got this amazing set of abs all of a sudden. I threw my dad through the window. Not that I meant to.' She added hastily. Talking to this guy made her feel better, oddly enough.

'There are decisions to be made.'

She looked at him. Did he know something?

'Ehm, yeah. Yeah, you're right.' She agreed, somewhat miffed. The man looked right into her eyes, making her nervous. It was like he was trying to tell her something without actually saying it. When it became clear to him his message wasn't hitting home, he merely smiled the sad smile of the misunderstood and walked back into the street, leaving Mary-Jane alone with her musings.

Well, one thing was certain. She needed to talk to someone. She smiled to herself, as she walked to school. Maybe Peter could help her understand.

Peter finished his breakfast. So far, it had been a peaceful morning. Just like any other morning. No creepy girls chasing him, nice and quiet breakfast, a big basket full of mail…

'Aunt May? Whose mail is that?' Peter asked, looking ominously at the basket and its contents.

'Why, it's yours Peter. You must have some secrets admirers at school.' Aunt May answered, smiling.

Peter reached for the basket cautiously, as if touching it would get him struck by lightning. He picked up a pink envelope that was leaning dangerously over the edge. It was covered in hearts, and smelled vaguely of perfume. Carefully, he opened it and took out the piece of paper that was inside. As he read the contents of the letter, his eyes widened and he stopped breathing.

'Peter? Are you alright? Peter!'

'Yeah, yeah I'm fine, aunt May. It's just that… this one's a little bit…graphic.' Peter answered, handing his aunt the love letter from hell.

'… oh! Oh, dear!' aunt May began to giggle. It was giving Peter the creeps. He snatched back the evil epitaph of doom, put it back in the basket and carried the whole thing up to his room. This, he thought to himself, is so wrong. If it where only letters, then fine. He could live with that. But it didn't stop there. Some of these envelopes were bulging too much for comfort. Peter looked at the basket once more as he put it down, then left his room and locked it. Enough time to sort through it later. He picked up his bag and hoped he'd be able to get to the bus on time.