Of The Twilight Hours
Sequel to 'Midnight is Meant to Be'
Disclaimer: I own none of Marvel/Stan Lee's creations, only the scenario and original characters in this story.
Author's note: This is the second half of the intro, or briefing might be more appropriate. This is MJ's last 8 months, and the story will begin in present after this. Thank you for the encouraging feedback, it's the fuel in my furnace of writeyness, or in English it keeps me going, so by all means keep it coming!
Life has become a prison.
It's such a long way back, its exotic; I need someone to take me there.
I have a cellmate; I want to look the other way.
There was no trial, I've spent a lifespan behind these bars.
Or at least it feels like a life sentence, its been so long since I felt real, since I felt like anything but a dream. I'm not sure how long it has been but its got to be something like 11 months or so, or a little less. Time drags when nothing seems as it should, nothing breaks when I drop it, everybody smiles when I scowl at them. This life of John's is like a padded room, nothing can or ever does go wrong, no matter how longingly I hope for it to. Money must do that, it makes everything alright, but too much makes everything mundane. I guess its sorta like a parent telling their child to save up for something instead of getting it bought for them, saying that the child will appreciate it more after working for it, I have everything bought for me. They have stolen my self worth.
I've always prided myself on my strength, ever since I was a kid. My ability to survive, my drunken father, the using guys over the years, the lack of work, I lashed out and worked hard, I got myself through all that because I am strong. But this life I am in now, these people that surround me, they are all to easily pleased, they all like me for reasons that my personality has nothing to do with, they just like John's girlfriend, not Mary Jane Watson. Makes me feel hollow, like I am no longer a whole person but a part of somebody else's existence, devoid of my own right to be here as an individual.
Its not always been this way, I remember, the memories taunt me with the fact that is all they are, my dreams linger in the fleeting dark, neither can warm me to the arms of this man whom is my cellmate. John Jameson, his name brings most girls to their knees, and he is too gentleman like to undo his zip, a rare breed in modern times. He is sweet, caring and not at all repulsive in appearance, but for some reason is lacking anything that I am really attracted too, character, style or even a slight flare for the unusual. I guess I must like weird guys, and john is about as normal a person as you can get. He is just like the sports stars she had dated at school, unless it involved running up and down a pitch they only knew how to eat sleep and make poor attempts at sex, not exactly inspiring material. Fair enough this pitch was space, but the inclusion of almost infinite dollars in the equation just made things so much worse, because he seemingly thought that it could buy him the only things it can't.
I haven't done much to show him otherwise unfortunately, I let him buy me off with expensive items of jewellery and clothes. Even though this would be enough to warrant most women into marrying him, I am not doing it for the possessions, I am doing it because I can't stand to cripple this man, almost still a boy. He is so innocent, through the tough attitude and the Armani suits I can see that he is in love, and I can't live with the idea of destroying that, no matter how idealistic I may be, I probably will end up doing just that no matter what. I hate to admit it, but after like 9 months he is ready to get married and I am ready to run like hell, its all going to come to a head soon, I can just feel it when he looks at me.
I would have cracked up if it wasn't for my work, the chance to escape and practice being somebody else, it detracts from the pain. I have a friend there as well, she is a likable type, always bubbly and up lifting. She's the reporter the Bugle sent down to cover the play I'm working on at the moment, now that I'm dating a famous astronaut my plays have become news. The reporter's name is Felicia Hardy, and she would suit John more than I, except I think she would just blatantly let him know when she is bored. She would appreciate all the diamonds though, she always comments in a girly fashion on the new piece I have to wear to keep him happy, if only life was so simple that it kept me happy too.
Back before I met John, all it took to make me happy was an average review of my acting and a smile from the boy next door. I didn't ask for much, but it was my world, he was my world. Peter Parker was everything to me, a geek, somebody with flaws so obvious he had been mocked throughout high school, but he seemingly lost those flaws when they left school, it was incredulous to think she had overlooked him for football players. He retained the sharp intelligence, but lost the skinny body and most of the shyness. He was still a little shy, but the day he came to school and almost knocked out her boyfriend after catching her falling in the cafeteria, that was when she noticed that he was slightly more confident, he would now talk to her without fainting on the spot.
She fell in love, goblins tried to kill her, she got excellent reviews, hell life was like a box of live grenades, something was going to blow. She had the night of her life with the guy from next door she had fallen for, only for John to fuck it up. He had called and made an ass of himself after only two weeks of sparse contact, but it was odd enough that Peter had heard the phone call in the first place, odder still that he pulled one of his famous disappearing acts on her until the other day when he was sat in John's new apartment. It was so surreal, John had been waffling on about god knows what sporting jargon, and Mary Jane had been harking back to a man whom with she held a emotionally charged intelligent conversation, 5 seconds later he was stood in front of her, in the one place she felt safe from the never ending torment of walking the streets. No matter where she went, in the back of her mind she was looking at every person she saw hoping it wasn't Peter, but yet she scanned the crowd for his face instead of trying not to look, lost love messes you up in the weirdest of ways.
It was horrible seeing him again, especially the look on his face when he realised which John she had been with this whole time, but even worse was the pleading look in his eyes, as if he was crying out for this not to be, for her not to be here. It was a painfully sharp contrast to the welcoming eyes he once had for her, how he seemingly never wanted her to leave his presence. She had been crying for hours after that, and John thought it was because Peter was rude when he walked out, so much that by the sounds of it John had got his father to fire Peter, and for that Mary Jane could not forgive herself, even without seeing him in almost 10 months she could still ruin his life as effectively as she could when she was in it.
If it wasn't for Felicia's tales during her rehearsal breaks than MJ would have completely given up hope of ever being happy again. It was not too long ago that Felicia had come in with a beaming smile on her pretty face, her astounding figure alive with excitement, Mary had a hard job keeping her still enough for her to explain. She had two weeks before met a guy with whom she had, to quote the woman herself, "a moment". MJ knew that this to the heartbreaking blonde meant that she had met somebody she actually though was worthy of her time, and as she explained not only was he worthy, but she really liked him, which meant he must be some kind of superman to tame the wild friend of the redhead. The excitement of the morning in question though turned out to be a result of her enticing the man of marvel into her apartment and "keeping the neighbours up" as she had so eloquently put it.
With the on average twice a day tales of unbelievable sex from Felicia, MJ's new play "Love will tear us Apart" going amazingly well, hope was beginning to build in the disillusioned actor, which she had never thought possible. The only thing blocking her view from the new world in which her hopes lay was John, or more importantly his boyish innocence, MJ found it incredibly daunting, the prospect of having to gut the poor man whilst he was so much in the public eye before his next mission. MJ herself was now becoming pretty well known, her face was all over the city advertising a scent, which she also felt evil for, it was as if she were haunting Peter, without the pleasure of actually being near him she was still causing him pain.
As for now, MJ had to plan for the inevitable, like moving out, where too, the ramifications of dumping a famous man and trying not to be plastered over the excrement of publications such as Heat and OK would be hard but worth it. For the moment though it would suffice if MJ could escape as much from this new penthouse as possible before John's next mission, at least then she could disconnect the phone and be free.
Rising from her seat on the steel pipe MJ climbed down the ladder to her penthouse. The roof was her escape point, so high up nobody could possibly disturb her…
Hope you enjoyed thaat as it concludes the intro! The four lines at the start were inspired by Interpol's 'Evil', and the play's name is a classic song by the band Joy Division. If anybody can see the Family Guyquote Let me know! I hope you will let me know what you think by reviewing, and I should be back soon enough!