Lying Heart
Chapter Five
When he wakes up he's in the back of Gwen's car, and it's moving. He tries to get up and groans.
"Are you awake?"
"I guess," he says. "Where—where are we?"
She pulls the car over. He manages to get into a sitting position, feeling nauseous as he stares at the window and sees an unfamiliar suburban road.
"New Jersey," says Gwen. "I didn't know where to take you. So I just drove."
He climbs up to the front passenger seat and stares at Gwen. Her eyes are red and her knuckles white, still gripping the steering wheel even though they've stopped. She barely looks at him.
"What happened?" Peter asks, wondering if he's done something wrong.
She looks at him disbelievingly. "You don't remember?"
"No," he says, shaking his head. She stares in her lap. She holds herself with a kind of sadness he's never seen on her before. Panic wells in his chest—what has he done? "Are you okay?" he demands. "I—I'm sorry, whatever I did, Gwen, I'm so sorry."
She shakes her head. Oh, jeez. It looks like she's about to cry. Guilt wracks him to his core. She puts a hand in front of her eyes and her chest starts hiccupping and Peter wishes he were dead.
"Please, Gwen," he flounders, not sure if he should touch her or not. "I'm sorry, please, just tell me what I—"
"You almost died!" she screams at him, so unexpectedly that he startles backward. Her face is red and mottled, her bangs are a wild, tangled halo, and most of her body is shaking. "You did something stupid, something completely reckless, again, and you almost died, Peter. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into with that damn robot. By the time I found you, you were practically dead. I swear to God you stopped breathing like three times in the back of my car!"
Not once during this whole speech does she stop screaming. Peter sits there, stunned. He remembers the robot. He remembers getting up for school this morning and kissing Aunt May good-bye. But after that, he remembers nothing at all.
"What would have happened if I hadn't known about the antidote?" she seethes. "You'd be dead, Peter. Finished."
"Gwen—I—I'm sorry, I really, I didn't mean to get you involved—"
"Of course not, but that's just it, Peter! I'm involved. I'm indisputably, irrevocably involved in this now, whether you realize it or not, which is why it's a thousand times more infuriating that you insist on upholding this stupid idea that you're protecting me by pushing me away." There are angry tears streaming down her face. "You're hurting me, Peter. This hurts."
"I'm sorry," he says, helplessly, uselessly. The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them, and he can tell they only anger her more. "Gwen—please, you have to understand—"
"Don't bother," she says, sounding hollowed out. The tears have stopped. She swipes the remaining moisture off her face. "And don't ask me to understand. I understand perfectly."
She sticks the keys back in the ignition and starts driving them toward the city. Peter sits in the passenger seat like a guilty child, a thousand words flitting through his mind. He wants to say something, anything that will make her feel better, that will undo whatever damage has been done, but he knows he can't say anything like that without giving her false hope that he will change his mind.
"The last thing in the world I want is to hurt you," he finally says, about halfway back.
"Then please," she says. "Stop this. It's not your job, Peter. It's not your responsibility."
He stares at his lap. "It is … I can't—I can't just not do this."
"Why?" she demands.
"My uncle … my parents …" he trails off. He knows he hasn't made any sense. She doesn't pry any further, and he decides not to bring anything sensitive up again. After another few minutes he says as cheerfully as he can, "That's a nice necklace. Is it new?"
Her whole body stiffens. He has clearly hit a nerve, and he can't for the life of him figure out why.
"It is," she says curtly. "Richard gave it to me."
"Oh?" he says, hoping she didn't hear the way his voice cracked a little bit with surprise. "So, you're, uh, seeing Richard, then?" he asks before he can stop himself. It doesn't even sound a little bit casual.
"Yes. We're dating."
He digests this. Tries to think of an appropriate response. "I'm happy for you."
"Liar."
Peter snorts. Gwen smiles just a little bit. After a few moments of awkward silence, they're both laughing, laughing until their bellies ache, as if it's the funniest thing in the world.
"I'm sorry, it's not funny," she says between her laughter. "It's not, it's just." She dissolves into giggles again. He's laughing just as hard. "Wow. Wow."
"Yeah."
She clears her throat and flicks her bangs out of her face, trying to compose herself.
"What time is it?" Peter asks.
"A little bit past four."
"What happened, anyway?"
They're almost a block away from his place. She shakes her head. "It's probably for the best that you don't remember."
Peter feels an embarrassed rash of heat creeping up his neck. "Did I say something?"
"You said a lot of things." She pulls the car over. "We're here." She grabs something from her purse. "Take these. More of the antidote. I'm not telling you to chase after that thing, but you should have these just in case."
Peter takes them from her. "Gwen," he says in a low voice. "I know that … that I've hurt you. And I know these past few months have been really terrible for you, and I'm sorry I haven't been there, and I know I'm the last person on earth who deserves your help." He shifts awkwardly in his seat. "So thank you. For whatever you did today. I know it couldn't have been easy."
"Oh, Peter," she says. "With you I've never really had a choice."
He's not quite sure what she means, but suddenly she's leaning forward—cinnamon gum—and kissing him on the cheek. She lingers for just a moment. His eyes shut involuntarily. He knows for a fact that if he shifted just an inch to his left, they'd both be done for.
He doesn't. It takes every ounce of willpower he has left.
"Good night," she says.
He opens the car door and slides out. He shouldn't look at her, but he does. She is breathtaking in the evening light, this girl he has never deserved. "Good night."
He goes back out that night, of course, but he lays low. He doesn't want any more headlines jumping out at his aunt if he can prevent it, and besides that, he doesn't want Gwen to think he has disregarded her completely. Not much else happens that night, fortunately. He braces himself for another attack from whatever that thing was the night before, but it must still be sunk at the bottom of the river.
Around four in the morning he climbs back up to his window and finishes some homework, then fiddles around with the pictures he is thinking of submitting for his portfolio. He stops so he can shower and get ready for the day. To his relief, the swelling around the wound on his shin has gone down considerably in the past twelve hours.
Under the steam of the shower he wonders what it was he could have said to Gwen to make her so guarded the way she was in the car. He hopes he didn't say anything mean, or anything incriminating. It has already been such a struggle to stay away from her these past few months, and the thought that he could unravel it in one short day that he can't even remember makes his stomach twist.
Then he thinks of Richard, and feels a different kind of twist—a self-pity twist. He stands in the shower feeling sorry for himself for at least a solid five minutes. How can she be attracted to that guy? He's so … perfect. And boring. And stupid. And to be honest, Peter doesn't know that much about him, but how could their chemistry compare to his and Gwen's? Why would she settle for anything less than that?
Unless she really did have amazing chemistry with him. Peter can't help but shake the images out of his head in disgust—Gwen, lacing her hands in Richard's at a movie, or kissing him on a rooftop, or snuggling up next to him in the glow of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller center. One revolting idea after another, they chase each other around in his brain until he can't take it anymore, and he abruptly turns the shower off and dries himself so fast his skin gets red and raw.
He catches a glance at his reflection in the mirror, and for a second he hates himself. He's lost her forever and he is the only one to blame.
But then he remembers yesterday: she chose him. For however long that ordeal was, she chose to save him, to do whatever it took. And while that doesn't mean she still loves him, while that doesn't mean she wants him more than Richard, it means that she cares just enough that maybe she isn't lost to him.
Of course, the crushing blow comes next—the inevitable, the impossible to ignore. It doesn't matter whether or not she's lost, because he can never have her either way.
So I survived the storm last night, and power has been restored to my apartment complex! Thanks for your well wishes and beautiful reviews. Now if you'll excuse me ... I've waited 21 years for this birthday to come along, and it's time for this kid to order a drink and then shout BOO-YAH at the bartender when he says he doesn't sell to fifteen-year-olds.
Oh yes, folks. It's the big one (which means I've been fanficking for nine years, god help me, and am probably the biggest dinosaur left on fanfiction).
REMEMBER KIDS-DON'T DRINK AND WRITE (most of the time).