Chapter 16: These Violent Delights.
The thin line between reality and fantasy had begun to blur.
Perhaps it was less of a blur and more of a merge; a seamless merge between the land of the living and the land of dreams. As the time passed from my encounter with the corpse woman, the merging of the two worlds began to merge even further until I could no longer tell when I was sleeping and when I was awake. At every corner, my father stood waiting for me. In every alleyway, I could hear my screams echoing off the brick walls, begging for him to stop the abuse.
I was being reduced to nothing, a former shell of myself.
Aunt Anna was fine. Indeed, she knew nothing of the corpse woman... an admission that further convinced me that nothing I had experienced was truly real.
Gwen was the first to notice my odd behavior; the zombie-like way in which I roamed the apartment, trudging back and forth between rehearsals, skipping class, missing meals. Two days after the corpse woman had kidnapped me, Gwen tried to sit me down to talk, her tender blue eyes glassy with unshed tears.
"MJ, something isn't right with you." We sat on opposite couches, each nestled into the corner of the couch with our knees brushing. She reached forward and placed her hand on my knee. "I've been your best friend for years. I know you don't like to open up about things but... sometimes you have to. Sometimes you have to talk about what's wrong so it doesn't eat you alive."
I watched as a single tear fell from her eye; My gaze traced it down her alabaster skin as it plunged from her jaw and landed on her lap. I looked back up at her, my face void of any sort of emotion.
"I'm fine." - I knew this was a lie and it pained me to speak it to her. But what was I going to say? I couldn't tell her that I was having nightmares of a corpse woman, flashbacks of my abusive childhood, dreams about her boyfriend sneaking into my room to kiss me?! I had to keep these things to myself. They were my problems, my delusions, and it was something I had to figure out on my own.
She shook her head furiously, forcing two more tears from her eyes. "No you aren't, Mary Jane." She squeezed my knee gently, imploring me with her pitiful, bloodshot eyes, "Are you on drugs? If you are, tell me. I'll help you get through this. I promise I will!" She began to cry freely, her grip on my knee loosening. "I-I promise." Her voice began to quiver with the sobs that threatened to rip free from her throat. "I know, at some point in your life, you went through Hell. You won't tell me but I-... I see it in you. I can see it in your eyes, even when you force that smile on your face like you always do. You don't have to be like that with me. You're my best friend, MJ." She sniffled and brushed the tears from her cheeks before looking me in the eye again, "I want to be here for you like you've always been here for me."
I was incapable of feeling emotion. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to reassure her that everything was okay. ...but, I couldn't.
"I love you, Gwendy." I patted her hand, forcing a vacant smile upon my face. "But you're overreacting." I stood from the couch. Her hand fell from my knee as if my callous words had stolen the life force from her. "I'm going to head out for a while."
Before she could recover, I pulled my arms through a tan peacoat that hung beside the front door and left. At some point during my zombie trance, the cool autumn had turned into a bitter winter. It wasn't yet Thanksgiving and already the forecasts were calling for heavy snow.
I walked to the elevator and sighed in exasperation when I read the handwritten piece of paper taped onto the metal doors stating, "Sorry - out of order. Take stairs." I turned on the heels of my boots and began my trek down the stairwell. As I rounded one of the sharp corners in the stairwell, someone coming up the stairs rounded the corner at precisely the same moment and we both had to jam our bodies against opposite walls to keep from knocking each other over.
"MJ." It was Peter. He looked down at me, his cheeks flushing pink, eyes wide in surprise.
The stairwell was so narrow and we were so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek. I glanced up, hardly acknowledging him before pushing past him and continuing down the stairs.
"Hey- wait!" Peter called after me. I didn't stop walking. I could hear his heavy footsteps in the stairwell as he trailed behind me. "Will you slow down for a second?"
At the bottom of the stairs, he finally caught up to me. Gently, he gripped the arm of my coat and turned me around.
"What, Peter?" I didn't try to mask the annoyance in my voice.
He looked slightly taken aback by my tone. If he had been offended by it, he quickly shed his offense to the side and continued on. "Gwen's worried about you."
'But you aren't.' Bitterly, I thought to myself.
"I know. We just had 'the talk'." I ripped my sleeve from his grip and began to walk towards the door leading to the street.
"We're both worried about you." He continued talking as I walked away. "Whatever's going on, you don't have to take it on by yourself."
Hand on the doorknob, I whirled around to face him, "You're only quote, unquote "worried" about me because your girlfriend is my best friend." My words were tipped in venom, eyes narrowing to tiny slits, "So, spare me the theatrics, Parker." I sighed in disgust. "I need a fucking drink."
He opened his mouth to speak but I had opened the door and slipped away before he could reply.
A half hour later, I found myself in the bar of a ritzy hotel in Midtown. I had once picked up a gig there, singing beside the glossy black Baby Grand piano. I had never been a drinker but I remembered liking this bar because it had been so classy, well decorated and well,- so unlike a regular bar. I slid myself onto a bar stool and peered outside the windows lining the wall overlooking the street. It had begun to snow, delicate flakes of ice fluttering lazily to the black and dirty street, temporarily disguising the filth of the city.
"What can I get you, miss?"
I turned from the window to look at the bartender standing on the other side of the bar.
"Jack and Coke." My father's drink of choice. The words spilled from my lips before I could consciously stop them. The bartender nodded his head and turned to make my drink. As soon as his back was turned, I heard my father hissing into my ear, "Like father, like daughter."
I snapped my head around to catch him but instead caught sight of someone else.
Past the doors of the bar, standing in the brightly lit marble lobby, was Harry Osborn. He pulled off his black trench coat and shook the snow from his hair. I watched for a moment as he looked around the lobby, employees of the hotel flocking around him like moths to the flame. They chanted his name, offering smiles, each employee vying for his attention. He waved them away, a king before his peasants. I turned my head back to face the bartender as he sat the drink in front of me, afraid Harry would recognize me.
Gingerly, I sipped the Jack and Coke, grimacing from the smoky taste of Jack filling my nostrils and burning my eyes. As I sat my glass back down, I heard someone take a seat at the bar.
"Bartender, give me whatever she's having." A couple bar stools to my right sat Harry Osborne, grinning from ear to ear. "Pete told me you'd be out and about tonight."
I didn't smile at him, choosing rather to stare down at the ice cubes in my drink as I idly stirred them with my finger. "If you're here to try and talk about my problems, don't waste your breath."
I heard Harry chuckle as he stood from his bar stool. "Hell, MJ, I've got enough problems of my own." He slid onto the stool beside mine. "I'm just here to drink them away with you."
I glanced up at him from beneath my eyelashes and for the first time in days, I laughed.
One drink. Two drinks. Three, four, five.
The night was a blur of drinks and drunken laughter. Like the best of friends, arms looped together, Harry and Mary Jane hopped from bar to bar, Harry's celebrity status allowing them to skip each of the long lines outside of the bars.
After countless bars had been visited, and even more drinks had been consumed, Mary Jane found herself in the back seat of a Rolls Royce with Harry, their sides mashed together for warmth. Harry was retelling a story in which he had gotten into a bar fight some few weeks ago and Mary Jane giggled along, oblivious to where the driver was taking them.
When the luxurious car stopped, Harry smiled into her face. "We're here."
Mary Jane's smile faded. She looked outside of the frosty window, "Where's here?"
The chauffeur opened her door and helped her stand from the car. She peered up at a building more beautiful than any building she had ever seen. Harry came to stand beside her.
"You see that light way up there?" He pointed to the top of the building where the penthouse resided. When she nodded her head, he chuckled, placed her hand on top of his arm and began to walk them inside of the building. "That's where we're going, my dear."
What happened next, Mary Jane could hardly recall. While she knew going to his apartment was a bad idea, her drunken stupor convinced her otherwise.
Inside the lush penthouse apartment, Harry had made his move. After pouring her a glass of Scotch (a drink she easily downed after a night of drinking a mess of concoctions), he gave her a tour of his lavish home. They passed through room after room, each decorated nicer than the next.
"And this," They walked into a dark room and for a moment, Harry struggled to find the light switch. Finally, his drunken fingers had found the switch and the giant two story room was cast in a golden glow by the chandelier hanging high above their heads. "This is my favorite room."
"Oh," Mary Jane breathed as her eyes took in the sight before her. Three walls, from the marble floors to the ceiling were covered in bookshelves, each shelf brimming with books. "Wow! You have your own library?"
Harry nodded his head, smiling. He took her glass and nodded towards one of the shelves, "Take a look. You like acting, right? I have an entire section devoted to plays."
While Mary Jane searched through the shelf, Harry sat the glasses of Scotch on a large mahogany table in the middle of the room.
The night was ending and the morning was beginning. He walked to one of the only walls not covered in books and open a pair of French doors leading out onto a balcony overlooking Central Park. In the distance, the sun was beginning to rise, casting a fuchsia glow upon the distant horizon.
"You even have Romeo and Juliet!" Mary Jane followed him onto the balcony, an ancient book open in her hands. She read the lines, oblivious to the breathtaking sight before her.
Harry's lips curled into a crooked smile as he began to recite Shakespeare, "These violent delights have violent ends," Harry reached out and curled his arm around her waist, pulling her against his body. Mary Jane, surprised, dropped the book to the floor. He stood with her back against him, arms crossed around her petite frame. As he spoke, his voice dropped to a mere whisper in her ear, "And in their triumph die, like fire and powder," His words seemed to light up the sky. He was no mere mortal; he was the sun, and all the pale planets around him were helpless in their orbit around his grandiose magnificence. "Which, as they kiss," His lips brushed against the delicate skin of her neck. "consume."
With his words, a passion consumed them both. As the fire from the sun lit up the early morning sky, Harry and Mary Jane made love upon the balcony overlooking Central Park.
Just as her laughter in the bar had been the first laugh in days, this feeling she shared with Harry was the first true emotion she had felt in days - weeks, even - and although she couldn't name the emotion, it relieved her to be feeling anything at all. Where she was empty, he had made her feel whole again. For a few merciful moments, she forgot about the abuse her father had tortured her with as a child. She forgot about Spider-Man. She forgot about the devils and villains polluting her life... and for one blessed moment, she was able to feel like a 19-year-old girl.
At some point in their drunken tousle, the two had decided it was far too cold on the snowy balcony and Harry, rather valiantly, scooped her up into his arms and carried her into his bedroom.
It was in his bedroom that Mary Jane woke up, many hours later.
As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, head pounding, she looked over at the body sleeping restfully beside her amongst the mountain of down comforter. "...What have I done?" She whispered, recalling snippets of the long night.
Before he woke up, she carefully rolled out of the giant California King-sized bed. She tip-toed out of the bedroom and into the hallway, her naked skin stinging against the cold air. In the library, snow drifted in through the open balcony doors. Right where she had left them, she found her clothes in a pile on the balcony. She shook the snow and ice from the cloth and quickly drew them back onto her shivering body. As she pulled her shirt over her head, she heard something vibrating in Harry's pants crumpled on the floor by her feet. Curious, she reached into the pocket of the jeans and pulled out his cell phone.
"Peter?" Her brows knitted as she read out loud the name illuminating the screen. When the phone's voicemail picked up, his name cleared and she was able to scroll through the list of thirty-six missed calls... all of which were from Peter's phone.
Hastily, she shoved the phone back into Harry's jeans pocket and as quietly as she could, left the immaculate apartment and made her way back home.
Author's Note:okay, is it just me or is Harry just totally irresistible? *le sighhhh*
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