A/N: No more fluff until you guys start talking to me again :p HAPPY NEW YEAR FRINGIES :')
ASPHALT
That night, Peter drinks the way most people drink in bars like this one, downing glass after glass with a heavy scowl, dark shadows on his face and all around his crushed figure.
He drinks, hoping it will allow him not to feel. He drinks so that he can forget. But he's out of luck; they all are.
No matter how many times the whiskey goes down his throat, the images flash in his head, a punch in the gut, a hand squeezing his heart and lungs, making it hard to breathe and crushing his will to even try.
The alcohol numbs his body, but not his mind; Olivia remains dead, lying broken on the asphalt.