Chapter One – Valentine's Day
"Pete if you don't turn that fucking alarm off I'm smashing your phone!"
The voice came from my roommate and best friend, Harry Osborn. Obviously he was anticipating a lie in. I would have liked a lie in, but in actual fact I had been awake for the last hour, sitting in bed with my memories to keep me company.
Today is the anniversary. Two years. Two years since the father of the man I was sharing a room with killed the girl I loved.
No, still love.
I reached my arm out to tap on the screen, dismissing the irritating jingle that usually woke me from my sleep. The room was dark, but my eyes were already adjusted perfectly. I looked over at my best friend. Harry had taken the news of the events that occurred two years ago almost as hard as I had. His father, the man he looked up to, responsible for the death of one of his closest friends, and the girlfriend of his oldest friend. The fact that he was a lunatic dressed in a green elf costume probably didn't soften the blow either…
We were young then, only nineteen. First years in Empire State College and excited for our lives as students. Her death left a shadow over all of us – Liz, Betty, Flash, Ned – but Harry and I remained in that darkness for the longest. Both of us still to this day carried remnants of the Goblin's last act. A common symptom of depression, especially when linked to significant changes in one's life, is self-harming behaviour. Both of us definitely manifested this trait in the following months.
Harry's took the form of money – he seemed to want to throw as much away as possible. Maybe because it was Norman's money, maybe just because it was there. He took to alcohol from morning until evening, only breaking up the extended drinking sessions with various drugs. When not off his head on whiskey or cocaine, you'd usually find him at the strip clubs around the back alleys, trying as hard as he could to get a full row on his STI bingo card.
I threw myself into my 'work'. I hunted Norman – the Goblin – down the next night. This didn't give me the pleasure I hoped for. I brought him in alive but the usual satisfaction that came with helping remove criminals and killers from the street was absent. I took back to the street, obsessed with taking down every criminal I could. I was reckless, not worrying about taking hits, not worried about being sneaky. I'd already lost her, what else was there to lose?
Over the months the pair of us began to come out of our grief, partially through the help of our friends, partially though the very expensive therapy that Harry spent his money on for us. We became more involved in college again, me with my biophysics course and Harry studying biochemistry. Things began to feel more normal again, for the most part. There were relapses of course, times where we'd find Harry unconscious with a credit card and an empty plastic bag, times where I might break the bones of one too many low lives on the street, but on the whole, improvements.
I looked briefly at Harry. I traced the line of dark stubble along his jawline up to his dark brown, almost black, hair – the date hadn't yet dawned on him. He woke to unawareness which would be broken soon. His green eyes flicked open and met my blue ones.
"How're you doing bro?" The realisation had dawned on him.
"Same as always." I replied briefly. This is all he needed – he didn't push further. He understood, much like how I understood him.
He stretched his arms out in front of him; my eyes tracked the tensing of his muscles in his forearms as he attempted to wake himself. With the effort of someone who would much rather fall back asleep Harry swung his legs out of the bed and stood.
"How long we got til' class Pete?" He asked, grabbing a towel and a pair of shorts from the dresser on his side of our room.
I glanced at my phone. "Half an hour." With this Harry opened the door at the side of the room and walked into the adjoining bathroom, presumably for a shower if the towel was anything to go by. Steam flooded out of the bathroom – I had been aware that the shower had been on for a while – obviously Harry had failed to hear the noise of water rhythmically hitting acrylic flooring. The shower had been running for the best part of an hour already, someone in there was also feeling the significance of the date.
"How long you going to be Flash?" Harry sighed, leant against the jamb of the door, arms folded across his chest.
The noise of water ceased. "Finished twenty minutes ago. Just been thinking." I heard the slide of the shower door and felt the minute vibrations of two feet touch solid ground. Rolling myself out of bed I looked through the door to see Flash Thompson, towel wrapped around his waist, brushing his blond hair onto his head. "How you doing Pete?"
I gave him a small smile to suggest that I wasn't as low as I actually felt. "All the better now I've seen you Flash." I said teasingly.
He responded with a blown kiss and a flex of his arms, before giving me a reassuring smile. My history with Flash Thompson was very different to my history with Harry. Although we had known each other for around the same amount of time a good portion of that was as enemies, as rivals. He was the dumb blond jock to my geeky brown haired nerd. It wasn't until junior year when this began to change. We went from adversaries to friends, and pretty close ones at that. All thanks to her…
As Harry entered the shower the final figure involved in our shared bathroom situation appeared. "What the hell dude," Ned expressed frustratedly, tapping on the glass of the shower. "I was waiting for Eugene to get out of there for half an hour."
I saw Harry flash a finger at Ned before the room filled once more with the sound of water. "I'd flush the toilet if I were you," I said to Ned. Flash's roommate was the last part of our group, excluding the girls. Tall blond and handsome, Ned had been close to Harry in high school and, like I was, pulled into the group through him. Although he shared some physical attributes of Flash he was a lot closer to Harry in terms of build, being lean and slim.
"You in the office today Pete?" Ned asked. He was majoring in journalism and had been spending the last few months at an 'extended' work experience for the Daily Bugle – the editor, a forties throwback with a taste for expensive cigars and cheap student labour, J. Jonah Jameson had been dangling the carrot of a job at the Bugle above the heads of the student interns. I was only in the 'office' a day or so every week as I was only minoring in journalism, one of those days did happen to be today though.
"Yea man, got space for me in the passenger seat?" I asked pulling my jeans on.
"Absolutely." Ned replied, heading back to his and Flash's room, presumably giving up on the shower. "For God's sake Eugene can you not leave your towel on the floor…"
I forced a smile to my lips, then let it slip away. I was in the room alone. I buckled my belt and lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. After all this time the bed still felt empty, still cold without her next to me. My hand gripped the sheets and duvets, as if feeling for the hand that wouldn't meet mine ever again. I closed my eyes, imagining hearing her next to me, breathing softly.
"Pete."
My eyes snapped open and I saw Harry stood above me. He handed me a shot glass and I knocked the liquid back – the alcohol burned my throat on the way down. A likewise empty glass was in Harry's hand.
"Thanks man." I said, feeling the whiskey he had given me beginning to calm my nerves. I heard the glug of liquid pouring from a bottle and handed my glass back for a second shot, then a third.
"I miss her." I looked Harry in the eyes, and he placed his hand on my shoulder.
"I know."
But he didn't. He was spared the truth that she was killed by the Goblin, by his own father, to hurt me. I wondered how he'd react. If I should have told him. I pushed those thoughts from my mind. No need to cause Harry more pain – he already had to deal with the knowledge that his father had killed her. As far as he was aware she was just a victim grabbed from the street, a random casualty. If he knew he truth he'd probably blame me. He'd be right. It's because of me she was dead.
I pushed my grief aside and stood, slightly too quickly, and grabbed my t-shirt from the side. I pulled it on and ran some gel through my hair, pulling my fringe of curls to the top of my head. Harry had likewise returned to the bathroom and currently had an eyeliner pencil held close to his lower lash line, trying clumsily to make himself look, in his own words, 'punk'. The door on the opposite side of the bathroom opened and Ned walked through to our room dressed in a pair of grey suit trousers and a button-up shirt, both which were bought at a thrift store last October. He was followed closely by Flash who was in a pair of dark jeans, trainers, and a band t-shirt for some Canadian rock band.
"We all ready?" Ned asked, car keys in hand and rucksack on shoulder.
"Yeah yeah." Harry said, finally putting a t-shirt on and slipping a dark Gucci blazer on top. Like I said, he wanted to get rid of Norman's money. He headed to the and stepped out into the hallway, Ned following. Flash gave me a pat on the shoulder as he passed by me.
I pulled my hoodie on over my head, drained the last drops of whiskey from the shot glasses for good measure, and followed them out the door.
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The office space of the Daily Bugle was its usual busy self; reporters, writers, photographers, interns, researchers, lawyers, and all the other people employed by the company were rushing about already compiling the stories for tomorrow's edition. The group of us met up with the other interns, and I had to dodge out the way as a small dark-haired blur almost tackled me out of the way and collided with Ned.
"Hi babe." Ned said, pulling Betty Brant into a kiss. I turned away, feeling a pain in my chest. Getting launched through a building by Rhino would have been preferable to watching any displays of affection today… The brunette turned in my direction. "How you feeling Peter?"
"Just tired." I wished everyone would stop asking me that question, so I could stop lying about the answer.
Betty wasn't buying it – her dark eyes stared into mine as if reading my thoughts – she didn't push it. "So what time we heading to Braddock's party on Thursday?"
I hadn't given it much thought. Brian Braddock was another of Harry's friends (although closer to Flash due to both of them majoring in history), a third year with money who loved to spend it on parties. Back where he was from you could buy alcohol at eighteen, and usually became alcoholics much earlier, something he was keen to introduce to New York City if his parties were anything to go by. I would try to skip out of it, but no doubt Flash and Harry would march me straight to Braddock's apartment.
Before I could answer a deep voice interrupted: "you all talking about that British dude's party?" We turned and saw the large figure of Eddie Brock. Although he was a second year like we were he was actually a good three or four years older than we were, having taken a few years off after senior year to spend some time in San Francisco.
"Yea man," Ned replied, "you heading there?"
"Yea. My new girl knows Braddock and scored us an invite." Eddie said nonchalantly, brushing his hand through his short ginger hair. He was bigger than all of us, save Ned, and on him he had at least a good fifty pounds of muscle, if not more.
"Oh wow Eddie, I had no idea you were with someone?" Betty inquired excitedly.
"Yea, met her a few weeks ago." He was nervously playing with the silver cross necklace he was wearing under his dark checked shirt, as if shy. "She's great, I'll introduce you all."
"What are you lot talking about!" The blunt voice of J. Jonah Jameson shouted over to us. Although he was on the other side of the office he had a remarkable knack for making it sound like he was right next to you when he was 'projecting'. "I don't pay you to gossip!"
"Don't pay us at all." I muttered back, as we dispersed to go to our separate jobs.
I threw myself into my work, editing and sharpening digital photos, proofreading articles, all busy work which could be done a lot quicker and easier by a paid professional. I didn't mind, as long as my mind was kept busy. As long as I didn't allow myself to wonder what Ned and Betty, what Eddie and his girl, what every other couple in New York would be getting up to this Tuesday. I couldn't think about that stuff, not in public at least.
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I awoke later that evening in a daze, my head hurting. I was back in my room, but on the floor. Harry was in his bed unconscious, empty bottle in his left hand and almost empty glass in his right. That was what happened. I remember now. I tried to move my left arm, then realised it was trapped under the body of a shirtless Flash who must have passed out not long after I did. I lifted him off my forearm with ease then lifted him off the floor, my head still pounding. As heavy as Flash was to a normal person, I wasn't a normal person. It wasn't just my strength that was affected – there was a reason why I got drunk quicker, as well as sobering a lot quicker too.
I paused in the bathroom at Ned and Flash's door, listening for his roommate. Once I was certain Ned wasn't in (probably still enjoying his Valentine's evening with Betty) I pushed the door open and lay Flash down on his bed. I rolled him over onto his side then took a moment to look across the room. His basketball jersey was on the floor, as well as a few other pairs of shorts, shirts, and socks. I could see why Ned got annoyed.
With one last look to make sure Flash was safe I returned to mine and Harry's room, likewise checking my best friend's sleeping position. I placed the empty bottle on the shelf behind him and downed the remaining liquid in his glass before grabbing my Uncle's suitcase from under my bed. It was a keepsake given to me by my Aunt May to remind me of my Uncle Ben even when I wasn't at their house anymore – and something to keep the promise I made to him before his death on my mind. I slipped his ring off my right ring finger (another memento of him) and placed it on my bedside table, then pulled out my red and blue costume, pulling it on over my boxers and fitting my webshooters to my wrists. I slid mine and Harry's window open and stuck my head outside, checking to make sure that the camera not far from our room was still disconnected – it was, who was going to spend money on fixing one camera on a college campus?
I flung myself into the cool night air, and for the first time today allowed myself to cry, feeling the tears soak into the fabric around the eyes of my mask.
Song Recommendation: Where Is My Mind? - Placebo