𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 | peter parker

ix. self-deprecation

It's midnight.

I'm staring at her.

She looks pathetic with her facial expressions, looking me directly in the eye.

I hate her with passion sometimes, and it makes me wanna punch her.

She's pretty, I'm not gonna lie.

But not her insides.

And the problem is, if I do beat her, the mirror would shatter into pieces.

I'm staring desperately at the ceiling above me, hoping it would fall down and crash me, politely.

The clock is ticking. My heart is pounding. Other than that, nothing. It's all silent.

In some times like now, I hate being a night person.

My anxiety creeps inside of me whenever I close my eyes.

It's getting hard to breathe.

The fact that it's been a month without my freinds who I have no idea about their whereabouts.

They might be dead.

What if they died?

It's all my fault.

What if they've been fighting for their lives waiting for me to get help?

What if I fail them?

What if I backstab them?

What if I'm caught between who I am and who I want to be?

What if I'm born with tragedy in my blood?

What if the answer of going back has been in front of me the whole time?

I get out of bed and get myself a cup of water, as I make my way to the desk and play an Arctic Monkeys cassette.

I'm just a shitty teenager with a great taste in music.

I grab a pencil and a paper, and I scratch with dark circles and more dark circles all over the paper.

That's it. That's the feeling. Now the real question is, how to describe this strangled, yet destructive feeling.

I walk to the window and lay on the edge, my legs fleeing in the breeze of the cold air.

The city is dark, the lights not lighting every part of it properly. Smoggy lights flicker in the distance. Most windows have no sense of light, others are dimly lit.

Am I not too young to feel like I'm running out of time?

The only person who understood me is not here anymore, and this is when I realized, that villains are not evil. They're just broken.

Does that make me the villain of my own story?

I take one last glance at the city beneath me and sigh, proceeding to the desk once again.

The time, however, grabs my attention. It's almost sunrise. An hour of sleep would be helpful, right?

I push my sleepy thoughts and play 505.

I throw my cup away, not paying attention to the water flowing out of it and into the floor.

Instead, I'm just standing there, vibing in with the music coming out of the cassette, moving my hands calmly, left and right.

The knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark.

Now I'm slowly closing my eyes, moving my body to every musical beat.

Frightened by the bite, though it's no harsher than the bark.

Now, I'm mumbling the lyrics.

The middle of adventure, such a perfect place to start.

Now, I'm dancing with myself, a faint smile on my face.

I'm going back to 505.

I sing as I jump my ways around the room, hand over my chest, legs flying over.

If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive.

I proceed to the bed and sit down in the same old position again.

In my imagination, you're waitin' lyin' on your side.

"With your hands between your thighs and a smile" I sing out the last part, my vision facing the top of my room.

I laugh to myself at what I've just done. I mean, it's getting funny. Music is free therapy.

My night thoughts then wander around again, making their cue to ruin my vibe, except this time, they're different.

My life would've been on a completely different path if she was still here.

But also, I'm kind of glad I ended up in this universe. I mean, I think Peter is the most handsome teenager I've ever met.

He has got this indie spirit inside of him that lifts the mood up. He's got this certain psyche and fashion style that some wish dearly to have. Not to mention his taste in music, which is indeed the most similar to mine.

I think he is every girl's dream lover.