Xara's Guide To Befriending Superheroes (Not Clickbait):-
Rule 1: Call him a serial killer.
Rule 2: Blackmail him.
Rule 3: Be in love with his alter ego.
MCU!Peter Parker story.
Book [1] of the Paracosm series (but can also be read as a stand-alone).
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⋆prologue⋆
I'm going to die.
Of course I've experienced public humiliation before, but this is a whole new level of it. Usually I'm on the other end of the news, but this? Something completely new. At least I can't see anyone from school around, because I'm sure it would go down in the news that I got stood up at a freaking date.
It doesn't help reminding myself of that, though.
There's a reason I don't exactly date, but I thought for once I'd let it slide, try something new. I can't stay behind the camera and watch all these moments of life move on without me, being known as just the kind of girl that watches all but has no one to watch out for her.
I thought that life was finally going to be behind me when I went out with this guy, hoping some switch in me might just flick and everything would be okay again, but no. Sitting here, with all these people starting to look at me with those apologetic eyes like they know, they know what's happening, I slowly start to feel worse and worse.
The waitress comes over but I hold up a hand, a pleading voice asking, "Just another few minutes? Please?" At first I'm not sure who asks for me, but that's when I realise that begging voice is me, it's me, and I've gone so low since everything started turning around and my luck began to change.
Her eyes are apologetic, too, before she walks away, leaving me in the middle of a restaurant in a dress I don't usually wear, feeling like shit as the minutes slowly dwindle into an hour, then two, and my unwavering hope slowly shrinking and shrinking till it's barely a match.
I don't know why I keep waiting, why I keep giving people chances. In the end, all males are going to piss me off, because I can't ever have the right ones in my life and the ones that are perfect are the ones I can't have.
Checking the clock on the wall one last time, I know I can't wait any longer. The temperature's been dropping quickly, leaving me frozen in my lack of sleeves, the autumn breeze biting at my nose as a warning of the coming winter.
My phone vibrates. Immediately I grab for it, grateful my dress has pockets, when my heart sinks at the sight of Dad's name, the text he sent dripping with mockery.
Didn't show up, did he? Come home.
I want to throw the phone at the wall, then, and watch the pieces fall onto the wooden floor with fury blazing in my eyes, but I can't. Two hours. Two freaking hours I've been sitting here, waiting for my date, only to get nothing but proof that I can't trust people. I guess, in the end, it's better to be on the other end of the camera than to be known.
Just as I'm about to leave, a mussed and harried Peter Parker walks in through the door, guilty eyes looking in my direction.
