STICKY FINGERS » peter parker

SIXTEEN

"Hmph." Aunt May dangled the earring once again with an introspective grimace and caught it into a fist. "Fine, I'm keeping it. It looks cute."

Peter flung her a despairing glance when May turned the home vacuum on again. He had never been angrier at the universe for introducing her to him and then taking her away. He missed her without measure, and couldn't think through the hurt. 

He spent that night in the spare room, rustling through the covers and pillows to find the other pair of lost earrings. It was strange how the whole room was just dark now. He did manage to find her big, holey OutKast band t-shirt and a few loose sheets from her designs. He took them back to his room and pinned the designs up on his board. He folded the shirt and let it sit on the front of his closet.

When he lapsed back into school routines, Ned and MJ wouldn't stop looking at him like a puppy that they accidentally kicked in the face.

"Hey, man," Ned tried to tell him in the canteen, "life's a bitch. Your life just happened to be Clar—"

"If you finish that sentence," MJ threatened, striking her plastic fork in front of his lunch tray. "You'll be walking home with this up your guts."

Ned gulped, eyeing the fork. "—c-clarity of mind. I meant mental clarity about Clara. Jeez."

Peter rolled his eyes, cracking a small smile for them. "I'm fine, okay? Just... tired from everything."

"Have you tried to talk to her?" MJ asked, oh-so-kind. She wasn't the least bit sympathetic for Peter, though. She thought he deserved it for deceiving her like that. 

Peter shook his head. "I don't even see her around."

"Oh," they said in unison. MJ followed up with a soft, "Cold."

He shut his eyes to reclaim his senses before he lost the war with his mind and sighed. "Look, I appreciate you guys trying to help. But it's all good. I got over it."

"This quick?" Ned piped up. He sagged his shoulders, mumbling, "Thought you really liked her."

"Me, too."

Now, there were times when Peter set himself up for disappointment and nosed around for the one familiar face in the sea of strangers. The noise of tinkling bracelets, squeaky shoes, rattling keychain clusters, the flash of dark choppy hair, then he would follow it for a bit. He beat himself up for how creepy it was that he was hard on his ex-should-be-girlfriend's heels, but as it grew to a habit, he flouted it. You know, like every other psychotic stalker in existence.

To confirm: Peter was not a psychopath. He was an antsy webhead who missed his girl very much. That should get him out of the hock. 

As for Clara Rose, she was doing okay. If 'doing okay' was neither a high feeling nor a low feeling and just alongside an emotional indifference. It was as she said; nothing. She went about her day like every other person like nothing ever happened. That was the deal, wasn't it? 

It was hard to dream this stuff up that he had an insider's perspective into her life. Her relief valve was her new part-time job at FEAST, and the perfect time to catch a glimpse of her was at the six-fifteen pm mark when she headed out for a break. 

And when he saw her perched on the wide steps of the shelter, he'd ask himself: what the fuck are you doing here, man? She isn't going to look up. It's over.

But he'd still wait. Just a little longer. 

And today was a lucky evening for his daily stop at the FEAST shelter. It was about the angle, he always chose the topmost ledge of the skyscraper opposite the craggy building. When he heard Clara's laugh, he had to remind himself that it wasn't gunshots. It was his stupid heart. No gunshots, the heart. No gunshots, just my goddamn heart—