That was almost two weeks ago.
But something buzzed in the back of Camila's mind, telling her she hadn't seen the worst of puny Y/n's troubles yet. She watched as the kid slumped against the lockers for a moment, wincing as her side made contact with the cold metal, the grate on the edge rough on her arm. Y/n stood once more, looking like she was forcing herself to stay on her feet, and started to tug off her shirt-
"Hey, Camila, what's-"
Camila shushed the two soccer players who walked up to her, talking quite loudly. They both shut up, then looked in the same direction Camila was.
Right at a shirtless Y/n Parker.
One gasped. The other cringed.
Camila's jaw dropped.
Now she knew why Y/n never changed around them.
Her pale skin was covered in scars. There wasn't an area of her torso that wasn't scraped or slashed or burnt. Some scars were old; others were recent, red and angry and telling the three onlookers that Y/n wasn't just a punching bag for them and their pals.
Camila saw three massive slash marks across Y/n's chest, over her far too obvious ribs, probably the worst of the scars on the teen. Camila wondered how on earth she'd managed to get those. How she'd managed to get any of those horrific marks, really.
But then Y/n turned around to grab her shirt from her locker, her long sleeve shirt that hid every mark from the world.
And it got worse.
Camila winced with her at seeing the massive bruises splattered across her back in every shape and size and color imaginable. No wonder she'd had such a reaction to getting hit in class.
Why hadn't she sat out?
Come to think of it, Y/n never sat out. She always participated. She always changed. She always pitifully attempted to do something.
Y/n pulled on her shirt, which was just as worn as her pants. The threadbare clothes wouldn't do anything to protect her from the bitter New York chill. And everybody knew Y/n's coat wasn't in any better condition than her clothes.
Or her body at this rate.
Camila had seen enough. "Y/n," she barked, almost punching herself for how rough of a tone she'd used.
Y/n jumped, then looked up, looking like a deer in the headlights. Camila didn't blame her. The whole soccer team was now watching her change.
Talk about awkward.
And humiliating.
"Y-yeah?" Y/n squeaked, her voice rough.
Camila stood up, and she hoped she didn't look overly concerned. "What happened to you?" There was no way Y/n actually was... was Spider-man. Absolutely not.
Y/n shrugged sheepishly and coughed, a few football players grimacing at the harsh rattle in their classmate's chest. "Getting pictures for the Bugle is rough." She almost smiled. Almost. "I gotta get the money somehow. It's-" she palmed her locker shut "-worth a few cuts and scrapes."
Camila scoffed. "Y/n, those are more than a few tiny cuts."
"Yeah," someone spoke up behind him. "Who treated those?"
Y/n looked up blankly. "Trust me, guys. They're not as bad as they look." That didn't answer the question, and the other girls hated to think she'd treated every injury on her own.
Camila wasn't buying it. "You get hurt taking pictures for the Daily Rag?"
"Well, sometimes." Another cough. "The fights get intense. And I sometimes get a little too close."
"So you're letting yourself get beat up to earn a little extra cash?" another girl asked, her tone completely and utterly implying she thought Y/n was an idiot.
Y/n looked up at all the girls who'd been watching her, her eyes and voice tired, but filled with determination as she spoke. "Bills don't pay themselves. And Aunt May in no shape to start working, not after the heart attack." She stepped over the bench in front of her, grabbing her backpack and hoisting it onto her shoulder as she brushed past them, looking worn down and ready to drop to the floor.
Camila stared at the spot where the geek had just been standing. Y/n was putting herself through hell. She was running herself ragged and still showing up for every stinking day of school like the nerd she had been since birth. She was forcing herself to get through each day, fights and taunts and bullies and supervillains and all.
"Whoa..." one girl broke the silence after Y/n had left. "I didn't see that coming."
"She goes through all that... just to cover their bills?"
"You're forgetting hospital bills," someone else cut in. "Those probably aren't helping."
"And neither are we," Camila muttered to herself. She grabbed her crutches and left, silently resolving to take it easier on puny Y/n.
So what if she'd been the one to win States? She'd sacrificed her health for a ball, a game, a few seconds of fame in the paper and on the television. Y/n sacrificed her health for her aunt, so she'd have a place to go home to.
Puny Y/n was more of a woman than Camila Cabello was.
And that really stung.
Camila left the gym and caught Y/n staring dejectedly at the water fountain and its "DO NOT USE - BROKEN" sign, digging in her pocket for some change so she could use the vending machine. She pulled out a couple of quarters and some dimes.
Not enough.
Camila sighed and figured if she had to swallow her pride, she better start now with a little bit. Then maybe it'd get easier. She leaned her crutches against the wall and grabbed her backpack, pulling out an unopened water bottle. "Y/n."
Y/n turned her way, frowning in confusion.
"Catch." Camila tossed her the water bottle and Y/n caught it, staring at it warily.
"What's this?" Y/n finally managed to ask.
Camila snorted. "It's water, genius."
"What did you do to it?" Y/n rolled the bottle in her hands.
"N-nothing." Camila was shocked. Did Y/n think that little of her? "Just take it."
Y/n slowly twisted off the cap, not taking her eyes off her biggest nightmare, outside of the Sinister Six and Venom of course. She took a long sip and swallowed heavily. Apparently she was fine with the water. She smiled, just a tiny, tired smile. "Thanks, Camila." Her throat sounded a bit better.
The soccer star just nodded once and hobbled off on her crutches. She didn't see Y/n smile in thanks at her back.
Maybe it really was all just part of the job, just a part of getting pics of the web-head in action.
Maybe it was just an occupational hazard.
o c c u p a t i o n a l - h a z a r d//bully [au]
Start from the beginning
