PETER PARKER/TOM HOLLAND IMAGINES

ASSAULT

It was a typical Monday afternoon. You were tired. You couldn't be bothered with anyone and anything. You hated Mondays. You hated the idea of going back to school for another 4 days. You hated seeing the faces of all your teachers, as the lesson droned on for what felt like hours. You hated taking tests and quizzes. But with Peter, Ned and MJ by your side you managed to get through each day. 

You walked lazy along the path. So far, your Monday was only getting worse. You ended up going to the library two hours after school ended too do some homework, but now it was well beyond 6. The sun was starting to set over the horizon, decorating the sky with streaks of oranges and pinks. The humidity from earlier was now getting replaced with icy cold breezes, which pricked at your skin. Causing you to wrap your coat around you tighter. The street lights emitting a dull yellow, giving you the bare minimum sight in front of you. 

You slowly took a sip out of your coffee, hoping it would warm you up, but by now it too was becoming cold. You sighed. Ned and Peter were probably having a Star Wars marathon. You were invited too, but had to decline because you had to get your Biology homework done and because they didn't have Biology, they didn't have to worry about homework.

You were used to walking home alone after school. After all, your mum always worked late, so she barely had time to pick you up from school. But you still loved her. And your dad, well he was out of the picture.

As you kept your head down, wrapping your hands around yourself to preserve heat, when you felt like you were being watched. Hesitantly you turned around. Only to come face to face with nothing. At least, nothing in the proximity that the light covered. Beyond it, you could barely make out the colors of the buildings as night settled in. 

Anxiously, you started fast walking, you had less than 15 minutes till you were home, and all you wanted to do was jump into your bed, and sleep. When you hear the sound of footsteps behind. You hesitantly stop. You can hear your heart thumping in your chest, and a lump in your throat. It was like you had forgotten how to breathe, as your chest heaved up and down. And without even thinking you broke of into a sprint, dropping your coffee on the floor. 

You weren't athletic. You knew it. In gym, you barely did 10 push ups. Not because you couldn't, but because you couldn't be bothered, and now you wished you had possibly participated a bit more in gym class. Looking back at it, you wondered how a Zebra could possible outrun a lion in all those David Peterborough documentaries you had watched. 

And then you feel it, your hair being yanked backwards, you feel your neck bend back as you fall to the floor. Then you see him. The perpetrator. His hair is brown, with streaks of grey from ageing. His eyes are emerald green and make you want to shivers. His hands are rough and calloused as he holds you in place. One hand on you stomach and one hand on top of your mouth to prevent you from screaming. Screaming for Spider-man. Screaming for Peter.

You start to squirm, kicking showing trying to get in a good punch. Doing anything you can to get him off of you, and it hits you. Quickly and with all the strength you could possibly muster you bite him. And you bite him hard. He stiffles a groan as you kick him and make a run for it. You start scream. Begging for help, when you are shoved against a hard brick wall. The mans hands are at the side of your head, before they make their way to your waist. His hands land on your waist, groping them. You can feel his hands through the fabric and instantly your eyes started tearing up at the endless possibilities that could happen to you. 

He leans in close, and you can see every crevasse on his face. His mouth goes to your ear, as he speaks. "Well that wasn't very nice Princess, you will have to be punished." You can smell the alcohol in his breath, but then you realize what he said. Your eyes go wide as you start begging. He slaps you hard across the face, and your head swings to the side.