GLISTENING DIAMONDS.
012. ❛ drunk words, sober thoughts. ❜
SITTING AT HER CLUTTERED DESK, Diana was engrossed in her investigation. The nagging thought of Peter knowing Spider-Man's true identity consumed her mind, pushing her to piece together the puzzle before her.
Months of subtle changes in Peter had caught her attention. His physique had transformed, muscles rippling beneath his clothes. The familiar spectacles that once adorned his face were absent, revealing sharp, confident eyes. He displayed a newfound sense of assurance, his instincts sharp and unnatural. Peter's once clumsy nature had vanished; objects seemed to obey him, never slipping from his grasp. There were occasions when he would leave abruptly, disappearing into thin air. And it hadn't gone unnoticed that he had abruptly abandoned all his extracurricular activities, leaving behind a void in his once-bustling schedule.
Some might've thought he was Batman.
Determined, Diana delved into a web of digital investigations. She scoured YouTube, meticulously sifting through audio recordings, capturing every nuance of Spider-Man's voice. Mapping out his movements, she discovered a distinct pattern of heightened activity in the borough of Queens. A pattern that coincided with Peter's mysterious absences from school. Her eyes widened as she stumbled upon a peculiar meeting between Peter and the enigmatic Tony Stark, just a day before Spider-Man's appearance in Germany.
But it was the security camera footage that finally unveiled the truth. Diana meticulously combed through countless feeds, each frame unfolding the secret she had long suspected. There it was—a raw, unfiltered glimpse of Peter changing into his suit in an alleyway, his ordinary guise fading away to reveal the iconic Spider-Man suit. Time seemed to stand still as Diana sat there, her legs crossed, lips slightly parted in astonishment, and her piercing green eyes fixated on the paused footage of Peter in his dual identity.
Now her suspicions were correct, Peter just didn't know Spider-Man, he was Spider-Man.
A sly smile curled upon Diana's red lips, mirroring the simmering excitement within her. "Well, well, well," she murmured, her voice laced with a mixture of intrigue and amusement. "Peter Parker picked a perilously precarious profession."
As if in response to her revelation, a small, tantalizing ding emanated from Diana's phone, breaking the silence.
Diana smiled as she saw who had texted her. Quick on her thumbs, she replied to the girl.
Diana's eyebrows furrowed as she tried to remember what it was she had to get ready for.
Diana's eyes widened as she started to look for something to wear, totally forgetting about the party.
Diana's heart raced as she hastily powered down her phone, tossing it onto her neatly made bed. Frenzied, she delved into her closet, her fingers skimming through the array of garments until she laid her hands on a timeless little black dress. The fabric was smooth to the touch, and its classic allure beckoned to her, though she knew she wouldn't linger at Liz's gathering for too long. Her true destination lay elsewhere—the MET museum, where a cherished artifact awaited her.
Slipping into the elegant dress, Diana's reflection stared back at her, urging her to complete her transformation. With deliberate precision, she embarked on her makeup routine. Concealer concealed any imperfections, while strategic strokes of highlight and bronzer added a touch of radiance. Now, her focus shifted to her eyes; she expertly applied her eyeliner, her hand froze midway, and she found herself entranced by her own reflection.
Her eyes widened, realization sinking in like an unwelcome gust of wind. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit! I kissed pretty boy Parker!" she exclaimed, her voice betraying a mix of panic and regret.
Summoning her inner strength, Diana took a series of deep breaths, attempting to regain her composure. She repeated soothing words to herself, willing her racing heart to calm its relentless rhythm. "It's okay, it's okay," she whispered, her voice now tinged with determination. "You're a bad bitch... right?"
A faint whine escaped her lips as she hastily applied lip gloss, smudging her eyeliner ever so slightly with her fingertip. Rising from her seat, she adjusted her dress, her expression a mixture of confidence and self-assurance. Nodding approvingly at her reflection, she silently reaffirmed her own power. "You're a bad bitch, Diana."
Seizing her trusty black tote bag, which concealed her impeccably tailored suit, Diana deliberately ruffled her white hair, transforming it into an artful mess that exuded effortless allure. Completing her ensemble, she slipped into a pair of sleek black Christian Louboutin stilettos, their elegant design providing both poise and a subtle edge.
She needed a reason to get drunk, and tonight was just the night.
BLARING MUSIC reverberated through Liz Allen's house, engulfing every corner with its pulsating beats. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat and anticipation as bodies swayed in unison at the center of the room. Overhead, disco lights bathed the scene in a kaleidoscope of colors, casting ephemeral hues on the revelers below.
Diana found herself wrapped in the arms of her ex, Jake Turner, amidst the lively crowd. Though undeniably handsome, Jake had earned a reputation as the quintessential troublemaker. Yet, there was no denying his ability to infuse any gathering with a palpable sense of exhilaration. A senior at Midtown High, he had briefly dated the school's resident heartbreaker, leaving Diana with mixed feelings. It may have seemed trivial to some, but her decision to end things stemmed from Jake's inexplicable dislike for chocolate—a red flag that waved resolutely in her personal book of compatibility.
As Demi Lovato's "Cool For The Summer" blared through the speakers, Diana tilted her head backward, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Jake drew her closer, their bodies swaying to the infectious rhythm.
"Got my mind on your body and your body on my mind. Gotta taste for the cherry; I just need to take a bite." The lyrics spilled effortlessly from Diana's mouth as she serenaded the air, her voice intertwining with the music. Jake's lips traced a path along her jawline, igniting a shiver that coursed through her veins.
Diana took a sip of whatever alcohol was in her cup and turned her head to the side, her gaze suddenly locked onto the figure of Peter Parker entering the house, accompanied by his loyal friend, Ned Leeds.
Perhaps it was the effect of the alcohol coursing through her veins or the lingering resentment she held toward Peter for his dual identity as Spider-Man, but Diana found herself irresistibly drawn to the encounter. She wrapped her hand around Jake's neck, her fingers gently coaxing his face to turn toward hers. With a surge of audacity, she pressed her lips against his, a fleeting moment in which her eyes remained locked with Peter's before surrendering to the rush of the kiss, her eyelids drifting shut.
Taken aback by the unexpected turn of events, Jake's eyes widened before he reciprocated the fiery embrace. His hands found a low place on her waist, the alcohol and the faint taste of cherry chapstick lingering on Diana's lips as they eventually parted. With a chuckle and a shake of her head, Diana walked away—albeit stumbling slightly—toward Peter and Ned, just as Liz Allen departed from their midst.
"Hey, Pretty Parker," Diana slurred, her words tinged with a mixture of amusement and intoxication, her high heels threatening her balance. Before gravity could claim her, Peter's hands reached out, catching the intoxicated girl in a protective embrace.
The aroma of alcohol and cigarettes clung to her, a testament to the revelry she had indulged in. "Diana, love, you're drunk. You should go home," Peter advised, concern lacing his words.
Diana let out a giggle, her attempt at composure faltering; she leaned closer to Peter to whisper in his ear. "You're not the boss of me, Spider-Boy."
Peter's eyes widened before Diana giggled again, bopping the end of his nose, "What's the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?"
Peter froze at her choice of words, a sense of déjà vu washing over him. He recognized that voice, those exact words. The realization dawned upon him, but he refused to accept it. Diana couldn't possibly be who he thought she was, even though deep down, it made perfect sense. He remained in a state of denial.
"Relax, shell head," Diana drawled playfully, just as Mj approached the pair, her presence offering a welcomed intervention. "I can keep a secret."
"Okay, D, that's enough. Let's get some fresh air," Mj interjected, gently guiding Diana away from Peter, gratitude etched on her face as she passed him.
Stepping outside, Diana was greeted by the refreshing embrace of the cool autumn air, momentarily steadying her swaying form. Yet, her momentary respite was short-lived as nausea surged within her. Urgently, she unlinked Mj's arm from around her waist and dashed back into the house, barging into the nearest restroom. The clamor of footsteps followed her, and Mj sighed, kneeling down beside her friend. She tenderly brushed back Diana's blonde locks, her hand soothingly caressing the girl's back. "It's okay, Diana. Just breathe."