CHAPTER THIRTY ONE;
at least i have you!
TWO WEEKS GO BY AND THE NIGHTMARES ARE DEBILITATING. When the sun goes down for its periodic slumber and the moon takes its rightful place in the sky, bad dreams threaten to smother Amala.
They're always the same.
She's in a car, her mother in the driver's seat, cruising down an interstate. It's dark and bright light turns red, yellow, green as vehicles whizz past. After several tense moments of driving, a bright strobe blinds them. There's barely enough time to understand where it's coming from. Instead, all she processes is the strobe making impact and the car skidding against the concrete. Glove clad hands make contact with the car, the skidding stops. The figure is masked and engulfed by a shadow — they're unidentifiable. She runs towards the figure involuntarily, breaking out into a sprint once the shadow around them grows darker. Her hands reach out. Her palms go right through them. Who is it?
When the scene changes seconds later, a gush of water knocks Amala off her feet. It's like a giant bubble of liquid encompasses her and it's freezing. It shocks her to the bone, sending her nerves into a frenzy. It's all around her and no matter what direction she swims in, she can never break the surface. It's always the same, she flails and wails until there's nothing left in her. At some point, her body gives out and her last inhale chokes her. Fuzzy minded and limbs heavy, her blurry eyes settle on a single detail. In the murkiness of the bubble, an inferno of tendrils lights the water. It gets closer, warming the liquid of her prison. She tries to scream. No one can hear her.
Minutes, hours, days later and she's on the busy streets of London, soaking wet. Her hair sticks against her face and her body shivers with exhaustion. Harsh wind almost blows her to the ground and each surge multiplies the goosebumps on her skin. The world is an eruption of chaos; everything seems to be ripped from the ground and hurled into the sky. A deep hopelessness births in the pit of her stomach. Nothing will ever be okay. No matter how much she runs, she'll always be stuck. She'll always be here. It's always the same. She looks into the sky and next thing she knows she's being swept by the current of wind, tumbling into the sky, her feet aching for solid ground. The globe flips on its axis and up becomes down — the sky becomes the floor. Her fall is anything but graceful and when she hits the ground, metal doors slam in her face. A rectangular hole is cut through it. It's always the same. A drone powers to life in front of Amala. A single bullet fires.
She wakes up eyes brimming with tears.
She looks around. Darkness blinks back.
The bed is empty. She's alone.
This time, it's not real. This time.
Four weeks pass and the world feels like it's burning from the inside out. Warm and joyful days turn scorching and unbearable; all the thrill of summer is lost. Days drag on without an end and nights harbor the monsters in Amala's mind. She spends her hours locked away in her room like a prisoner, mulling it over. It's like a broken horror movie cassette — it keeps on playing, playing, playing.
At least she's not alone.
Sometimes she forgets that she's not the only one suffering. Sometimes the reminder that there are people who understand her escapes through the crevices of her mind.
Because Akira, Ned and Peter were there, too. Chocking on lake water, clothing set nearly set on fire and mini missile attacks, they experienced it. They lived in that horror as much as she did. They're still living in it as much as she is.
So much so, a mutual feeling of compassion weaves into the atmosphere when they're together. They hang out a couple times a week; always at someone's house and never in public. They don't do much. Sometimes they do nothing at all. But the love and support is there, just as it's always been. If anything, it has grown stronger. They'd survived a trifecta of terror together. They were bound no matter what.
In some ways, the thought soothes Amala. When the sky gets too dark and nothing can light it up, she knows they're right with her — wading through the night's tar.
It's better to suffer together than to suffer alone, right?
Six weeks pass and Amala has the worst nightmare yet.
Like every time before, it's beginning is the same. She's in a car and she feels tense. A sudden, blinding light crushes into her and it goes skidding against the pavement. A shadow dents the car and stops the skidding. She has no idea who they are but she sprints towards them anyways. She runs right through them. As usual.
Then, she's in a bubble of liquid, struggling for an escape. She swims and swims but to no avail — there's no way out of it. Tentacles of fire wrap around the bubble and the water is warm. She screams for help. It's swallowed by the current.
Ejected into the clattering streets of London, soaking and afraid, heavy wind howls in the sky. Debris and the like soars in the air and Amala joins them as she gets tossed off her feet. She sways violently and the world changes direction. Her feet ache for the ground. Only when she's spat back into the floor, does she realize where she is. Metal doors, artifacts, rectangular cut-out. Her eyes barely have time to adjust before a cannon-like sound rips through the air and a bullet soars from the nozzle of a drone. She closes her eyes and waits for the world to go quiet. It never comes.
When she hesitantly opens her eyes, she's no longer in London's vault. Instead, she's on top New York's tallest skyscraper. Cool wind hits her face and fluffs up her hair. She looks around. Lit up buildings stack against each other like a sparkly game of Tetris. Even from this high up, Amala can still hear cars honking and driving on the streets. Something feels off, she can feel it. Instinctively, her palms rubs along her sleeve. Soft cotton makes contact with her skin and her body sinks into it; she's wearing Peter's hoodie.
As though she may have summoned him, Peter appears right in front of her. He's clad in his Spider-man suit — the spandex material hugging his figure nicely. His mask is off, revealing a calm face. Amala immediately calms down at his presence. Peter slowly walks up to her. She opens her mouth to say something but no noise comes out. Confused, she tries again as Peter takes a step closer — his expression is neutral. Again, no words come out of her mouth. Panic begins to rise in her throat. Peter doesn't notice her change in demeanor and if he does, he doesn't show it. As he keeps inching closer, Amala tries to move. She can't. Her feet are stuck to the ground. Alarm bells ring in her ears. Peter is close enough to touch yet she stands still, hands at her side. Her expression widens. It takes mere moments for the course of someone's life to change. For Amala, it took seconds. One minute she was on the roof with Peter, the next she was free-falling into the sky, her chest burning behind Peter's touch. Fear sinks into her like an anvil. She falls faster. In her final moments, Amala spares a glance at the sky. Peter meets her eyes. They're empty.
A gasp rips through the night air.
Amala wakes up, chest heaving and throat dry.
Her heart is hammering in her chest and the sheets cling to her sweaty skin. She kicks them aside.
In the darkness of her room, Amala pats down her bed until she finds her phone. She dials the first number she can think of.
"Mmph- Amala?"
"I'm so sorry," she sobs quietly, her voice quivering. "I'm- I'm so sorry. Can you - can you come over? I'm sorry."
Shuffling can be heard across the line. "Ten minutes and I'll be there, okay?" More shuffling. "Hang tight, I got you."
Her chest feels so heavy. "T-thank you. I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Take a deep breath, I'll be there soon."
The moon is freakishly large tonight. It hangs high in the sky, casting a bright glow. Stars are few and far in between tonight. The night is cold. Amala drapes a wool blanket against her shoulders, the emerald hoodie she would've worn hanging on her vanity chair. She can barely stand the sight of it.
She stares at the streets below her. Her eyes are blurry and lidded. Her breaths come out strangled and deep, she hiccups every time she tries to suck in more air. Amala feels distraught and exhausted.
Fragments of her nightmare come back to her and just when she feels she might start sobbing again, she hears a gentle woosh.
Perched on her balcony is Peter. He's in comfy grey sweats and a navy hoodie. His hair is a little messy and his sleeves are pulled to reveal two cuffs (where his webs come out of).
She almost breaks down at the sight of him.
Peter must notice how quickly her demeanor changes because in seconds, he's at her sides, pulling her into an embrace.
She shudders against his touch and wraps her hands around his torso. Her palms fist his hoodie and she breathes in his scent; the familiarity of the ocean, mint and detergent calm her down.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles into him. "I'm sorry for waking you."
He hushes her silently. "It's okay," he rubs her lower back. "You need me and I'm here. It's okay."
At this, a tear falls out of her. Her body goes slack.
"What happened?" Peter asks quietly. "Is it a new one?"
She nods into his neck. "It was the same until it wasn't. We were on top of a building or something and-"
"We?"
"Mhm," she confirms. "You were walking towards me and I couldn't move or walk. Then, I was falling. I don't know how or why - I just... I just knew you did it." Her sobs rack her body. "I just looked at you and you looked at me back and there was nothing in your eyes. I'm -"
Peter tenses but he holds her tighter. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I-"
She lifts herself from his hold and looks at him, their arms still around each other.
"What?" She says, shocked. "No, no! It's not your fault. I - I know it wasn't real. I know you wouldn't do that." She pauses. "It's just - I don't understand. They won't go away and I don't know what to do."
He presses his forehead to hers and nudges her.
"I don't know what to do either." He confesses, tone heavy. "I have them every night and it's always the same."
Amala leans into him. "What are they about?"
"Losing you." He answers.
Amala gasps softly and meets his eyes. Raw sadness and affection mix within the chocolate of irises.
She returns the affection tenfold and, amidst her bundle of emotions, kisses him.
Immediately, he leans into the kiss, tilting his face.
No matter how much she kisses him, the feelings never fade. Each breathe they share strokes the fire in her gut. Each touch they feel sends her nerves cracking like fireworks. They fall into that perfect rhythm, their bodies in synch. It's intoxicating.
When Peter pulls away, he kisses her cheeks one by one.
"I'm always looking for you," he whispers. "In my dream. I look and look until I find you. But I'm always too late. You're gone before I can do anything. I watch you-" he stills, his voice cracking.
Amala rubs her palm against his cheek and presses a long kiss to his lips.
"It's okay." She whispers.
"I watch you die," he continues. "Every time. I'm forced to watch you and I - I cant help you and it destroys me. I'm-"
Fresh tears fall against his cheek.
Amala's heart shatters into a million pieces. Her throat feels dry and her eyes sting.
"It's okay," she rubs his cheek, her heart in absolute agony at the sight of him. "I'm right here. I'm safe and okay. You have me."
Peter sniffles. "I wake up missing you. I - every time i wake up, I realize just how much I care about you."
Amala holds him against her, her arms locked around his torso. Peter returns the hug as usual, his hands squeezing her shoulders.
Her eyes brim with tears and the first one falls onto her face.
She rocks them back and forth as they both cry. A mutual sadness floats between them — a sadness only two lovers can experience. They were so close to losing each other and even though they made it out alive, the lingering fear never leaves them. It might never leave them.
"You mean so much to me, Peter." Amala mumbles into his ear. "So fucking much. It's crazy."
Peter nuzzles his head into her neck. "Me, too, Amala. Me, too."
"Everything's gonna be okay." Amala reassures, even though the truth seems feeble. "If not today, then tomorrow."
"Yeah, tomorrow." Peter replies, hugging her even tighter.
— END OF CHAPTER 31 —
[ note ]
hello ^_^
sorry this one is a bit
short!!
we're so close to the
end :') one more chap
+ epilogue and then
when i first saw you
will be done!
bittersweet :'))
hope you guys like this
chapter, though!!
see you all soon,
pearl <3