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This is only the beginning.

▹  ◃

The last few days couldn't have even bothered to spare you the pity of leaving you in the six-foot grave they had dug you.

Four days.

Four days had passed since you last received the text from Peter alerting you that the date had to be pushed back because of Spider-Man duties. You understood, he had a responsibility to the city. Four days, however, and still you had heard not a single word from him. You'd heard plenty of other noises though.

At first, you had been deeply concerned, heart jumping into your throat every time the thought of him laying dead in a ditch somewhere, covered in bruises and gashes and who knows what else crossed your mind. You'd call, text, and even knocked on the door of his apartment more times than you could count, hoping for some kind of sign that he was alive. But there was nothing.

Three days passed before you heard the first sound of movement coming from Peter's apartment.

In those brutal 72 hours, your mind had practically shut down. Switched to aeroplane mode and shut out the rest of the world. You'd slipped into a darkness that couldn't be worn off by the blink of a light. This darkness was sticky and clung to your skin like the hot sweat that cowered on the land of your forehead. After trying and trying to get in contact with Peter, resorting to searching the streets, walking around in circles painting yourself to be some kind of Spider-Man super fan, lunatic as you asked people around if they had seen the suited hero, but nothing. There had been no sign of him for days.

You had no one to turn to, no one to call or text or be within this time of need. There was no one around to help you find your Peter. No one but your old nemesis, a packet of Newport cigarettes and a bottle of JD whiskey to carry you through the long nights and dreary days. You knew you should stop, give up the drink and drop the smoke, but your mind told you otherwise. There was nothing else for your anxiety to feed upon other than the fact that Peter was still missing. Did you file a report? Call the police? You feared the consequences.

It wasn't until the fourth day finally hit as you passed through your living room to collect the lighter from the kitchen counter that you heard it. The faint, almost silent shuffle that came from within the walls. At the time you had frozen in place, hearing nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat clattering in your ears as the time came to a stop.

Amid panic and excitement, you'd darted to the wall like a fly on speed, pressing your ear to the fine brick as you listened closely. For a moment there was nothing, then came the shuffles, followed by voices. Even through the barrier that separated you, you knew Peter's voice. It was him, he was there, but so was someone else. He wasn't alone.

You heard giggles and short bursts of laughter that filled the air followed by hums of appreciation and serenity. You'd swallowed down all the liquid courage you could bare to fight away the thoughts inside your head, and with no fuel, to your anti-anxiety fire, they charged in guns blazing. That was a woman's voice you heard, he was with another girl and they were having fun. No calls. No texts. No sign he was even alive and here he was, laughing it up with another woman?

Darkness.

It was all you saw for the following 24 hours. Nothing but the seal behind your eyelids that shielded you from the world and the only sounds that raided through your apartment were the sounds of your raging stomach as it cried out to be filled. There was nothing that could be done. You'd emptied every liquor bottle in your apartment, smoked every pack of cigarettes. All that was left were your tired eyes, held up by the dark circles beneath them. Your skin was cold and sensitive, you hadn't turned on the gas in days. It was so dark and you felt so lost without Peter.

There were waves that washed over you every now and again, that there had been people before Peter and if this was the case then there would be people after. Peter was not the be-all and end-all, although you had wished him to be.

As the hours passed it grew more apparent that you needed to look after yourself. Despite the pain and the anger that had been brewing inside your chest, you fought your desires and crawled out of bed like a pot of goo that had come to life. Your hair was a mess and your clothes were sweaty, and damp with the smell of liquor and nicotine. You could smell yourself, you smelt like your past. The churning in your stomach made your knees shake, arms flailing by your side as you rub your eyes tenderly, trying to rub away the lack of sleep that lingered in them.

You knew from memory that you were short on cash, and searched the fridge and cupboards for what you were lacking food-wise. Looking around your dark and cold apartment, you knew a change had to be made. You had enough money for some odd groceries, enough to make a decent meal to tire you over for the next couple of hours, long enough to get your apartment cleaned and back to habitable.

After making a list and tucking it into your pocket you set your mind on the route you were to take. Writhing in self-loathing you felt your head grow heavy with anxiety, wondering if you should shower before you left. Or maybe even at least brush your hair? No. You knew if you took any liberty to relax now, who knew how long it would be before you left your apartment again. You were biting the bullet. Washing away every ounce of your conscious that told you not to leave the apartment, don't even open the door.

But you had to go. You were starving.

Approaching your front door with heavy steps you took the plunge and swung it open, stepping outside and closing it shut tight behind you. How had you let it come to this? This wasn't you. But you couldn't deny the fact you were struggling, there would be nothing worse than defying your true feelings in this moment of need. Taking a deep breath, you ran your palms along your jacket front, drying out the sweat and grasping your keys to lock the door. Before your apartment key could even face the lock, it was as though the gods had already sealed your fate.

Turning your head to the left, your eyes gazed upright, seeing the shadow of the open doorway to Peter's apartment. And there he stood. In all his... You would have presumed glory, but he looked just as bad as you felt. Peter was the last person you wanted to see right now.

His eyes shone with nothing but normality. No confusion, not even regret or surprise that you were standing before him.

"Hey," he spoke softly, "are you okay?"

You clenched your jaw tightly with rage, pushing your key into the lock of your apartment door and twisting with force before retreating and heading down the hallway without looking back. It wasn't long before Peter's footsteps could be heard following hot on your heels, the sound of your name falling from his lips.

"Y/N, wait up!"

You continued walking. There was nothing he could say. You were conflicted, tied up in your feelings. On the one hand, you were relieved, relieved he was alive and safe. But on the other, you were angry, furious that he could walk out of the door and face the world head-on with no issue, not even a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. You weren't mad that he stood you up, you were mad that he dropped the blanket of priority over you, tucked you in like a newborn baby and then tore it away before you could ever relish in the heat.

"Y/N please, slow down," he called out again and the pain in your chest withheld you from turning around in that moment. This continued until you reached the lobby where the tall glass windows shielded the rain that was pouring down outside from disturbing the peace within.

"Y/N why are you ignoring me? Stop!" he called out one last time before taking further action, wrapping his hand around your wrist and holding you in place. You paused in your tracks to tear away from his grip, finally turning to look at him. His eyes looked sore, red and surrounded by dark circles. His hair was ruffled and unkempt and he smelled as though he hadn't showered in days. This wasn't the Peter you knew, but that didn't change a thing. You didn't want to shout and scream in his face, he looked so fragile and concerned in the dim lighting of the lobby.

"Y/N, what's going on?"

"What's going on?" you retaliated. There was more you had to say, but you had no idea how to say it. For a moment you just stood there, staring at one another until you found your voice once again, "no calls, no texts. Do you enjoy having people pine after you?"

"What-what are you talking about?" his voice was shaky and breathless, clasping his lips together as he swallowed. He looked like he was about to throw up.

"No. Calls. No. Texts, Peter," you shuffled on your feet, standing firmly as you tilted your head with pity, "you completely ignored me for four days, I thought you were dead!" your tone raised slightly as you spoke, drawing the attention of bystanders, "did I do something wrong? I-I don't understand why you would just shut me out?" your voice quivered as you tried not to let tears break the seals of your eyes as you stood there staring at him. His cheeks were pale and his forehead glimmered with sweat. Suddenly you realized maybe there was more to this story than him just being an ass.

"I'm sorry, Y/N I... I don't know what happened."

"96 hours and you don't know what happened? Bullshit."

"I swear Y/N I-"

"What the fuck is that?" you stepped forward, eyes narrowing down on the dark bruise on the side of his neck. You scoffed lightly, drawing your tongue over your bottom lip as you raised your brow, "wow."

Peter looked to the side slightly, running his hand over the mark, "shit, Y/N you, mph, you gotta believe me-"

"Forget it, Peter, we're done." You spat, turning on your heels and heading for the doorway.

"Y-Y/N, wait!" Peter called, tripping over his feet as he raced after you. The rain slammed down against the pavements, ricocheting from the concrete like tiny water bombs. Despite the rain, it wasn't too cold, you could tolerate the gentle breeze. Your mind raced and your heart felt as though it was tearing in two as you continued to listen to his voice calling out for you.

"Y/N stop!"

"Leave me alone, Peter!" You turned around in your tracks seeing him standing right before you, "you can say whatever you want to me," you swallowed, "but don't stand there and take me for a fucking idiot."

"Y/N you don't understand..." Peter's eyes quivered, droplets of water gathering on the brims of his lashes as he reached his hands out to hold you. "Y/N..."

It all happened so fast. The weight of Peter's hands dragging you down to the pavement made your breath hitch, watching his figure fall limp as he collapsed before you. Your natural instinct told you to let go, but your hands were already under his head, ravelled in the brown curls as his legs gave way beneath him.

"Peter, Peter what's going on?" your voice was shaky and words were rushed as panic set in, "Peter look at me," you called out, watching splatters of rain fall onto his pale cheeks. You placed the back of your hand against his forehead. He was burning up. His eyes remained closed as you sat there with him on the cold pavement, soaked by the rain.

"SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!" You called from the street, watching as a lady approached you in a hurry.

"What happened?" she asked as she crouched beside you, eyes instantly falling to Peter who lay limp in your arms.

"I-I don't know, we-we were arguing and then he just collapsed," your words flew out of your mouth, hands kneading the material of Peter's hoodie, desperately trying to drag him closer to you.

Two gentle hands clasped your shoulders suddenly, drawing your attention upright to the woman beside you, "my name is Stacy, I'm a nurse, I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

"I don't know!" you shrieked in panic, "I don't know, please, we need to get him to a hospital!"

"Is he your boyfriend? Friend? Has he been showing any strange symptoms over the last few days?"

The words flew by your ears like angry bees, your eyes dropping back down to Peter. A muffled gasp fell from his lips as you turned your head to face him. Your gaze widened suddenly as Stacy drew her hands from your shoulders, dropping them down to Peter and rolling him onto his side. His chest jumped sporadically, head lolling onto the pavement as he turned.

"He's choking," Stacy spoke softly, too nonchalant for your liking, but you trusted her. Hearing those words made your heart skip a beat, eyes welling with hot tears as you watched her travel around him, stepping over his legs and moving to face him.

"Move back a little," she ordered, ushering you away with her hands, "take my phone from my bag and call an ambulance," she ordered, pressing one thumb against Peter's cheek, "don't look," she spoke once more, but you didn't move. There was nothing in the world that could convince you to look away right now, not even for a second.

You just sat there, body pulverized in shock as you watched her lift his head gently before inserting two fingers into his mouth, pushing the entire length down the back of his throat.

"Come on, come on," she comforted him gently as his back arched. Watching Peter throw up on the sidewalk wasn't how you imagined this evening would go, and it made your heart fill with guilt. There was clearly something wrong and you were too blinded with sadness and rage to notice.

"That's it," she murmured, patting his back lightly, drawing her fingers out and reaching for her bag with her clean hand. "Sweetie, I need you to call me an ambulance, can you do that for me?" she asked softly, passing you her phone. Snapping from your trance you nodded gently, taking the phone from her hands, eyes never once leaving Peter.

It felt as though weeks had passed.

Time moved slowly but everything happened so fast. You were just arguing, that was all, and now Peter was being loaded into the back of an ambulance, strapped to a gurney like fine china. Was this your fault? Did you do this?

You were just talking, you were angry but you didn't want to let go. You should have let him explain, let him tell you what it was that had happened, and now you were in the hospital waiting room, knees shaking like leaves and a cold cup of coffee in your hand. You hadn't looked up in hours, elbows pressed into your thighs and a certain ache beginning to grow in the back of your neck.

Your clothes remained damp from the rain as you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"Y/N L/N?"

It felt as though the heavens had opened and sent down an angel the moment you heard your name being called. You stood from your chair so fast you were convinced you'd gotten whip lash, darting across the waiting room like an angry bull towards Stacy who had come to collect you.

"Is everything a-alright? How is he?" you rushed, hands kneading together with angst.

"He's going to be okay," she nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder, "come this way."

Stacy lead you down the hallway, winding left and right before you reached Peter's private room. Before you could enter she paused, holding you back softly. Looking up with confusion, you waited as you saw she had something to say.

"Does Peter drink a lot? Alcoholic drinks?"

"...Not that I know of. Why?"

She sighed, nodding for a moment as she turned to glance through the small windows in the doorway, eyes landing on Peter before turning back to you, "when Peter came in we found a large amount of alcohol in his system. What caused him to collapse was the first sign of early alcohol poisoning."

"A-Alcohol poisoning?" your eyes widened in shock.

"Don't worry, he's alright now. He's on an IV to help clear his system, he's awake, just a little drowsy so don't ask too many questions," she smiled softly, "you're lucky you caught this when you did. Any sooner and... Well let's just say he's lucky to have you."

"I'm not so sure you're right about that."