Spider-Man: Finding a New Home [Andrew Garfield]

21

21.

Late Night Talks

Adalia

I open my eyes ever so slowly, unsure of my surroundings and making any sudden movements. I blink several times over to clear the fogginess in my eyes, and the blurred outlines of my room start to fade away. I notice I'm in bed, encapsulated in the dark except for the moonlight shining in through my window. Outside, I hear the roaring rain pelting against my window in a soothing, yet daunting rhythm, and I shiver underneath the many blankets covering me. The minimal movement of my shivering makes a ripple of pain shoot up and down my abdomen, especially where the wound has since been closed. I wince, willing the pain to go away, and I lift my warm covers to see I'm wearing nothing but my bra and sweatpants. There's a bandage wrapped around me, slightly constricting my waist.

Thunder and lightning flash in the distance, and the flash of light brightens my room, and finally, I notice Peter-Three sitting in my desk chair. The chair is placed in front of my window, and Peter's taken to overlooking the dark street. Shadows dance across his face, and the moonlight illuminates only a sliver of his expressions. I see his tight jaw, knitted brows, and overwrought, tense body that hunches over in his seat. He has his arms crossed over his chest, and he almost looks as if he's crying, but he's angry—that much I know.

Determined to ease his anger and worry, I call his name in a cracking, scratchy voice. I attempt to sit up in bed without hurting myself, but I fail and wince, feeling the jolts of agony tearing through my wound. I hiss and squeak out a curse word, and Peter-Three rushes to me at a moment's notice. His warm hands place themselves on my shoulders, and he gently pushes me back down onto my bed. I wheeze, trying to thank him, and Peter shushes me to be quiet.

"Shh, don't move," he whispers awfully close to my ear. I nod my head, listening to him without objections. I turn my head to face him, and watch as he kneels down beside me. His hands entangle themselves in my curls, and I melt into his touch without restraint. Any thought or feeling of pain disintegrates as I gaze into Peter's soft, brown eyes. "Your parents are asleep, and you need to rest and lay down as much as possible. Your wound needs to heal properly."

Peter's constant worry over me brings me comfort. No one has ever really stressed or cared for me as much as Peter-Three has. But behind his caring, soothing words, I hear the underlying anger. "Okay," I whisper, carefully and slowly moving closer to him. He gulps hard once I move, and his fingertips entangled in my hair cease their movement. He darts his gaze somewhere else, and I suddenly feel empty. I fall silent for a second before saying, "Peter, you're mad at me, aren't you... why? You can't even look at me."

"Do you really have to ask?"

The blood in my body freezes, and his curt, clipped tone makes me suddenly insecure. Have I done something wrong? I'm taken aback, and I stutter out a worried, "I do? Why're you so upset with me, Peter?" He refuses to look at me, and I forget how to breathe. My uneven, shallow breaths catch his attention, and he swallows his pride, facing me immediately to see if I'm okay.

"What's wrong?" he asks, giving my entire body a once over. "Are you okay? Is something hurting?"

Breathily, I say, "You're mad at me."

Peter's look of fury softens, and he's concerned about my feelings of insecurity. Releasing a sigh, he says, "Adalia, I'm not mad at you, but I'm absolutely livid that you got hurt, and you were so close to death all over again." The thick emotion in his voice, paired with his watery eyes produces tears of my own. The heavy realization that I was so close to death hits me, and I'm too exhausted to even think about what had almost happened to me. I can't think about that fight without having the uncomfortable feeling of the knife plunging into my skin; it's almost like I can feel the metal inside of me still. "Why?" he asks me, "why did you have to face her alone?"