TROUBLE, peter parker

xiii. fight club

After dipping into a drug store and fixing herself up in its dimly lit bathroom, she started on her way back home, deciding to go up the metal fire escape. Her dad had already left for work, but she was scared her doorman might snitch on her.

Maya pulled herself onto the fire escape where someone else already was, their body leaning against her window in a dazed-off state.

"Whatcha doing there, Peeping Tom?" she asked, scooting across to get her window open.

He jostled a little from his spot where he had been leaning with half his face against her window and turned away from her. He appeared a bit flustered as he turned to face her.

Clearing his throat and trying to rid any semblance of awkwardness, Peter spoke, "Just visiting my favorite detention buddy. So—what? Sneaking back in, are we?"

Maya pulled the window open, trying not to show any wincing. "At least I live here."

She threw in the bag carrying all her belongings before swinging her own body in.

"Again, visiting my favorite detention buddy," he said. "And you're the one that encouraged me to visit your fire escape."

She watched over her shoulder as he carefully entered her room after her. She crossed her dark room to switch her light on.

"Encouraged?"

"Yeah," he said. He mimicked, "What're you gonna do about it, Parker?"

"Remembering all our conversations, Parker?"

He scoffed, and she went back in his direction. She was too tired to be observant somewhere she felt safe, and so she wasn't, as she made her way back to her bed and flopped down on it. Maya turned to her side and only then did she notice the state that he was in. Unfortunately he had noticed her messed-up state, too.

"Woah," he started. He slipped his own backpack off his shoulders before kneeling down in front of her bed, placing his bent forearms in front of her face and placing his own head there, chin on top of his flat-down, overlapped hands. "What happened to you?"

"Uhh ..." She trailed off, waving her hand in the air to form an excuse. She decided to vaguely settle on: "Rough night."

"You okay? What happened—Who did that to you?"

Peter reached out to touch them, but she flinched and brushed away from his touch.

"It's—uh—it's no one," she said, giving him a small reassuring smile, though it didn't seem like he was much reassured. "Self-inflicted."

He furrowed his brows and she corrected herself:

"Not self-inflicted, but—uh—well, y'know, it—it was technically my own fault."

Peter's eyebrows furrowed even more.

"It's ... whatever happened," he started, his voice taking on a softer, tenderer tone, "it's not your fault."

Maya knew he was doing what anyone would've thought was best in the situation, but the obvious pity made her feel almost repulsed.

She just laughed it off a little. "No, oh no, it's not—it's not—no, no, no, no, no, it's—uh—"

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, but, uh, I'm always here to talk."

"No, no," she repeated. "You're misunderstanding."

Maya felt his pitiful look growing. She sighed.

"Would you believe me if I said I was part of a fight club?"