To keep you- Miguel O'Hara/Peter B Parker

remniscing

GUYS...I HAVE TO TELL U SOMETHING...

OK SO I'm going to be away for two weeks without any devices bc I'm going to a summer camp and I won't be able to write :,)

So I'm going to pre-write a few chapters and try to schedule them to be posted through out the weeks. BECAUSE OF THIS, I won't be able to get a chapter out everyday because I can't write 14 chapters in the span of 5 hours soooo...yeahhh Sorry :(

ANYWAYS

enjoy! 

________________________________________________________________________________

Once Peter B had left, Miguel began to reminisce on parts of his past. He knew he shouldn't but he didn't know what else to think about in such a lonely place. He thought back to a particularly bad fight with his "father" George O'hara. It wasn't a pretty time. He felt so isolated during his growing up and it was becoming more and more increasingly evident the older he had become. He found it an embarrassment himself, but he didn't know what to do, like he so often felt.

Miguel thought back to the three weeks after the red and blue, back to the two and a half since the gray room, and to not even a day since release.

Miguel's father stood up from the littered table. Bills to pay, forms to fill, papers to write. His chair scratched at the floor as he stood like a puppet dragged to standing by a string. Miguel let his eyes drift upward, away from his plate for a split second to watch the man's figure march its way to the front door. His fathers gnarled hand squeezed the knob. The door cried out in pain as he ripped it open. It hit the wall, pieces of the plaster flaking away. He left.

Miguel tugged at his long sleeve shirt and stared at his plate. It felt as if someone had picked up the air in the room and piled it into the corner. Miguel brought his hands to the sides of his head, and he let himself disintegrate into the faint ticking of the clock. So repetitive, so unpredictable, emotionless until the hour when it burst yelling, ding, ding, ding 24 hours a day.

It was 6:37 when his father returned. Miguel pulled his hands from his hair and looked up.

"Why hasn't the table been cleared?" The man's voice reverberated.

"I'm sorry, I'll get on it." Miguel hung his head and picked up each half finished plate. He continued to the counter overflowing with dishes from the past week. Miguel felt the man's footstep sink into the floor and grow nearer. Miguel paused; his father paused. Miguel felt the man's bear paw hand wrap around his skeleton shoulder. He turned him around, Miguel's mouse brown hair falling around the sides of his face. He looked.

The hand made direct contact with Miguel's soft cheek, knocking him back against the

counter. Miguel felt his chest eroding.

"What the hell!" Miguel's small voice yelled, cracking. The man inhaled. Miguel braced himself on the edge of the counter.

"I'm sorry." George O'hara dropped his hand to his side. The tension had finally snapped. The clock chimed 7:00.

"Stop with all of your damn excuses!" Miguel slammed his hand down on the counter, "how many times will I have to endure this? You are not what a father should be! You are not what my father should be!" Miguel faltered.

7:26, head, hand, cupboard, sickening crack, floor. 8:04, red and blue, lonesome room.

The hospital room was cold and quiet.The man who was a father was sent away. Miguel didn't like the silence of the four cornered box, but it gave him time to think, and the more he did, the more he wanted to get out. There were only so many times he could stomach friends coming and coddling him like a fragile china tea pot. Miguel missed rough housing with them.

But, tomorrow he could leave the lonesome hell hole. Miguel's closest friend at the time was a girl named Lana, was taking him downtown. Miguel knew his body wasn't going to be able to withstand too much walking, but some was better than none.

The next day came and for the first time in forever, Miguel found himself laughing alongside Lana as they drove across the gray expanse of highways. We reached the downtown, parked, and got out. Lana asked where Miguel wanted to go and without hesitation he said Foam Party. Lana smiled her dove white smile that paired beautifully with her ebony eyes that wrinkled at the corners whenever her grin was in play. They took the long way, per Miguel's request. He wanted to see the flourishing reds and blues that speckled the Park gardens.

Miguel had always been big into flowers.

Miguel wish he hadn't asked to go the long way.

Half way to Foam Party after the gardens, Miguel's head began to wrap around itself. He felt his legs tense but dismissed it.

"Hey, are you doing alright?" Lana's concerned voice became tangled in his ears.

"Yeah, I think, but could we slow down?" Miguel whispered, ashamed of himself. Clearly, a habit that never died down.

She nodded and drew to his side as they continued at a slower pace.

It was only a few seconds before they heard a sigh from behind them. Miguel's cheeks felt hot. He looked down in embarrassment. He felt the stranger's aggravation grope at his red and blue bruised neck. Lana looked down at Miguel and put a hand behind his back. Miguel looked up at her, then to the person behind them. They were becoming more and more antsy by the second.

"Sorry." Miguel mumbled before stepping to the side of the building so they could get by.

They powered on ahead. No thank you left their lips. Lana and Miguel stood in condemned silence. He looked to her again. The glaze that clouded his eyes made the world so murky.

He sighed, "Let's go home."

It was a rather unsavory memory, but one Miguel had never forgotten. It should have seemed like a small part of Miguel's life, after all, he didn't even know the person who was so pressed to get by.

Miguel felt his own claws begin to dig into his forearms where he had them wrapped around himself. He dismissed them, finding comfort in the pain, and went back to recalling old tragedies. Peter B should've been in that room.