Tom Holland/Peter Parker Imagines

Wake up, please! | Peter Parker [2]

Ladies and gentlemen IT IS HERE
SO BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELTS AND GET READY FOR THE CHAPTER THAT WILL DELETE 1947294719482 YEARS FROM MY LIFE YEE FUCKING HAW LET'S GO MOTHERFUCKERS.

I had become a dead girl walking. Nobody acknowledged me, nobody asked me questions, nobody talked to me. My heart just wanted to spill out to my eyes in a flow of tears but I just refused to fucking talk.
I couldn't do it.
Every time I opened my mouth to speak, it was as if it flipped a switch and took tears into my eyes.
So far, I hadn't talked for about a year and closing into another half.
I didn't smile anymore, either. It felt as if I was moving on from what happened, but it was still killing me to even think about the tower. Around school, everyone was always talking about how they almost got mugged, and how Spider-Man wasn't around as much.
Then the news showed that while trying to save Peter Parker, Spider-Man had taken a lot of damage which forced his body into a coma, along with Pete.
I just want him back.
I'll always want him back.
Nothing will ever fucking change how much I've always loved him.
And now he's gone.
It was all my fault that he wasn't here with me, making some stupid joke to see a smile that was always on my face around him.
He would always being in a sort of happy energy that would cheer up pretty much everyone to meet him.
Now, it's just me and the emotions that I bring onto everyone else every time I walk into a room. They all look at the door, see me and then quickly look away to talk to their friend.

I don't talk anymore.
I don't smile anymore.
I'm not friends with Ned or MJ anymore, either. I didn't mean to do it, I just stayed at home for about a month and didn't move. I started shaking after a while and my parents would bring something in for me to easily reach. They didn't know how to deal with it. I just didn't want to make it worse for them, because they didn't even know that he was gone. When they found out, they just isolated themselves until they were a duo, and I was alone with my feelings.
I didn't mean anything by it, but I did it on purpose, I think.
I loved them to death, obviously, but I didn't want to be anywhere near somebody else.

I don't talk anymore.
I don't smile anymore.
I don't have friends anymore.
I don't have a shred of life in my body, now, and I feel like my only emotion is a default mix of regret and heartache for as long as I can breathe.
Every moment feels like forever, even something as simple as walking over to my house.
It hurts to see my house, because I have a direct view of the Stark tower from my window and I can always imagine the moment where I ran into the tower screaming for Peter to stay awake. I hardly hear anything anymore, only my own heartbeat and the mumbling in my head that's warning me about how I'm living.

I don't listen to the mumbling.

This all sounds so familiar to me, and I always ask myself why for a moment before I remember what I am.

I'm a dead girl walking.

I'll never be anything else.

If he ever wakes up, I won't be the same me, and he won't want me anymore. He'll hate whatever I became. Why would he want to be with a girl who wants to cry every time she opens her mouth?
I have to force down the impulse to scream out for him, but I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night with beads of sweat rolling down my head and down my neck, my throat aching as if I've been screaming.
Of course, I always have dreams about what happened, or about the moment where it will be announced that Peter Benjamin Parker is dead.
The only time I speak is when I wake up in the middle of the night after shrieking out to Peter to stay with me.
My neighbours don't complain.
They know what I am.
They know who I used to be.

Who I used to be. I wish I could say I still felt a shred of her in me.

I don't.
The closest to her I've gotten is the mumbling in my head that what I'm doing could kill me.

I've done that already, at precisely 13:28 when I received the call from Peter.

I just want him back.

I want to be with him again, and I want to me who I used to be when he was around.

It hurts so fucking bad but I don't try and talk about it because I'm supposed to be a dead girl on autopilot.

I want the hurting to stop.

I want time to stop and reverse so I can have my life back. So that I can save him in time.

It's funny when I realise he's only in a coma, and he's still breathing. His heartbeat is slow like the days are long when time is frozen, but it's still there.

He's almost more alive than me, but he's not here with me and it feels unnatural, as if the monitor's beeps aren't a steady beat and his breathing is stopped.

He didn't stay with me, so my heart aches for him and waits for the moment he's announced dead on the news.

It'll happen one day, and all the emotions of the day will come rushing back. I'll collapse to the floor and my parents will realise I still have my emotions and I'm not quite gone yet. They'll put me to bed and give me a drink, they might even stand by the door and wait for me to fall asleep.
I can see the small part of the newspaper my mom submitted about my death the day after that.
I'd become a dead girl in a coffin, placed away from my family members' graves from before me, but placed next to Peter's grave.

And so I wait, and I wait, and I wait.
I wish, and I beg, and I plea.

I've been waiting for three years now, and I started staring out of my window at the tower. I've become numb to all feelings of regret and heartache. I don't feel anything now. I just sit and wait and stare at the tower until the news announces he's gone forever.

It's been four years now, and the mumbling finally stopped. I realised it sounded like Peter, and I felt like he's finally gone. No news about him yet, though. Not yet.

It's been five years now, and I've started closing the curtains and the door after I painted the walls black and got rid of all the furniture apart from my bed. I just sleep now, and I don't do much else. I'll wake up to a plate of food that I only notice because of the white colour of the plate sometimes, and I'll eat it cold before falling back to sleep.

It's been six years now, and I've stopped eating the cold food on the floor. I've left every single plate of food that had been set out for me next to the bed, but sometimes I'll start shaking and crying and I'll eat the food before passing out from not eating.

It's been seven years now, and Peter Parker has outlived me.