Peter Parker and Meredith Stacy (A Spider Man Story)

Part 1: Solace

"Meredith!" I jerk awake in my bed bewilderedly at the racket. What—"Wake up!" Jesus! My dad proceeds to yell from the kitchen. I groan and roll out of bed. Walking across the hall I make my way quickly to the bathroom, making sure to shut the door and lock it behind me. I challenge myself to brushing through my bed—and wavy brown—hair, and eventually have it put into a messy ponytail, which seems to save it from making me look like I spent the night sleeping in a garbage bin most of the time. After quickly washing my face, having brushed my teeth, and finishing with just the usual mascara, I open the door to see my mom standing there. "Whoa!" I grab onto the doorframe and the other hand is at my heart. "What is it, give-Meredith-a-heart-attack day?"

"Why don't you ever do anything with your hair?" My mom ignores me, asking for the hundredth time this week. I ignore her back and walk right past, brushing my shoulders with hers.

"I don't have time! I'm going to be late." I grab an apple and begin to devour it before shouting a goodbye for my parents to hear me leaving. Thank God I don't need to take that hideous school bus ever again, I think to myself as I make my way to mom's car. My brother seems to choose the bus over the car so he can see his friends in the morning and I like to think of it as a favor, giving myself a few peaceful minutes on my own. Another mental thanks.

I grab out my phone and entertain myself with some pointless, yet time consuming games once again to help wait for first period bell, and also because I kind of feel like avoiding conversations with lovey-freaking-dovey M.J. and Flash sitting together in one side of me, and Cassie gossiping on the other.

I catch myself practically skipping to A.P Chemistry and as I sit and wait impatiently, I glance up whenever somebody would walk into class and feel my shoulders drop whenever it isn't Peter. Huh, Peter. I guess I should've known he is the one I'm waiting for. But he's not showing up... For what seems to be the whole day.

The next day is the same, and don't tell me I'm being melodramatic about his absence, because I know.

The rest of the day is already passing and still no sign of Peter. Not like I've been looking for him or anything... okay, maybe I have. But just since he is starting to be everywhere, now he is just... nowhere. I don't notice half of the time I turn my head toward other lunch tables or glance up immediately whenever somebody walked into class late, and sighing in shameful disappointment when it isn't him. He's usually here everyday, why does it feel like he's gone for weeks when it's only been two days? I should stop acting so stupid before somebody notices. He's probably sick or something, anyway. Or missed the bus this morning and didn't feel like running after it this time. I walk through the cafeteria and I think I can see him, or I should say his backpack with that same skateboard attached to it. I can recognize it from anywhere, so I run just as I think I see him turn the corner but when I reach it, he isn't there anymore. Maybe it wasn't him, after all. "Aha!"

I jump at the sudden shout and stare at Cassie. I didn't notice she was here. "I knew it. You're looking for Peter, aren't you? That loner photographer?"

"Yeah, so what?" I frown at her. "I've got... homework, to discuss with him." then I catch Peter's name being mentioned and walk to where I think I hear it.

"What?" I say to the group of boys sitting on the table unnecessarily rather than on the seats. "What about Peter?" I ask. One of the boys looks me up and down and I respond with a glare and turn to somebody else. Another one finally looks to answer, "Apparently his dad died or something."

"He doesn't have a dad, you dimwit." The judge-y one that looked me up and down says. "I'm pretty sure it was his uncle."

Oh, god...

...

He's at his locker after school with his head down and hooded. So he is here today, I recognize his bag and tattered skateboard again. I also notice Flash making his way to approach him, "Hey, Peter." he says rather softly.

"Not now, Flash." I hear Peter say.

"Come on, man, I just wanna tal—" he hardly gets the last word out before Peter grabs him by the collar and slams him against the lockers, pinning him up with his feet an inch above the ground. How did he get so strong?

"Look, your uncle died, and I'm sorry." Flash whispers, just loud enough for me to hear. Peter slowly begins to lose his grip on him, and putting him down, he slams his locker door shut. I watch him make his way down the hallway and I walk up in front of him but he didn't look up, his eyes are still glued to the floor. I reach up on my toes and wrap my arms around his shoulders. I hug him in a way I want to hold him together, my cheek against his neck, but he doesn't react. I let him go and he continues to walk, disappearing into the crowd.

...

Running up the very few stairs to Peter's front porch after school, I hesitate before I knock on the door. Should I be here? I can't stand to do anything else.

His Aunt opens it. Aunt May, I assume. Her hair is brown but with a fair bit of gray mixed in it. Her eyes light up and crinkles at the sides when she sees me. I can tell she isn't confused or beginning to question who I am, which is weird since I have never shown up here or met her before.

"Hi," she says with a sweet, kind smile in which I can't help but give one back. "You're Meredith, aren't you?"

"Uh... yes, I am. I'm very sorry for your loss." My smile fades.

"Thank you, dear." Her smile is pained but still sweet as she steps aside and gestures me in. "Peter's up there."

I give her one last respective smile as I make my way up the stairs, one foot after the other; I walk closer to his bedroom. It should feel strange, but it's as if I have already been here many times before now. I don't know what to expect when I open the door, but I see the hurt in his expression, which overpowers the confusion as to why I'm here, randomly showing up out of bloody nowhere. But I now know why. He's breaking.

When he cries there is rawness to it, like the pain is still an open wound. The sobs are stifled at first as he attempts to hide his grief, then overcome by the wave of his emotions he breaks down entirely, all his defenses would wash away in those salty tears. When he at last turns his face to me he is a picture of grief, loss, devastation. It is the face of one who had suffered before and didn't know if he could do it again. Then, just when I thought the breakthrough would come and he would trust me with his vulnerability; the shutters would come down, his emotion walls off behind a mask of coping. He would just wear it until everything was right again; it is like he doesn't know another way. But for now, I just hold him, with his head in my arms and his arms around my waist. We sit here, in his room, wrapped around each other, and I hold him while he weeps. I never want him to do this alone. I have to be there for him.