𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

.past (pt.2).

Receiving the call from the hospital and being told that I was admitted, my parents were clearly upset. But it wasn't the 'You could've gotten hurt! We're so worried about you' type of upset, it was the 'We have to come all the way over here to sign and pay your hospital bills' type of upset. They started loosing interest in me when I was 16, saying how I was already my own person. At this point at 18, I'm treated like a guest living under their roof whom they legally own. They never cared, and I was used to it.

They had the logical mindset though to take my phone away for a week as a form of punishment. Not grounded, just stripped away from my device, which I barely used anyways. I could've just left the house, but didn't bother. As if they'd care.

Night fell. My lamp on my bedside table was the only thing illuminating my room, along with the sliver of moonlight that  spilled on my floor through my window. I sat on my bed re-reading a novel I grew to like.

A knock jolted me awake from my dazed reading mood. It didn't sound like it came from the door; it was wood and should've sounded firmer. It was a thinner kind of more hollow knock.

My gaze landed on my window and my hairs stood erect when I saw a figure hunched over from the outside. His tall and wide figure standing on my small balcony; I knew it all too well.

I at first only stared, thinking that if I just kept doing so he'll get the message and leave. But he didn't. He stood there with his body visibly heaving.

Exhaling heavily, I placed my book down and walked towards the window. His gaze never left me. Shifting my weight on one leg, my arms crossed as I challenged his longing look.

"I thought you didn't want anything to do with me?", I said, knowing he could hear me. I then realized how his right arm was still crossed over his chest even after standing in front of him. It rested on his left shoulder. As if he was injured.

"Web-head?", I called now worried, as I opened my window. Immediately he dropped all his weight on to me, the sudden move almost making me loose my balance. The strong smell of blood filled my nose.

"Shit, are you okay?" My voice was now frantic. His hand gripped my shoulder tightly when I slowly laid him down on my carpeted floor. He grunted as I lowered his head and I ran to flick on the lights. Under his cut-up suit, a long deep gash crossed from his clavicle to right above his abdomen. I almost threw up at the sight.

"What the fuck", I gasped. My whole body was tense. I was frozen on the spot, my shaky eyes looked at him up and down. A bit of his mask was sliced through too; around his cheekbone and right cheek, and I could see faint red marks.

"I--", Spidey stopped to cough to which he winced hard afterwards. "Tried catching The Lizard. Wasn't happy", he weakly chuckled.

"Fuck. Shit-- don't, don't talk", I told him and looked around my room for something to use to apply pressure. My eyes landed on my thin blanket on my bed.

"You owe me", I told him, trying to give some light to the situation. "I like this blanket."

He was about to laugh, but cut himself off with a sharp hiss as I pressed down my light pink blanket on him. His hand clutched my upper arm to resist the pain.

"This is too big. You need stitches", I forced myself to not stutter. "Heck, you need to go to the fucking hospital--"

"NO!", he exclaimed instantly, his voice breathy. "No hospitals."

The way he struggled to even speak pained me. "Spidey--"

"No hospitals", he repeated more firmly this time. I couldn't see his eyes but I knew they were staring intensely back at mine. "Just you", he started to pant. The hand that was gripping my arm went up to hold my worried face, his thumb rubbing my cheek,