ne red d
bonnie pls call me. i am
worried about u.
So is Peter.

bonnie
i'm fine, ned. don't stress.

I check the text message notification on my phone, before burying it back down into the pocket of my jeans. I close my eyes, take another deep breath, and ready myself once again.

And—

Nothing.

And—

Nothing.

I curse myself under my breath until the anger gets the better of me. I drop back down onto my knees and rest up against a thick tree trunk, stationed in the small wooded area behind the compound. I press onto my fingertips to see if even the tiniest rise in temperature can be detected; no. They're normal. Cold.

I've been getting so desperate with trying to gain back some sort of control over my abilities, that I even went to the comic book store by myself and bought a few copies of the comics I remember Peter showing me from his 'research.' So far, my search for clarity has been vastly unsuccessful. It's gotten to such an awful extent, that leaving my bedroom has become a difficult task yet again. I counted eleven light bulbs that I smashed yesterday unintentionally. And I counted zero comic books that contain the same narrative.

I fiddle with the loose thread in the right-sleeve cuff of my sweater. The weather is beginning to get colder as the days progress further and further into Autumn, and I know that the time we have left in the compound is limited to mere days now. Dad is hardly home anymore, as is Pepper; too busy with the move. I only see Happy when he comes to the compound every morning to drive me to Midtown, but I never end up going. I protest to ever showing my face again, but somehow, somewhere in my father's chaotic mind, he believes that I'll eventually give in and go. He couldn't be anymore incorrect.

However, my conversation with MJ has been replaying in my head; putting Flash Thompson in his place is well overdue and would be intensely satisfying. I can't help but begin to debate if maybe I should rip the band-aid off, or if I should flaunt my Stark name. Maybe Midtown isn't as awful as I have built it up to be in my mind. But then again, I don't think I could ever bring myself to see Peter Parker ever again.

Defeated, I pick myself up from the ground and dust off my clothes, before heading out to the subway. Usually, I'd ask Happy for a ride if I wanted to go into the city, but I think there's nothing more therapeutic than sitting on the subway and riding it around New York until I can make sense of my thoughts again. It's a way for me to stop and think without actually having to stop and think.

When the train finally comes, it's busy. There's a group of teenagers sitting across from me, maybe college freshmen, some chuckling away at a shared inside joke, while the other two sit with their hands intertwined and a pair of earphones shared between them, one in each ear. There's an old man reading the same newspaper page over and over again— thick bifocals slipping down the thin bridge of his nose. And of course, the usual storm of business workers, put together in their briefcases and blazers, take to the subway, anxiously patting their feet and checking their watches to make sure they aren't late for any important and confidential meetings or whatever. I couldn't imagine ever having my life so well-put together.

I ride the subway to Queens out of routine— when I used to leave the compound every night and travel around the city into eventually stopping at Queens and trailing the streets until the darkness became too unsettling. I leave the teenagers and old man and business workers as I get out at my stop, feeling slightly nervous in case I end up bumping into a certain crime-fighting spider. Though I'm sure he's most likely at some robotics club or decathlon extra-curricular as a way to kill some of his spare time.

I get myself a latte from a small cafe on the corner, before resuming trailing the streets. I daren't allow myself to get too close to Parker's apartment building just in case I catch him on his way back from school, or if I bump into the lovely May and have to explain why I've completely ghosted her nephew. I suppose I would be furious and hurt if I were in his position. Everything became too real, too quick. So I did what I did best. I ran.

I scan over the different packages of gum on the counter at the grocery store as I go to leave empty handed. The vivid blues and neon greens are too inviting, and I'm feeling slightly bitter.

"Peter asked Liz to Homecoming."

MJ's voice plays as a menacing and taunting incantation in my mind, almost controlling me and igniting my veins with a bitter and petty flame, lighting up the fury inside of me. I grab a handful of gum packets from the display and bury them deep within my pocket out of spite, before turning quickly towards the door. Stealing is an awful coping mechanism that I don't dabble in too often, but when you've had so much of yourself and the things you've loved stolen away from you, it's only natural to desperately want to do the same back. Even if it's petty gum packets from the corner store.

I hear the sound of footsteps speeding up behind me as I near the door, hoping for whoever following me to disappear.

"Uh... Excuse me, Miss?"

I don't turn my head around to look.

"I'm sorry, you have to pay for that gum—" Their hand sticks out in front of me as I step out of the door and onto the street, causing me to jump in shock. In my moment of distraction, I feel their eyes staring down on me.

"Bonnie?"

I sigh and look up to see the one person who I had dreaded the most, "Hey, Peter."

And it's as if all of the breath is knocked put of my body. As if my lungs have simply forgotten how to work. As if he is oxygen and I've forgotten just how incredible he tastes. How much I need him. He looks down at me with those eyes that I loath so much. I think he goes through fifty different emotions within the first five seconds of me standing in front of him, as he struggles to form a sentence. It takes a while, but he breaks the ice. "How have you been, I tried to call you but it I guess you were busy or whatever."

"Yes," I sigh, "very busy. You know, with moving day and all it's been crazy."

"You haven't been at school, is everything alright? Have I-- have I done something wrong or--"

"No, Peter, God no. Not at all." I cut him off, "Everything has just been super crazy recently and..." I trail off and the conversation dies out. I contemplate turning back around and leaving him alone in the middle of the street, but I cannot fight my way away from him even if I tried.

Eventually, he pipes up, "Hey, did you get your nose pierced?"

I fiddle with the aluminium stud in my right nostril, completely forgetting about the fact that I had a needle shoved through it only a matter of weeks earlier. "Yeah, I bumped into MJ and she convinced me to get it done."

"Wow, cool. Yeah, I mean, it looks pretty badass. It really suits you." He awkwardly complements me, with his demeanour awkward and stiff. I wonder if he wants to leave just as much as me but is far too polite to turn away first. I wouldn't be surprised considering the way I have been treating him. After MJ had mentioned the fact that Liz and Peter had planned to go to homecoming together, it had solidified my permanent arrangements to never see Peter Parker ever again. I'm still not sure why it bothered me so much, and clearly, my avoidance plans have not exactly been followed thorough correctly.

"So, anyway. You saw MJ..."

"Yeah, I did. She told me about how she asked Betty to Homecoming. She's pretty excited."

Peter's eyes immediately widen as I mention Homecoming, and his eyes drop down to examine his muddy sneakers, which I imagine were once brightly white and fresh, but now have turned a rather nausea-inducing muddy shade of dark brown.

"She also mentioned that you asked Liz. When did... When did that happen?"

His eyes suddenly shoot up to search my face for any sign of annoyance or upset, though I try with my best attempts to remain casual and unbothered, simply excited for my friend and his new relationship status. I catch my eyes repeatedly shifting to meet with his despite my best efforts to avoid meeting his gaze, knowing full well that I'll end up crumbling into him.

"I asked her after all of the stuff went down with your dad and the suit."

My chest pangs with a sudden sharpness, as if one of my daggers has been pushed deeply into my ribs and torn through all of my organs, bright light visible on the other side as it rips through my life and my little optimism left.

"You're still gonna come to Homecoming, right? It wouldn't be as fun without you." Peter offers me a sweet smile after a moment. My head buzzes with a million thoughts and feelings. But I know that I completely brought it on myself, and I can't be upset over something that I could have easily just not caused if I hadn't been so terrified of intimacy and trusting people.

I inhale sharply, the stabbing pain resuming. "I don't know. Maybe. I'll let you know."

"Great! Maybe we could all go in a big group together?"

"Yeah, totally."

And with that, the heavens open up and descend a freezing downpour of raindrops into Queens; of course I'd be caught in the rain on the day I just so happen to run into to Peter Parker and forget to bring a jacket. We quickly say goodbye-- me dismissing Peter a lot quicker than he dismisses me-- the aching in my chest growing familiar and causing the chunks to rise in my throat. He pulls me into a tight hug before we say goodbye, him almost clinging to me as if he is terrified that I'm going to disappear once again and leave him. I have to force myself to break away from him as the tears begin to prick my eyes, and I know that a flood is about to break.

"And, Bonnie. You really should go pay for that gum. I don't wanna get you in trouble."

And the realisation hits as his back turns away from me, and I watch him jog down the street and around the corner to his apartment building. And he's gone. And I realise that I never want to watch Peter Parker leave me again. And I hate myself for it.

As I sprint through the flooded streets and dodge the edges of the sidewalks in case any speeding cars or buses shoot down the road and splash up great huge puddles, leaving me in a soaking and shuddering mess, I scroll up through the text message thread on my phone between Ned and I until I find the message containing his address that he had sent me containing the details of the meeting for our study session with Peter, which is only a matter of a few blocks from where I am now, and I make a mad dash for it. Tears drenching my cheeks and sobs choking me and all-- it's clear and plain to me now.

"Ned," I splutter out after he opens the front door; not that I was fully expecting him to be back home from school yet. The sound of the doorbell is still ringing menacingly in my ears and almost matching the aggression of the wind wrecking around me.

"Bonnie? Oh my gosh! Hey, how are you doing? You must be freezing, here, come in, come in." He gestures for me to come inside, and place myself in the warmth of freshly baked cookies and hot tea.

"Ned, I think that I have feelings for Peter." I sob.

His usual cheery grin falters and falls into a sympathetic frown. "I know, I know. Come here."

Without a doubt, Ned Leeds gives the warmest hugs.

--

I wipe furiously at my eyes as Ned fixes us both some hot lemon tea downstairs while I clean myself up in the bathroom. My drenched curls stare back at me in the mirror in a sorry state, almost poking fun at me and the fact that I have honestly gotten myself so worked up over Peter Parker and Liz Toomes. Because never in my life would I ever imagine myself to get so completely and utterly taken with a boy. Never in my life would I ever imagine myself to be so unprofessional. I wonder how Peter would react if he found out that getting to know him was all part of mission from the beginning.

I wipe away the smudged mascara from underneath my eyes and turn back to Ned's bedroom. I hadn't expected his house to be so cosy and comforting. While the size of it is insanely vast, the warm maternal feeling still resides in the atmosphere, and stepping in from the pouring rain into the warmth feels like a giant hug.

I sit for a moment while Ned finishes up downstairs, and I attempt with everything inside of me to avoid looking at the pictures of him and Peter stuck on his bedroom walls, taken at various science fairs and birthday dinners from over the years, even a few casual shots that I suspect May managed to sneak of the two of them.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Ned asks me softly as he carefully walks into the bedroom, carrying a tray of oatmeal and raisin cookies and two steaming mugs of tea. Ned's mug is a pale yellow colour with the words 'live, laugh, love,' printed on in cursive. We both grimace slightly at the quote, and can't help but chuckle at it. The mug that Ned handed me— which he explained was his favourite— was one of those huge novelty gifts; the shape of the head of a stormtrooper, hollowed out in the middle, as if the tea I am drinking is no longer a citrusy warm beverage, but in fact the melted and steaming concoction of stormtrooper insides.

Despite the cliche quotes and the photographs of Peter surrounding me, my evening spent with Ned is exactly what I needed. He is comforting in a way that isn't condescending or slightly dismissive— he listens to me and he cares, like any good friend should.

I take a bite out of one of the crumbly cookies while Ned begins to explain everything. "Peter wasn't sure if you were ignoring him, ghosting him or whatever, but his messages and phone calls to you wouldn't go through, so he thought that maybe you changed your phone number. After I texted you and you replied, he realised that you blocked him and he got pretty sad for a while, but he pretended he didn't.

When he told me that you guys kissed, oh my gosh. Bonnie, I was so excited for you both, I mean it was about time. Like you'd both been pining over each other for months and neither of you had actually done anything about it."

"What?"

"Look," Ned sits cross-legged opposite me, very nearly spilling his tea from his concentration in the conversation, "it's like oblivious love."

"Love? Ned, what are you talking about?"

"You know, when two people both have feelings for each other but they're oblivious to the other person's feelings."

"But we're so different, Ned! I mean, c'mon he's Peter Parker— Spider-Man... and I'm me— a Stark. It just, fuck. I don't know, it's just... it shouldn't work."

Ned smirks at me in an all-knowing manner, "Opposite charges attract, Bonnie. Shouldn't you know that?"

"Ned," I chuckle, "it's really not that deep."

"Bonnie," he sighs, "you're weeping into your oatmeal and raisin."

"I'm constantly crying, Ned. Even if it's only on the inside." I gasp dramatically and throw myself back down on to the bed. Ned chuckles at me and shuffles over beside me so that we are both laying on our backs and staring up at the ceiling.

"You love him, don't you, Bonnie?" Ned says softly after a while.

I take a moment. How am I suppose to fit months of feeling into a single sentence? How can I even fit the feeling into words?

"I can't explain it. I mean, love is an excuse, really. It's a reason to hate. To commit murder. A reason to turn bitter and cold and full of hatred. Love is an excuse to justify our worst and most horrific actions. but..."

"But?" Ned perks up, excited.

But when I look at him...

"But, it's not what I feel for Peter Parker. At all."

Liar.

—

It had stopped raining by the time I eventually pulled myself together enough to leave Ned's house and catch the subway home, the remaining shreds of my dignity dragging behind me like untied shoelaces to leave me looking disheveled and messy and there to trip me up when I'm least expecting.

This time, there aren't any infatuated teenagers bonding over bands or old men reading newspapers or business workers trying to beat the rush-hour traffic. Just myself, a group of frat boys and a drunk man half-passed-out laying across the seats and mumbling to himself.

I distract myself from the tears threatening my eyes and the realisation that I had forgotten to take my meds earlier that day by scrolling through the contact list on my phone. I scan across the names of the people who are no longer in my life— lingering a little longer on my Mother's old phone number. Obviously, I know she wouldn't be able to answer because she's too busy buried six-feet underground and the whole being dead thing, but I think it's comforting being able to scroll through old text conversations and remembering how loving it all felt. Truth is, I don't think I'd really felt proper actual love until finding out my relation to Tony Stark and the Avenger's family, but it was nice enough to pretend at the time.

I press call on my dad's phone number to call and tell him that I'm not doing well.

Instead, we talk about the weather.

And my head fills with clouds as raindrops trickle from my misty eyes and down my cheeks until they erode marks into my rocky foundations. The tears burn my skin and leave red irritation marks against my boiling complexion— but at least they're putting the fire out, right? At least they're keeping me cool.

Usually, I'd sneak in through my bedroom window to avoid getting caught being out of the compound so late, but I really don't have anything left inside of me to care. When I walk in through the lounge, Dad and Pepper lay on the couch together while sipping at glasses of expensive red wine.

"What? Bonnie, where have you been? I thought you were sleeping." Dad snaps at me as I storm through the living area, ignoring his repetitive questions being thrown at me left, right and centre.

I push through the tension in the room and down the hall until I reach my bedroom and throw myself down on the bed. My head clangs against the headboard and leaves me feeling slightly disoriented, as I clutch the aching spot on the top my skull.

Minutes later, a knock on the door compliments my tears.

"Let me in, kid... Please."

"Nope, no men in this room. Honestly, men don't even exist to me anymore, I am simply a woman living in a women's world."

I can just about make out the faint whispers coming from outside of the door.

"She won't let me in, she's in her 'I hate men' stage."

"I can't blame her. Honestly, I do too. Move, Tony. Let me try. Bonnie? Let me in, please."

I sigh with irritation, wanting nothing else than to be left alone. "Well, are you a dude?"

"Okay, that's it. Open the damn door!" Pepper yells from outside of my bedroom, not so forcefully that the irritation grows, but loud enough so that I know it's either confront her or argue with her. And I'm not interested in the latter whatsoever. I'm done with arguing and yelling and fighting. I'm tired. So tired.

"Fine," I slide off my bed and unlock the door. When she walks in she looks at me with a stern expression, lips pursed; the lot.

"What the hell did Peter Parker do?"