His Gift by Nehan Shinzui
a/n: 7/15/11 You guys. Harry Fucking Potter came out today! I-I have no idea what to do with myself..I..I mean I just cannot even...Ok. *breathes* let me stop before I drive myself into an incoherent mess, before I can even write the damn chapter. lol
Chapter Eight: Aftermath
He is so stupid. So fucking stupid. What in the hell had he been thinking? He'd crossed a line at that party. But Peter was just so...so...he couldn't explain. Not that it mattered now. How could he possibly face him again? He'd practically assaulted the boy in the bloody bathroom of all places. And then, he'd actually given his number to him. As if he'd ever call after that fiasco. David shakes his head and downs his glass of whiskey.
The rest of the party, he'd been in an utter daze, distracted, stumbling through the festivtites, his mind occupied by the feel of Peter's lips, Peter's softness.
He'd blown it.
But Peter had kissed him back. If only for a moment.
Glaring at his fist, he tried punching the wall again, when he was alone. Curiosity had gotten the best of him. He rarely got into fights, and he wasn't some meathead at the gym who constantly had to work out.So just what in the hell had happened back there in the alley?
Flesh connected with the wall, and he saw that there was the faintest dent in it. He was almost certain now, that if he had applied more pressure to it, the whole wall would've come down. Clenching his hands together, he fell backwards when a shot of something sticky and white and fluid shot out of his wrist.
Mary Jane slid her fingers together, her forehead touching the cool glass of her vanity. Something was going on here. And she couldn't believe she had been so slow to see it.
When she grabbed Peter's hand, a fine sheet of light brown make-up, like the one she used fir costume sometimes, had spotted her fingers. And for a second she had seen what looked like a grey discoloration on his skin. Like a bruise. She buried her face in her hands. She prayed to God that what she was thinking was wrong. It couldn't be possible, but the way Pete behaved...
Sighing, MJ thought back to their high school years.
She was waiting nervously, curious about what Harry had thought was so urgent to tell her. MJ was alone in the room, and that only added to her anxiety. She'd always hated being by herself-and what would garner them having to be completely alone anyway?
Finally, she sees the door to the empty classroom open and Harry walks in, his face somber. She wasted no time.
"Is it something bad?" she queried instantly.
Harry shrugged, draping his coat over a chair. "Depends on what you classify as bad."
She crossed her arms, waiting.
"Peter and I are seeing each other."
MJ felt her mouth drop.
"Yes." Harry cut her off. "Is that going to be a problem?"
The redhead shook her head automatically. "No, no of course not!" she replied hastily. "It's just-well-how long?"
"About six months now."
"Six months?" her mouth was agape once more. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Harry gave a sigh, his eyes drifting upwards towards the ceiling. "Peter is nervous about coming out." he answered simply.
MJ felt a little crushed that Peter hadn't even felt ready to tell his own friend, but she supposed since he and Harry had known each other longer...
"I love him." Harry interrupted her thoughts. "I've never felt this way about anybody else."
"When did you find out?" she asked him.
"Who knows? I think I might've always felt this way, really. One day...after gym...I just...said it." he gave a small shrug. "I told him I could never think of being with anyone else. That he was the only one for me. That we had to be together."
"Wow." MJ breathed. The girly part of her was coming out now-she loved a good romance story. "And Peter just accepted it like that?"
"He makes me so happy, MJ." the brunette said instead of answering her. He stood up as if to emphasize his point, strolling towards the window to see the sunlight streaming through the glass, the PE field in full view.
"And what did Peter say? Was he happy too?" the redhead smiled, imagining her friend getting swept off his feet with balloons and fireworks in the background.
"I love him so much, MJ." he repeated, staring out the window.
Peter looked up at her with tear-stained eyes as Harry told her the news.
"Oh my god, Pete." she breathed. "I'm so sorry." she reached a consoling hand out to touch him, her fingers gracing his shoulder, before Harry cut in.
"We're doing the best we can."
"If there is anything I can do-anything -"
Peter opened his mouth, as if in response, but quickly shut it with a look at Harry.
"We're getting everything figured out, MJ. There's no need for you to worry about any of it." The sharp emphasis he put on "you" wasn't noticed much at the time, and neither was the slight force with which he delivered it.
She got the news that Peter had a nervous breakdown a couple weeks after it was supposed to have happened, and not really in the way she would've preferred to. It had been her fifth night out with Harry and it had been a rather peaceful evening when she suddenly felt the urge to bring the question up.
"I haven't seen Pete in awhile, Harry." she'd said with a slight smirk in his direction as she took a long sip from her Long Island Ice Tea. "You been hiding him away somewhere, Harry?"
Harry gave her a long, hard look before responding. "He's had a small breakdown. I've been keeping him in the house, for awhile."
The offhanded way he told her left her feeling more than a bit thrown.
The next time she saw him, he looked impossibly ill, leaning into Harry in a completely submissive way, his eyes downcast as Harry held him.
"I love him so much, MJ."
When he touched the wall, his hands stuck to it. This seemed to be yet another strange feature he had developed during the past few days and David found himself once again amazed at what was happening to him. He thought back to when he first got bitten-perhaps this was the cause.
"But a mutated insect, really?" It was inconceievable. Unthinkable. Impossible. Frivolous, really. But it was happening. Looking up at the wall, he idly wondered, just how long his hands would stick.
Peter closed his eyes. Harry hadn't punished him yet. He had merely for the moment been giving him the cold shoulder, had treated him with a cold indifference, had treated him as if he weren't there.
Peter dreaded when Harry would be done plotting. Every moment was spent poised as if on a very delicate tightrope, sweat pouring down his body. When they had gotten home, he'd gone into the bathroom and vomited immediatley, then waited crouched in the corner, anticipating the sound of Harry's footsteps, his entire body tense. But Harry had not come. Harry had still not come.
And in some twisted way, Peter was realizing that he missed his lover's touch. Missed his attention. He had to try and make it up to him somehow. Leaning against the cool glass of the bathroom mirror, Peter let out a agonized moan of frustration. What was wrong with him? Why did everything have to be like this? How could he yearn for someone who hurt him so much. He looked at his tear-swollen face in the mirror. Perhaps, like Harry had told him for so long, all this really was his fault. If only he would do as he said, if only he wouldn't act out so much-he should be grateful that someone looked at him that way. Maybe this was how people showed-
But that other one...he hadn't tried to do anything that would hurt him. He had given him soft words, had said that he cared about him. Had looked at him and smiled. Peter trembled looking at his number, wondering when he would have to use it.
Harry was drunk again. It wasn't such an odd occurance by now, but this time, no matter how much he gulped down, he couldn't get the voices out of his head. He'd had Peter working in the office tonight, and he should've been readying himself to go and get him. But the thought of seeing his face, filled his chest with anger and betrayal. He didn't know how he was supposed to deal with this. Peter had crossed too many lines that night, had let that other man touch him, had been in that room alone with him. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he brought the bottle to his lips once more. Hadn't he done everything in his power to show him that he loved him? Given him everything, provided him with this beautiful home and-and-maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe that would never make up for what-what he'd done to him. And the image of Peter laying hurt and broked flashed before his eyes.
But he'd only been doing that because he loved him. If he didn't then someone else who didn't love him would do it. And then that person would really hurt his Peter.
"Indecision...it was always one of your bigger problems, Harold." His father's voice echoes in his ears and he reflexively ignores it. However, the man's next words jar him from his seat.
"You know he's never loved you, Harry."
His words come out like sharp glass, his teeth grit against the pain of such an accusation.
"Why can't you just leave me alone? Why do you still bother me!" His last words come out in a shout, slamming the bottle into the tabletop, glaring at nothing. This living room, this had been where hisfather had sat and thought for so long and where he slept, delirious sometimes. Om the wall just opposite of him there was a mirror hanging up. Harry turned started to turn away from it, not wanting to see his wasted and intoxicated face when he was suddenly frozen in terror at what he saw.
Surely, he couldn't have drunk that much tonight. Surely not.
His father's face glared at him from the mirror.
"You can't run from me Harold."
Harry shook his head violently. "No, no you're not supposed to be here."
"You will pay for what you did to me. You will find out what you are."
"Get the hell away from me!" Harry screamed, his voice warped into an animalistic howl, he threw the wine bottle at the mirror shattering it. To his surprise, however, where he expected to see more wall, he only saw a blackness, as if there was a hole...
Approaching it, definitely intrigued now, he brushed aside some of the glass and saw that it was in fact an entryway into something.
"What the hell..." he murmured, stepping inside. It appeared to be a dimly lit hallyway. Harry hesitated a moment in slight fear of what he might find.
"You will find out what you are."
Harry swallowed, walking down the hallway to find himself in a circular room. Feeling against the wall until he finds a switch, he flicks it on and he sees that he is in fact in a miniature version of his father's-his-laboratory. All around him there are round tube like cellls and machines everywhere. There is also what looks like a giant green hovercraft behind plate glass.
Harry approaches the center of the room in wonder. This must be the remnants of his father's final project.
On a pedestal in the center of the room, there lies an acid green mask.
a/n: So, this is pretty much update week! I have no idea how I started this chapter in July and I'm just now updating near Thanksgiving damn near. I sincerly apologize for that. I hope you guys like how things are going. I hope this doesn;t seem rushed either...
Things should happen pretty quickly after this. Please review and concrit is always much needed and loved. :)