Peter Parker <3 Spider-Man

Sometimes you lay awake, staring at the popcorn-ceiling, wondering if you jumped the gun.

Everyone you knew was getting married straight out of college. They’d graduate and within months already have a house of their own and a legal document binding them together.

You and Peter had that second thing—a legal document binding you together. You had jumped on the train, dropping hints without realizing, alluding to this desire of marriage. He, of course, adored you; so of course he’d also pounced at the chance to give you his last name.

He had no regrets, not a single thought of whether this was the right choice. He was ecstatic to come home to you; the scent of your detergent on his clothes, your little objects strewn about among his own—even the hair you left in the shower. Every piece of evidence of your existence in his life was a positive one in his eyes. Even when you disagreed he couldn’t be mad; it was all a piece of you.

He hadn’t suspected at all that you felt a little off kilter about the arrangement.

You love Peter—of course you love him. You remind yourself, looking at the ceiling like it could provide answers. A sigh leaves your parted lips, dry from biting and licking—very much a distressed coping technique.

Your question was not whether you loved him or did not—the question came of whether your love could survive his inconsistency in life.

Peter is a vigilante. You’d known that before he’d kissed you the first time; before you’d even graduated college.

You told yourself you would be fine. You’re an independent woman, you can manage on your own. You tried to believe that.

When crime spiked and he had made himself scarce you quickly discovered how misleading your self-belief was. Somewhere along the line you had become dependent on his presence. His absences began to feel like feathers being plucked from your skin—if you could guess what feathers felt like when they were forcefully yanked.

He was coming home later and later, leaving you in a heavily populated apartment all alone.

You knew he was busy—tried to be understanding. You were so upset, feeling neglected, but kept trying to convince yourself you were being dramatic and emotional.

But the need overpowered it, and you realized you were genuinely lacking in the security of your marriage. His often missing self was beginning to impact you negatively; he was gone so often he hadn’t noticed.

Your night walks were taken alone after he hadn’t had time to attend them with you anymore—and then your night walks stopped altogether, too many eyes watching your every move. It wasn’t safe alone, wasn’t safe without Peter.

Your meals became more and more scarce—there was no one to eat with or cook for—no one to share chores and love with. His pillow was starting to smell more like you than him. It felt like half of you was flickering out.

You’d been less and less of yourself, and here you were the same, staring at that popcorn ceiling. You hadn’t had much of a meal today—microwaved popcorn and a couple cans of pop. You weren’t hungry, and you still aren’t hungry now. You had left everything unattended today. You couldn’t hype yourself up to do the laundry—laundry that was a mix of his and yours.

Dishes were not piled up—you hadn’t been using them—but the trash had been accumulating in several bags. You hadn’t changed out of your pajamas in days, hadn’t been showing up to your part-time job. You were doubting he would note those details when he inevitably crawled into the unlatched window or keyed into your shared space.

It was some time in the terribly early am—the ceiling beckoned you with false answers. He had only just keyed into the apartment long after midnight. His footsteps were heavy with exhaustion, heavy enough that you could tell when he would pause to assess the changing conditions of your shared home. He would be coming to bed soon.