Okay, here goes. Another attempt at normal. Elaine. I texted her last night, fingers hovering over the send button for an eternity. It felt like a lifetime since we'd just… hung out. Not a quick coffee between emergencies, not a rushed dinner where I'd jump at every siren, but real, uncomplicated time. Guilt, heavy and familiar, was the main motivator. Guilt for missed calls, forgotten plans, the constant, exhausting distance I put between us. So, I typed it out: "Hey, super sorry about everything lately. Things have been… crazy. Want to try and hang out Sunday? Maybe do something chill? Shopping?"
The three dots appeared. My heart rate, which I usually only noticed when dodging a hydraulic press, picked up. Then, her reply: "Shopping sounds great, Peter! :) Sunday afternoon works. Looking forward to it." A simple text, but it felt disproportionately significant. A tiny spark of possibility in the usual chaos. I clung to it.
Sunday rolled around, sunny and deceptively calm. We agreed to meet near the entrance of a big indoor mall downtown. As I walked up, I saw her, leaning against a planter, scrolling on her phone. She looked... normal. Happy, even. A small, genuine smile touched her lips as she saw me. That smile hit me somewhere deep, a reminder of what I was fighting for, and also, what I was constantly risking losing.
"Hey," I said, trying to sound casual, like I hadn't just spent the morning stressing out about what to wear. My shoulders were tight, a dull ache blooming just under my ribs. Nothing major, nothing I hadn't handled a hundred times, but a persistent reminder.
"Hey yourself," she replied, tucking her phone away. Her eyes scanned my face for a split second – a habit she'd developed, I noticed, trying to decipher my mood, gauge how frazzled I was. I tried to keep my expression neutral, friendly, present. "Glad you could make it."
"Wouldn't miss it." I meant it. Desperately.
We started walking into the mall, the air-conditioned chill a welcome contrast to the humid city heat outside. Small talk flowed easily at first – classes, a new movie, the ridiculous price of coffee these days. We drifted into a clothing store, one of those big ones with rows and rows of everything from t-shirts to jackets. The mundane-ness of it was almost staggering. People browsing, laughing, just… being. It felt wonderful.
Elaine picked up a few things, holding them against herself, asking my opinion. I tried my best to give genuine feedback. She was patient, browsing without rush, occasionally glancing at me with that same searching look.
"See anything for you?" she asked, gesturing towards a rack of shirts.
I shrugged. "Maybe. Could use some… less holey options." Most of my casual clothes had a suspiciously short lifespan. Falling off buildings tended to do that. I pulled out a simple grey cotton shirt, not my usual graphic tee fare, but classic, practical.
"Go on, try it," she prompted, a hopeful note in her voice.
I headed towards the changing rooms. The small booth felt confining, but also private. I pulled off my slightly-too-worn t-shirt, the cool air hitting the skin on my back and side. That dull ache was a bit sharper now. I twisted slightly to pull the new shirt over my head. In the small mirror on the wall, I saw it.
It was a beauty. A perfect, purple-green, ugly blotch blooming just above my left hip. About the size of my fist. Definitely fresh. I probablygot it from the two legged lizard. I sighed internally.
The curtain to my booth wasn't fully closed. There was a gap, just wide enough. Elaine was browsing a rack nearby, probably waiting to see if I liked the shirt. As I turned slightly, adjusting the hem, she happened to look over. Her eyes widened for a split second, fixing on the reflected image in the mirror, on my side, before I could fully pull the shirt down.
I quickly finished pulling the shirt on, forcing a smile as I stepped out, trying to act like nothing had happened. "So? This work?"
Elaine wasn't looking at the shirt. Her gaze was fixed on my face, her usual cheerful expression replaced by a knot of concern, her brows drawn together. "Peter. Your side."
"Huh? My side?" I tried to play dumb.
"The bruise. In the mirror. How did you get that?" Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, a tension that mirrored the tightness in my chest.
I fumbled for the first plausible lie I could think of. Something mundane, something clumsy. "Oh, that? Uh, fell down. Tripped, actually. Helping Aunt May move some furniture yesterday. You know how it is."
The lie felt fragile even as it left my mouth. I watched Elaine's face. She didn't accuse me directly, not yet, but I saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the subtle tightening of her jaw.
"Tripped?" Her voice was still quiet, too quiet.
"Yeah. Clumsy, I know." I even managed a weak chuckle. It died in the air between us.
"Peter, that's… that doesn't look like a 'tripped while moving furniture' bruise." She took a small step closer, her eyes searching mine. "It looks… significant. Like someone really hit you."
Panic, cold and sharp, pricked at my skin. This was it. The moment I always dreaded. The questions I couldn't answer. "No, no, it's really fine. Just a bad angle maybe? Landed weird." I tried to wave it off.
But Elaine wasn't backing down. Her voice firmed up, frustration starting to pierce through the initial concern. "Why are you lying to me, Peter?"
My stomach dropped. "I'm not lying! I just… I don't want you to worry." The classic line. The one I always fell back on. The one that felt like a shield, but was more like a wall.
"Don't want me to worry?" she echoed, her voice rising slightly, drawing a few curious glances from shoppers nearby. She lowered it again, but the intensity stayed. "You think you're protecting me by not telling me things, but you're just making me worry more! Because I never know what's going on! I see you're hurt, you lie about it, and I'm left here, trying to figure out what kind of life you're actually living that gives you bruises like that!"
She was right.
"It's… complicated, Elaine. Really complicated." I stammered, searching for words that didn't exist, not the ones I could say out loud.
"Complicated?" she repeated, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and the sight of them broke something inside me. "Every single thing with you is complicated! You're late, you cancel last minute, you disappear, you're exhausted, you're hurt, and you never, ever, tell me why! I feel like I'm dating a ghost, Peter! Or… or a shadow. Just the bits you decide to let me see, the bits you think are safe."
She took a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes. "Do you have any idea how that feels? To constantly feel like I'm secondary to something I don't even know about? To wonder… to wonder if I'm just not important enough for the truth?"
The accusation she voiced next was quiet, laced with more heartbreak than suspicion, and it twisted the knife. "Sometimes, Peter, I honestly wonder if you're seeing someone else. Not because I don't trust you, but because it feels like you're always with someone or something else, and you won't even tell me who or what it is. It's the only explanation I can think of for why you're always unreachable, always pulled away, always covered in... secrets."
Her words hung in the air, raw and devastating. I stood there, the grey shirt suddenly feeling heavy and wrong. Stunned doesn't begin to cover it. Racked. Gutted. I looked at her, really looked at her, saw the depth of the pain I had inflicted. My throat was tight. I wanted to tell her. To scream the truth.
I just stared at her. I couldn't refute her accusation of secrecy, because it was true. I couldn't explain the real reason, because the perceived risk was too high. I couldn't even form a comforting lie, because she'd see through it instantly, and it would only hurt her more. So, I said nothing. The silence stretched, thick with everything left unsaid, everything I couldn't bring myself to say.
Elaine watched me, her expression shifting from anguished pleading to a weary, profound disappointment. She saw the wall I put up, the one I couldn't break through, not even for her, not even now.
Her shoulders slumped slightly. The fight seemed to drain out of her. She looked away, towards the racks of clothes, then back at me, her eyes distant now.
"Okay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, hollow and final. "Okay."
She didn't raise her voice, didn't make a scene. Just stood there for another long moment, the silence deafening. Then, quietly, she added, "I… I think I need some time, Peter. To think."
She turned slowly, leaving the clothes she had been holding on a nearby display table. She didn't look back. Just walked away, past the cheerful shoppers, past the oblivious employees, and out of the store.
I stood rooted to the spot, still in the new grey shirt, the bruise on my side throbbing in time with my aching heart. People moved, sounds happened, but it all felt muffled, distant.
Eventually, the quiet judgment of my own reflection in a nearby mirror became too much. I walked out of the changing room. I left the store in a daze, pushing through the automatic doors, the Sunday afternoon sun harsh on my eyes.
I found an empty bench outside, near a fountain, and sat down. I watched people walk by – couples holding hands, families with kids, friends laughing. They seemed so... connected. Unburdened.
Elaine's words echoed in my head: dating a shadow... always second... wondering if you're seeing someone else... covered in secrets. She saw the effects, the symptoms, even without knowing the cause. And those symptoms looked an awful lot like I didn't value her enough, didn't trust her enough to be honest. Which, in a twisted way, was true. I didn't trust the world not to exploit the truth if she knew it. I didn't trust myself not to make a mistake that would put her in danger. But in trying to shield her from the physical risks of my life, I had exposed her to the emotional ones, the ones that felt just as devastating right now.
Being Spider-Man meant sacrifices. I knew that.
How long could I keep this up? How many more times would I have to choose between the world and the people I loved, only to end up losing both? The city hummed around me, oblivious. And I sat there, just Peter, bruised and alone, wondering if I was strong enough to keep holding on, or if I was already starting to fall.