Raptured

A few weeks have passed, progress was being made on the project and as much as you hated to admit, your relationship with Miguel had improved. You noticed that his glower had dissipated but at times it would make a reappearance, but not as a commonly like in the beginning. But every time you saw him, there was a vivid hue of purples that adorned his face and neck. Fresh cuts seemed to appear on his arms as well. Maybe he’s into freaky stuff? Maybe he’s a boxer, or participates in underground fight clubs? You shake your head at the thoughts that bombarded your mind; whatever it is, I don’t want to be apart of it.  

Ignoring the possible theories about Miguel’s injuries, your dad’s words suddenly ring in your ears, ‘your task is to do whatever it takes to prevent him from leaving.’ Groaning, you make your way to your desk. I still have no idea how to do that! I’m not exactly here to convince people to stay. I am a scientist myself. At times, you felt sadden by the fact that your father uses you as a henchman to do menial tasks. You knew that you had the skills and the knowledge to conduct your own experiments but for some reason he couldn’t see that. Shaking away the thoughts, you focus on the file that had to be completed.

“You alright there?” Miguel inquired; his gruff voice sent vibrations through your core. Looking up from your laptop, you notice from a distance, Miguel watching you with concern?Wow. This was new. Both of his arms were placed on his hips, one of his thick legs were facing away from the other slightly bent. It was his pose. Something that you had picked up during your time when working with him. His mannerisms that made him intriguing to observe. This pose was one of them.

“I am fine. Just…stressed?” You mentally face-palm yourself. Could you have been any more obvious? You weren’t lying, you were stressed but he didn’t need to know the reason for it.

Silence hung between you for a moment, his gaze pierces through any semblance of calm you tried to maintain. He clearly didn’t buy your half-hearted response.         

“Alright, be sure to send me the work by tonight,” he exclaims whilst turning around to work with the microscope.

As the sun ended its reign of glory, a blanket of night cloaked the urban landscape. Lights flickered from the myriad of buildings, casting an intricate web of illumination against the black canvas. Yawning, you take your leave, notifying Miguel that you will send the files when you get home.

The dim streetlights flicker, casting elongated shadows on the pavement as you step out of the Alchemax building. Your trudge along, forcing your heavy legs to fasten the pace so that you can get home quickly. Cars speed past on the road leaving a blur of colours, billboards flash brightly and boldly in the sky. You breathe in the city air, something you haven’t smelt in forever since you had usually trapped yourself in labs. Aromas from different food vendors mingled together and wafted all throughout the city.

You feel a clammy hand grip around your wrist, yanking into a dark alley way and pushes you against a wall. You scream loudly, the stranger grabs your hands and puts it above your head, restricting your movements.

“What the heck? Get off me!” you yell, squirming about in his grasp.

“No, no. Stop, I am not going to hurt you,” the man slurred out. His calloused, grimy hand gripped at your hips; he sinks his nails into your skin. The smell of alcohol radiates off his breath, your nose crinkles at the stench.

“Rapture. Give, give it to me,” the man licks his lips, displaying a row of yellowed and rotting teeth. “I need it,” he whines, his face breaks out in cold sweat. His grip on your wrist and hips tightens. Ow.

With all your might, you knee him where the light doesn’t shine. Effective immediately, he lets go off you.

“FUCK!” he screams aloud while holding his crown jewels. “You bitch!”

Without hesitation, you pivot on your heels and break into a sprint, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. But fate had other plans as his fingers grasp onto your hair, yanking you backward with a force that sends a shock of pain through your scalp.

“You are gonna pay for that, bitch.” You feel his hot, nasty breath on your neck.

“Let go off me, you disgusting creature,” at this point, you had no idea what you were saying. You just wanted to go home. Tears prick at your eyes, tears of anger and frustration. You wriggle out of his grasp, but to no avail.

“Stop moving, bit-,” Before he could even finish his sentence, red and blue streaks across our vision. Red webs wrap around the man’s body, jerking him a few feet away from you.

Crouching down instinctively, you cover your head, bracing whatever might come next. The constant groans of pain resonated to through the night air, and even though you’re shielded from the sight, you can feel the intensity of the struggle vibrating through the atmosphere.

Then, as abruptly as it started, a hush falls. Silence washes over you, the abrupt stillness feeling surreal in contrast to the chaos just moments ago.

You hesitantly lower your hands, cautiously peeking around to assess the situation. The man lies on the ground, subdued and unmoving. Your heart pounds as though it were to jump out of your chest, the sound of the thumping fills your ears. Slowly, you rise to your feet, your legs shaking slightly from the whole ordeal. And there, standing before you, is a figure in a red and navy-blue suit, an iconic symbol of a spider etched on his muscular chest. It’s him—Spiderman.