TW: attempted murder
3rd Person P.O.V.
Harley and Peter made the perfect pair. Their relationship was the envy of all their friends, and they were happy in their perfect life.
…Until perfection was twisted.
It was odd. From the outside, nothing appeared to be wrong. Even Peter himself didn't notice a shift in their relationship. He and Harley were happy as ever!
But late at night, he started waking up to Harley muttering in his sleep.
"Gonna get you…"
"I'll kill… kill you…"
"I want to hear you scream…"
Okay, maybe that last one wasn't that strange. But the other two certainly were. What was Harley talking about? Who was Harley talking to?
Peter shook it off. His blond boyfriend was probably just having a weird dream. Harley was harmless, he wouldn't hurt a fly! He was just being paranoid. There was nothing to be afraid of.
Peter's attitude started to shift once he noticed more unsettling behavior.
While making the bed, he found a kitchen knife. Under Harley's pillow. Peter picked it up, bewildered to find it there. He gently slid a finger along the blade, nicking his skin.
"Ah!" He gasped, dropping the knife. It clattered to the ground, and Peter held his breath. Quickly, he bent down to pick it up– and spotted even more concerning evidence.
Underneath the bed, there were crumpled photographs, all of them displaying Peter in some way. Photos of the two of them together, photos of him alone, even a couple of him sleeping.
What. The. Fuck.
Peter wasn't sure if he should be scared or not. It was some pretty damning evidence, but it didn't make sense. Harley was such a sweet and caring guy… and he practically worshipped Peter (especially in the bedroom). He wouldn't do this… right?
But if not him, then who else?
Peter bit his lip anxiously, deciding to finish making the bed. He put the kitchen knife back in the kitchen where it belonged, hoping that doing so was the correct response.
~
That night, Harley was acting… odd.
He was sweaty, first of all. In their 65°F (~18°C) house. Wearing just a long sleeve shirt and jeans.
He also seemed nervous, which was uncharacteristic of him. Peter, ever trusting, chalked all of this up to a fever and sent his sweaty boyfriend to bed early. Harley complied without an argument.
When Peter went up to bed that night, Harley wasn't there. For a moment, his heart rate spiked– but then he relaxed when he saw a light under the bathroom door. Sure enough, the toilet flushed a few seconds later, followed by the faucet. Peter got into bed, yawning as Harley came back from the bathroom to join him.
"Hey there, darlin'," Harley greeted.
"Hi, Harls…" Peter murmured. Harley wrapped his arms around the brunette, sighing softly. For the first time since their relationship began, Peter was uncomfortable. He wiggled around in Harley's arms, trying to get comfortable.
But he just couldn't.
"Mm, Harls? Can you… can you please let go of me?" Peter requested, frowning.
Harley tightened his grip, moving his hands up slightly.
"Why?" He questioned. Okay, now Peter was definitely scared.
"Harley, let go of me," he demanded. In one swift movement, Harley flipped Peter onto his back, pinning him down and wrapping his hands around the brunette's neck.
"Or what?" He asked dangerously. His grip on Peter's throat tightened, choking him. Harley's eyes were dark, staring, and unblinking. It was terrifying.
Peter whimpered, putting his hands over Harley's and trying to pull him off. It was getting hard to breathe.
Harley only gripped his throat tighter.
Peter was running out of air. He couldn't stay conscious for much longer. He had to do something, and quick.
Peter glanced to his side, quickly reaching for the book on his bedside table and slamming it into Harley's head with all the strength he could muster. The blond's hands released him as he fell backwards, rubbing his head angrily. Peter breathed in, coughing and gasping for air.
"Oh, I'll fucking kill you for that!" Harley yelled, lunging at Peter. The brunette rolled off the bed, still coughing. He stood up, but Harley grabbed his leg, making him fall back to the ground. Peter kicked him with all his might, army crawling to his drawer and grabbing the pepper spray out of it.
"You really think you can escape me? You're nothing. I could crush you like a bug!" Harley laughed, sneering as he stood up, towering over Peter. He was still on the ground, both arms behind him to hold him up. When Harley got closer, Peter swiftly aimed the pepper spray at him…
…and sprayed him right in the eyes.
Harley howled with pain, stumbling back blindly. He tripped over the book Peter had hit him with earlier, falling on his ass with a loud thump.
Peter wasn't wasting any time. He jumped to his feet, making a mad dash for the front door.
He ran outside and down the street, not slowing down or stopping once to look back. He ran all the way to the police station (which, luckily, wasn't too far), reporting the incident. Seeing the marks on Peter's neck, the police went straight to the house to arrest Harley.
But he was already gone.
The police suggested changing the locks, and then they left, saying they would call if they caught him.
(Wow, thanks so much. That really puts me at ease.)
So Peter changed the locks. And for a couple days, things seemed fine.
And then he got a phone call.
It was an unknown number. Peter answered it, hoping it was the cops calling to say they had caught him.
Instead, he was met with heavy breathing. Heavy breathing that he recognized.
It was Harley.
Peter quickly hung up, flinging his phone at the bed. From downstairs, a floorboard creaked. Peter's breath hitched.
"No, no no no no!" He cried, grabbing the hair on the sides of his head in a panic. Someone was inside his house… and it was probably his murderous ex-boyfriend. This time, he had the sense to call 911, locking the door to his bedroom and shoving a chair under the knob.
"911, what's your emer-"
"He's in my house!" Peter whisper-yelled. The stairs creaked ominously, weight slowly bending the floorboards.
"Sir, please calm down. Tell me your address and who exactly is in your house."
"*** ******* Street. It's my ex, Harley Keener. He's here to kill me! Please help!"
"I'm sending officers to your address now."
"Okay…" A creak came from the hallway. "Fuck! He's in the hallway!"
"Don't panic. You need to keep a clear head." The 911 operator paused. "What's your name?"
"Peter. I'm Peter."
"Okay, Peter, I'm Joanna. Does he know what room you're in?"
"Um… probably. But I've locked the door and put a chair under the knob."
"Good. Stay quiet. I'll stay on the line until enforcements arrive."
"Thank you…" Peter breathed. He hid behind the bed, sitting with his knees up to his chest.
There was a creak outside the door.
...
The doorknob rattled.
"I know you're in there, darlin'!" Harley drawled out slowly. He banged on the door once. "This door won't hold me for long, you know!"
Peter heard sirens in the distance.
They pulled up outside the house.
"You called the cops on me? What, too afraid to face your own boyfriend?" Harley scoffed.
"You stopped being my boyfriend when you tried to kill me!" Peter retorted.
"Aww, c'mon. Don't make me the bad guy here!"
"I-" Peter stopped, frowning. "What? You literally tried to murder me! You are the bad guy!"
The stairs creaked. Footsteps pounded toward the bedroom.
"Put your hands up!"
"The cops are here," Peter whispered to Joanna.
"That's great. They'll handle the situation. Are you okay now?" She questioned.
"Yeah. Thank you."
"It's only my job, Peter."
He hung up, peeking his head over the bed. There was a lot of scuffling outside the door, then the slamming of a body up against the wall.
"You have the right to remain silent."
Oh, thank god!
Peter let out a sigh, letting some of his tension melt away. They got him.
From the window, Peter watched as Harley was escorted to the police car, then taken away from him.
Forever.
There was a knock at the door.
"Is someone in there? It's the police."
Peter opened the door, pushing the chair to the side.
"Are you okay, sir? Did he harm you?" The officer looked him up and down, gaze pausing at his throat.
"No. I'm okay. Thank you."
"We have an ambulance outside if you'd like to get that looked at," the officer said, gesturing at the hand-shaped bruises around his neck.
"I'm really fine. This is from the first time he tried to kill me," Peter mentioned, wrinkling his nose a little.
"Alright. He'll be put away for a long time for what he's done."
"Thank you."
"Sure thing."
The cops all left, and Peter was left alone. Alone, but comfortable for the first time in several days. Harley was taken care of, and he wouldn't bother him again.
Still, it hurt. Harley had been so comforting and quiet…
How did love become so violent?