Surprise

I don’t know how long I was out, but I was quickly awakened by Harry slamming my door, accompanied by bags from what I assume is the nearest pharmacy.

“You’re so lucky I’m here right now.” He sat down and swiveled the desk chair over so he could sit above me while I lay on the bed. He stared at me for a few moments, and I couldn't tell what his expression meant. He wasn’t looking at me with pity or anger. His eyes looked gentle but lost.

“Ok sit up a little so I can take your shirt off,” he said.

I gasped. “You weirdo!” I accused. “Was there hidden motivation this whole time?”

He glared down at me for a second before letting out an annoyed chuckle. My jokes were not landing with him today... I guess they aren’t that funny. I feel uncomfortable though, I don’t want to take my shirt off. I don’t want Harry to see me like this. I can bandage myself up anyway. I don’t want him doing it. I opened my mouth to stop him from helping, but before I could speak up, he put a hand behind me and slightly lifted my muscle shirt off me.

“Hey,” I protested, but he simply placed his hand on my forehead and pushed me onto the bed. I feel so vulnerable. I’m still clothed, but I feel naked. I pull my arms up and cover my chest. My powers heal bruises fairly quickly, but they haven’t had enough time. My collar bones are a deep purple, but I don’t think the bone is broken.. My ribs are clearly outlined from the bruising that’s in between them. There is dried blood all over my lower stomach. I didn’t think it bled so much. I’m also covered with many small scrapes, all over my arms, chest, and back. It must be from all the shattered glass. I want to know what Harry is thinking, but I don’t have the guts to look at his face. I can’t take it.

“Shush,” he cooed. “This will be over quickly,” he gently smiled. He grabbed my hands to move them out of the way, but I smacked them away. I’m already embarrassed enough, I can move my hands myself. I bring my arms up and cover my face. I’m so embarrassed that I’m turning red.

“Would you rather die from your wound getting infected?" Harry asked. He must assume I’m annoyed.

I mean, I kind of am. If I just went to sleep I would wake up and be fine. The gash on the back of my thigh might take 2 days to completely heal though. I can't express any of my concerns, so I’ll just lay here, docile, letting Harry do as he pleases. I move my arm ever so slightly so I can watch him.

He rummages through his bags to find an antiseptic spray. He douses a cotton pad and begins to clean around the wound. He’s working silently and efficiently, and his hands are gentle and warm. I lay uncomfortably, writhing from the pain of the cleaning, especially with the gash across my stomach. Harry grabs another item from his bag and pours it onto my stomach.

It burns. I feel like I’m on fire. I move my arms down from my face, keeping them crossed around my chest. I squeeze my shoulders, trying to distract myself from the pain. Harry reached over, and places his hand over mine, gently stroking me with his thumb. The pain finally subsided, and I let out a deep breath,relaxing my body. I glance over, to see what Harry is grabbing now. He pulls out a giant tube of Neosporin.

“Hold on. I've gotta wash my hands." He dashes to the bathroom, but quickly returns. He sits back down on the desk chair, swiveling away with his force. He rolls back over, grabs the tube, opens the cap, and squeezes a dot onto his finger.

“Move your arms to the side," he says.

I put up no fight, and immediately dropped them. He begins to cover every scratch and mark on my body with the ointment. His hands are big. I think they may be bigger than mine. I glance at his face. He’s concentrating.

His eyelashes are long. Usually, redheads have lighter eyelashes, but his are dark, they make his navy eyes pop. I guess he isn’t a redhead. His hair is much more auburn. The older he gets, the more it darkens to a burgundy. I suddenly feel weird. He’s gentle as he glides around my skin, but he keeps giving me goosebumps. I bring my hand up and touch my icy fingertips to my head. Do I have a fever?

Harry removes his hands from me and digs in his bag once more. He moves over to the desk and sets some equipment up, and then he stands and runs back into the bathroom. I can hear him turn the water on, and sing happy birthday to himself twice, probably counting the seconds. He's a pretty good singer. He returns with gloves on and sits back down. He pushes himself to the desk and fidgets with some tools for a moment. He then rolls back to the bed. In his hand, he carefully holds a suturing needle. He moves his hand towards my stomach.

“Woah, do you know how to use that thing?" I pushed his hands away, a tinge of fear in my voice. “I think you could kill me if you stitch me up wrong! I'm fine, you can stop now. I don’t need any more help.”

I was expecting him to yell at me, and assure me I would be fine, but instead, his smile fades. He looks up at me with wide eyes. He seems to be in complete shock.

“What,” I shout out quickly, I desperately want this uneasiness to go away.

“My dad’s making me help out with some of his work. He put me in first aid classes to make sure I didn’t mess up,” his voice was quivering.“I’ve been excited about this,” he paused to collect his thoughts “How could you not remember? I’ve been attending these classes for 6 months now! They taught me how to close wounds 4 months ago. I mean, I’m not the best, but I’ve handled plenty of people now.”

I stayed silent, trying to rack my brain for a time we talked about this.

“You told me you were excited for me,” he started. “You said you were happy my dad was finding ways for me to help with the family business.

“He always compares me to you, and I was so happy to find something I was good at. He could experiment and I could help clean up the aftermath,” his voice started to sound defensive.

I remember saying that to him now. I remember him talking about starting first aid classes, and that maybe he could become a doctor one day. His dad pulled some strings, which allowed him to take first aid classes even though he hasn't graduated high school. Anyone who goes into the Osborn labs may be patched up by his adolescent son. After you sign a waiver of course.

I was so consumed with my life, that I shut out everything he was telling me. I must have listened at least, I vaguely remember him talking about it, I just didn't care enough. I messed up. I really messed up.

Harry sat for a moment, staring at the floor. He eventually lifted his hands, and silently started working again, but his face was filled with betrayal. I understood why he said I was so lucky he was here now. If I couldn't self-heal, he would be the man for the job. Should I apologize? Will that make it better or worse?

He began stitching my skin at the top of the wound. The needle punching in didn't hurt too much. Pulling the thread right is what stung. I felt nauseous and dizzy, and my stomach was doing flips. He proceeded to suture the wound, making his way down towards my hip bone. I didn't realize this wound was bad enough to need stitches. I wonder how many injuries I've gotten before that would have needed medical attention.

He was close to finishing. He worked carefully. He is good at this. Once he was on my bone, the more the needles stung. I bit my lip and closed my eyes, trying to be patient. I know he’s only trying to help. Maybe actually treating these wounds will help my spider powers heal anyway. His hands finally stopped moving, and instead brushed against my skin till he got to my hand. He placed my hand inside his and gently stroked my wrist with his thumb.

“Are you okay,” he finally broke the silence.

“Yeah,” I smiled. “Thank you." That hurt. I'm so glad it's over. I’m glad he doesn’t know about the other slashes on my body. Hopefully, he packs up and leaves now. If I stand up anytime soon, he’ll see the blood soaked into my sheets from my leg.

“Ok," he sighed. “Take your pants off,” he stared down at me, with a soulless look to him.

“No,” I snapped back. “I don't need any more medical care.”

“I know you are bleeding from your leg,” he glared at me, “and I know it's pretty bad.”

“What? No,” I refused. He just sighed and stood up swiftly, pointing to the dried blood in the chair. Damn.

“Stop being an idiot,” he sat back down. “Take your pants off, or get sepsis.”

I grumbled and hooked my hands between the belt loops. I tried to arch my back so I could slide them down. My stomach hurts, even more now with the stitches, and the blood from my thighs clung to the jeans. Fuck, the jeans are glued to my leg with dried blood. I try to rip the jeans away from the gash, but it feels like I'm ripping my skin off. Every move I make stings. I can't even attempt to remove them, so instead, I topple back onto the bed.

“I can’t,” I close my eyes, I can feel tears forming, and I don't want them to fall. “I’m exhausted.”

Harry grumbled. I can hear him shuffling over me. He's standing over me. I squint my eyes to see him. He grabs onto the top of my jeans and pulls them off my butt. My underwear is exposed now. This is so fucking embarrassing, I'm of course wearing Nickelodeon boxers I've had since middle school. My cheeks and ears are burning. He realizes the blood has fused my jeans to my skin. He freezes for a moment but remains calm. He grips onto the waist tightly and then rips them off. Fuck. Fuck. That hurts so fucking bad. Did he rip some skin off? It would be too embarrassing to scream, but I can't help but let out a whimper. It hurts. I curl into a ball and cover my eyes with my hands. My thigh hurts. It's throbbing.

For a moment a wave of irritation consumed me. If Harry hadn’t shown up I would have already showered and been in bed by now. I wouldn’t be feeling so guilty. I don’t even need these stitches; they do nothing but add extra pain. He didn't have to force my pants off, causing more damage. Why won't he just leave already? Can't he tell that I don't want him here?

Unexpectedly, Harry runs his hand through my hair. He softly strokes my head, and sweetly holds my hand. I feel bad for being a dick now. I didn't say any of it out loud, but I still thought it.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He stroked my hand while he waited for my answer.

“Yeah,” I close my eyes in an attempt to hide my pain, though tears are still slipping out, running down my face. This is frustrating, I feel so embarrassed. Why is Harry being so nice to me? Why didn't he storm out after I forgot about his internship? I shake the thoughts out of my head, I can't start spiraling.

“Do you wanna take a break?” he questioned, halting my anxious mind. He hasn't stopped playing with my hair.

“No, I want to get this over with.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?" he asked.

“It's not that bad,” I smiled weakly. He's already so worried. Harry abruptly stands up, his warmth fading away from me quickly.

“Stay here,” he demands, as he exits my room.

“No,” I shouted back. Peak humor. I stay curled in a ball, waiting for him to return. The excruciating pain in my leg has mainly subsided, a dull ache taking its place. After a couple of minutes, Harry appeared in the doorway, holding a plastic water bottle with a straw in it.

“Why did it take you so long to get water,” I scoffed. He shuffled to me and knelt by the side of the bed. He situated himself where I didn't have to move to drink. How cute.

“Ok, I've mixed this for you to help with the pain, but it probably won't taste good," he said quickly. “So chug it ok?" he pushed the straw into my mouth. I took a few big gulps of his mystery drink before it hit me. I spat the straw out of my mouth.

“What the hell is that,” I shouted, coughing immediately after. I managed to spout “That burned my throat!" Before coughing again. I feel super dizzy now.

“Don't be mad,” he began. I shot him a look, I wanted to lecture him, but my throat and lungs hurt from my coughing fit. “I looked in your medicine cabinet, and you didn't have anything strong enough to help with the pain. I made you a mixed drink. Alcohol helps reduce pain, and it will probably help you knock out."

“What,” I yelled, “I'll get in so much trouble with May if she found out I drank some of her alcohol,” I truly fear for my life. Aunt May knows I'm up to something, but she hasn't had any evidence to persecute me yet. I'll probably be grounded till I graduate.

“I replaced the vodka with water, so she won't be able to tell the difference. She’ll never drink hard alcohol anyway, especially without Ben."

He's right actually, I didn't think about it like that. I sighed, I'm annoyed he didn't disclose to me what it was before I chugged it, but the pain isn't as noticeable now. My chest is really warm, and so are my cheeks and ears. All of the areas that were aching with pain now just feel numb and fuzzy. My hands feel tingly now too.

I haven't had alcohol yet. That sounds so ridiculous, I spend my free time putting my life on the line, yet I've never had a drink. I don't have any excuses, I've just never been put in a situation where I've had the opportunity. I'm not exactly popular in school, I barely hang out with Harry, and even less with Gwen. For some reason, I always assumed some of these firsts in my life would be spent with Harry. I smiled at that thought. I'd have him drink with me, but I don't want to lose all feeling in my leg from a medical accident.

“Are you ready to start?" he said as he stood up and began setting up his supplies. “I want to get as much done before this wears off."

I nodded and sprawled myself out, lying on my stomach. He went to wash his hands once again, then returned ready to work. I can't watch him from this position, and I'm kind of disappointed. He placed one hand on my lower back, which startled me, sending goosebumps down my legs. Harry laughed at the sight.

“I always forget how jumpy you are." He brushes the cold cotton pad on my thigh, disinfecting the wound. It doesn't hurt nearly as bad as before. His hands are so warm. I close my eyes since I can't watch him work anyways. I focus on the sound of the cars outside, Harry’s breathing, and his hands grazing my chilled skin.

“How did you even get that kit?” I questioned. “I don’t think they typically sell those at the corner store pharmacy." He stopped working for a moment and simply responded.

“I stole some from class. I don’t want to sit on my ass if I see someone in need. I want to be able to help them." That’s exactly how I feel, it's one of my main motivations for continuing with Spider-Man.

“What a bad boy,” I laughed. My eyes are getting so heavy. I'm having trouble staying awake, I couldn't help but drift asleep while Harry finishes sewing me up.