Surprise

The sun has set, but the sidewalks of 16th Street is still bustling. If I blatantly web myself to the side of the building and peer in, someone will notice. Thank God they don't have curtains on their windows, so I don't have to fully break in. Why don't rich people use curtains?

I brace myself as I shoot up the street. I don't want anyone watching me to get suspicious, so I web myself through Manhattan like I'm following a maze. I'm close to Harry's house again, just a different view of it. I finally duck into an alleyway. I've got a pretty good idea of where cameras are placed around the city. I carefully dance my way through the alleys, trying to avoid people altogether. I can't arouse suspicion; the daily Bugle will take any weird behavior of mine and make it a front-page story. I can't have Harry, or his family, in the spotlight.

I finally got back to the Osborn penthouse. I sigh with relief, and take a deep breath of cold air. Is it okay that I'm doing this? I'm not trying to invade his privacy, I just have to make sure he's safe. I won't watch anymore than I have to.

There aren't many streetlights on the back of the building, and it's dark enough out that I can just crawl up the side without drawing attention to myself. Especially if I make use of the dark shadows cast on the building. I start ascending, slowly make my way up the side, being as careful as possible. Luckily they aren't too far up, it won't be that taxing of a climb. 

I reach their living room window. I slink over and sit on their balcony, and hide in some greenery. My whole body is numb from the cold, and my heart is pounding so hard I can hear it over the rushing cars below me. What if he isn't okay? I gather the courage up to glance into his penthouse.

Harry's sitting on the floor, slouched over, his curls falling over his face. He's anxiously pulling at the skin around his nails. It's always been a nervous habit of his; he picks and bites at his skin until  it bleeds. I carried bandaids around in my backpack all throughout middle school, when our bullying was at its worst. 

His father Norman walks over. He stands above Harry, his presence looming over him. His dad starts screaming, loudly. I can hear his enraged voice through the walls, but I can't make out the words he's saying. Harry sits on the floor trembling in fear. I can't see his face. After screaming a few sentences, Norman waltzes over to the kitchen counter. 

He grabs the fresh bouquet, and chucks it at his shaking son, letting the vase shatter on the floor. The glass doesn't hit Harry, but he still flinches, which causes his dad to scream at him even more. His fathers standing over him again, his face turning red from his anger. Spit is  flying out of his mouth and a vein on his forehead looks like it's going to pop.

Norman has always had a rough relationship with Harry. He has so many expectations that he places on his shoulders that Harry tries to balance, but the weight always ends up crushing Harry in the end, leaving him unable to pick himself up. Harry's mother was left to do all of the parenting, and when she died Norman isolated himself, leaving Harry to his own devices. Despite the rough past Norman and Harry have had, you could always tell that he truly loves his son. Norman  would never raise his hand to him either. So what the hell happened? There is nothing Harry could have done that would warrant this behavior.

I feel tears fall onto my cheeks, and my chest tightens. I so badly want to crash through the window and stop his dad. To not only stop him, but to humiliate him the way he humiliated my best friend. I should probably stop watching, but I feel paralyzed. I can't look away. Why is this happening? Has this been going on for a while, but Harry never brought it up?

Norman abruptly stops screeching and falls to his knees. He hangs his head in his hands. He starts moving his chest up and down heavily. Is he crying or catching his breath? He quickly reveals his face, which is strewn with tears and forces Harry into an embrace. Harry stays stiff, but allows his dad to hug him. Norman sits on the floor, crying and pleating for a few minutes. 

Harry has kept his head down this entire time, not looking up at his father once. After a while, Norman wipes his tears and stands up. He keeps his back to Harry. Harry quickly stands up after his father, though it looks like it must have been an order. They stay like this for a few minutes, back to back. I wish I could hear what he's saying, but Norman is talking too quietly. 

Norman finally turns back to his son, and I can see his face again. The sobbing man from before is gone, leaving a cold stern look upon his face. Norman grabs Harry's shoulders, and turns him so they are facing each other. Norman looks so angry. He was just crying and begging on the floor, how did he switch up so fast? He doesn't even look like himself. I've never seen such a look on his face. Norman suddenly brings his hand up to his son, and slaps Harry's face so hard that he falls backward and slams against the floor. 

Norman then fumes upstairs, while Harry curls up into a ball. What the hell just happened? I'm sick to my fucking stomach. I feel a deep rage burning inside of me. What fuck? What the fuck? How could he do that to Harry? All Harry does is work hard for his father's approval, and Norman thanks him by treating him like this? What the fuck?? I desperately want to scream, smash the window, and beat the crap out of Norman. How could he do that to his son? Fuck Fuck Fuck.

I want to rush in and hold Harry, to cup his crying face and tell him It's okay. I watch as he wipes his face, slowly stands up, and quietly tiptoes to his bedroom. I know I said I would cut him off, but I can't leave Harry alone after what just happened. I can't stomach the thought of him being alone after this. 

I'm going to get changed, and sneak into Harry's room. I have to see him as soon as possible. I can't get the scene out of my head. What happened out of my head. Every time it repeats, I feel the rage bubble up inside of me. 

It would be ridiculous to swing back to Queens for a change of clothes. I can't take that much time. I have to get to Harry now. I swing down to the bustling streets and find the first shop that sells clothes. I grab the most basic outfit I can find, a gray hoodie and black sweatpants, along with a backpack. Before I check out, I grab Harry's favorite chocolate bar. Every person on the street stops and asks to take a picture, or for an autograph.

“Sorry everyone,”I yell as I shoot a web that does me above their heads. “I really really don't have time right now." 

I find an alleyway to change. I put the outfit on, and awkwardly remove the costume from underneath. I shove my Spidey suit into the backpack, and slink back to their penthouse. I crawl up the building as fast as I can. Wearing the dark outfit makes it easier to blend into the building. 

I finally make it to the living room window. I creak it open and slide myself through as silently as I can. I quietly walk through the house, making sure to not alarm Norman who's upstairs. I make it to Harry's room and quietly enter. I glance around, but he isn't in here. I throw my backpack on the floor and sit on his bed and wait for him to get back. 

Harry’s room is on the edge of the penthouse, which lines half his walls with windows, overlooking skyscrapers, and central park. He's got thick blankets tacked over his windows, leaving the room dingy. His room is unusually messy. Harry is such a clean freak, that clothes on the floor and trash on his desks is alarming. When was the last time I came here? I sit on his bed, listening to the cars shuffling outside, and his father pacing upstairs. Where is he? I thought he came to his room. Did he leave?