saudade

Harry couldn’t forget what Peter said to him yesterday. That he should understand his anger, that he has done bad things. If he only could remember what happened.

Harry wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know what he was responsible for, but he was sure of one thing: he needed clarity. The emptiness in his mind wasn’t bearable any longer.

But he wasn’t sure if Peter wanted to talk to him right now and he respected that. If Peter was ready, he could call him. To distract himself from his thoughts Harry went through the mansion, trying to find an occupation.

“Can I help you, Sir?”, Bernard asked as he saw him.

“I don’t know. I’m just looking for some kind of occupation, you know?”

Bernard smiled. “Ah, yes, I know. Would you like to try painting again?”

“Painting? I can paint?”, Harry asked in surprise.

“You’re a real artist, Harry. There must be some colours and stuff left. Let me see where we hid them”, Bernard muttered.

“Why did we hide them?”

“Well, your father saw it rather as a distraction from what’s important in life than a talent, but you didn’t let that take away the joy you found in painting.”

“Why can’t I remember this?”, Harry asked. Why was there so much he couldn’t remember? When would he be whole again?

“It’s been some years since you last painted. Because of your graduation you had neither time nor inspiration to do it”, Bernard explained. “Don’t put yourself under pressure. Your memories will come back. They just need time.”

Harry stayed silent. They had enough time to come back but they didn’t. He should better get used to not knowing about everything that happened in his life.

Bernard left and a few minutes later, he came back with an easel, acryl colours and different types of paint brushes. Together they prepared a corner of the living room so Harry could paint without having to worry that something could get dirty.

Harry took one of the brushes. It felt unfamiliar in his hand. “How do I do it?”

“Just let the brush take control over your hand. Then you’ll see.” Bernard smiled knowingly and left.

Just let the brush take control over your hand, great advice, Bernard, Harry thought and turned the brush in his hand. But what else could he do?

Harry dipped the brush in the paint and put it on the canvas. He didn’t know what he was doing but his hand seemed to know. As if it never did anything else in its existence, his hand moved over the canvas, distributing the colours.

The little movements, the quiet sounds of the brush scratching over the canvas comforted Harry. It felt right. Nothing felt right since he got out of the hospital but the brush in his hand was right. He entirely focused on his painting and nothing, not even a single thought, crossed his mind.

For the first time in a long time, Harry was free.

Harry had no idea what he was painting but he could recognise a face. Who was it? He didn’t know it yet, so he continued painting. As it was finished, he knew who it was. He painted his father. He couldn’t remember much of him, but he knew he missed him.

“You’ve taken your eye off the ball”, a voice said.

Harry turned around. “Hello? Bernard, is that you?”

No response. Harry’s eyes met those of his father’s portrait, and he flinched. Something was wrong with it. He turned around, away from the portrait on the wall and away from the portrait he just painted. Instead, he turned to the mirror.

“Harry”, the voice said again.

Did it come out of the mirror? What a stupid thought, this wasn’t even possible. There was nothing but his reflection. Nevertheless, Harry approached the mirror. As he touched it, he jumped back.

It was as if Harry was an outsider. He saw himself entering the living room, shouting “What have you done?” at Spider-Man who was standing next to his father. He saw himself embracing his father’s body, crying over his loss. He grabbed Spider-Man’s mask, a dagger in his other hand. It was Peter. “Avenge me!”, his father screamed. He saw the mask of the Green Goblin. He saw himself flying through an alley, bumping into a pipe.

Harry felt the pain in his head. With one hand he touched the place on his forehead where the wound was.

He saw himself lying in the hospital. “My father … he died, right?”, he asked. Peter nodded to confirm it. “I just wish I could remember more about him”, he heard himself saying. “He loved you so much, Harry. He was really proud of you”, Peter said. “I’ll make you proud, Dad. I’ll find Spider-Man. And I’ll kill him”, he heard his own voice saying.

Harry pressed his hands on his head, desperately shaking his head. It should stop. The voices should shut up and the memories should stop hitting him with the speed of a train. He sank on his knees, trying to make everything stop. His head was exploding.

“Harry”, his father said.

Harry looked up and saw his father standing in the mirror.

“Remember me?”, he asked.

“Yes, father. I remember”, Harry whispered. He wished he didn’t remember.

“I was right about Peter. About everything. You know what you must do. Make him suffer. Make him wish he were dead. First, we attack his heart.”

As he blinked, his father was gone. Harry broke down in front of the mirror. Peter betrayed him. He lied to him. Everything was a lie.

Peter took everything from him.

His father, MJ and then he even tried to kill Harry. And when he suffered from amnesia, Peter took advantage of it. Peter manipulated him into believing they were still in a relationship.

Harry stretched out his arm to grab a bottle of liquor from a small table nearby. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to feel the pain spreading through him. He wished he didn’t get his memories back.

His other hand was pressed against the spot where his wound was. His nails dug into the flesh, causing his forehead to bleed. Harry just wanted to make the pain stop.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he miss the signs that their relationship was just a pretense? Like the idiot he was, he didn’t just believe it, no, he got even more attached to Peter.

That he still loved Peter was the greatest humiliation. Especially, as he remembered how Spider-Man, no, how Peter kissed that girl at the festival while he pretended to be in love with Harry.

How could he love such a person?

Harry was disgusted of himself.

As he remembered that he was wearing Peter’s hoodie, he put it off immediately. Harry ran into his room to change his clothes but in his closet, he mostly found suits for work. He just grabbed a black one, hoping it would clean him from disgust.

First, we attack his heart, Harry remembered his father’s voice. But what was Peter’s heart? Did he even have one? Certainly, he wasn’t his heart. Maybe this blond scrubber. But Harry wasn’t completely sure of it. A part of him seemed to refuse to believe it. There was only one person Peter has got left.

Aunt May.

When Harry arrived at Aunt May’s house, nobody seemed to be there. The door was locked but he could easily unlock it.

“Aunt May?”, he called. No response. “Peter?” Still no response.

Fine. He had to wait next to the door.

Some time later, the door opened and Aunt May entered the house, her hands full of purchases. Harry grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against the wall.

“Harry?”, she gasped.

“If you want Peter to live, you’re gonna do something for me”, he clarified, his voice merciless.

“Harry, dear, what happened? We can talk about it”, she said but Harry didn’t listen.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” Harry showed her the dagger in his hand. “Don’t think I won’t stab you. Because I will if you don’t do what I say.”

Aunt May knew he meant it, so she nodded. “Okay, but will you let go of me? You hurt me.”

Harry loosened his grip around her throat. “Make Peter clear he lost you forever. Tomorrow, 3pm at Ben’s grave. You have to be persuasive because I’ll be there to watch even if you don’t see me. Otherwise, Peter will have taken his last breaths, got it?”

She swallowed but she nodded. “Don’t harm him.”

“Oh, I won’t harm him. I’ll make him wish he were dead.”

As Harry got home, he was received by Bernard.

“Where have you been? You’re bleeding, Harry”, he said.

“It’s none of your business”, Harry snapped at him.

“Right, I beg your pardon, Sir.”

“Then beg.” Harry didn’t have time for such trifles.

“Peter called, Sir. He says it’s urgent.”

Harry bit his lip. How did he dare? “Fine. Thank you, Bernard. You can leave now.”

“But, Sir-“

“I said you can leave now.”

“Right, excuse me. Good night.”

When Bernard left, Harry called Peter.

“Oh, Harry, I’m so glad you called back”, Peter said.

Harry rolled his eyes. He changed his voice so Peter would think he was still the innocent little Harry he could manipulate. “What is it?”

“I need to talk to you, explain things about your past. I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you that night.”

Harry’s body was shaking because of the anger he needed to suppress. “Okay. Tomorrow afternoon at the little café near the park?”

A pause.

“Pete? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, that’s fine for me. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night, sweet dreams.”

“Good night, Pete.”

Oh, tomorrow would be the best day of Harry’s life.

He’d make Peter break into pieces.