Last Missing Scene
Peter tapped his pencil against his desk at a quick pace. The classroom was cold. Peter sat near the front of the room with an extra sweater over his checkered shirt. He didn’t want to be there and this time it wasn’t because he would rather be out patrolling. This time, he really couldn’t be in class because the lesson was getting him antsy.
It was health class, eighth period. He was so close to the last class of the day which was study hall. He was so close to making it to the end of the day and going home. But right now, his stomach was in knots and he felt on the verge of vomiting.
His symptoms weren’t from any illness though. Peter knew they were brought on by the topic of today’s health lesson: Assault, Trauma, and Abuse. More importantly, sexual abuse.
Just the words made him sick. He couldn’t stand the thought of sex anymore. Not that he ever even though about it much. But moreover, he couldn’t stand the whole class discussing a subject he knew like the back of his hand. It pissed him off, made him so angry he could snap his pen in half. On the other hand, the topic itself made him feel scared, small, and violently ill. He was with Beck again, in his head, nonstop.
A video was currently playing on the projector, flashing a bright bluish white glow over the classroom. Peter was focusing on anything but the images popping up on the screen. It was nothing exceptionally graphic, but Peter’s mind could easily fill in the blanks which made it graphic for him.
He winced as the monotone woman in the video mentioned the word rape in a robotic voice as if it had no painful connotation at all. Peter couldn’t look at the screen any longer his ears were starting to ring. Oh no.
Oh no oh no. Think of something else. He told himself. Think of something else. Star Wars, Legos, Ned, MJ, The Web Heads, Lunch, May, Mr. Stark, The Avengers. Yeah. Yeah. Those were good things.
Ned was sitting next to him, face buried in his health book. No doubt, he was probably already working on his homework assignment. Ned always liked to get a head-start on homework if he had the time during class.
Sitting on the other side of Peter, a pretty brunette looked up from her textbook - pen forgotten between her teeth - and grinned. Peter tried to mimic the action, but it probably looked pained. He felt like he was in pain. Felt like he was living the whole experience with Beck all over again, but this time, he was in front of the whole class. They could see what he was doing to Peter. They were judging him. The tips of Peter’s ears burned.
At last Mr. Munch paused the video. Peter’s heart was pounding, and he tried to feel his pulse because he swore it was going too fast. He was either going to faint or be sick. He knew it was one or the other because right now he was feeling weak, like all the blood was leaving his body.
“Are you okay?” The brunette whispered. “You look pale.”
Peter couldn’t move, so he hummed the best he could, and rested his head on his desk. Please don’t pass-out.
“Hopefully that video helped with defining the different types of sexual assault. First the video defined dating violence, which Midtown high goes into detail with once a year at a large assembly gathering. But then the video mentioned sexual harassment which is the unwanted sexual advances, or unwanted requests for sexual favors.”
Peter vision was growing blurry. He wanted the teacher to stop talking immediately but then again, when did Peter ever get what he wanted?
“Then there is sexual exploitation which is the sexual abuse of a person through the exchange of sex for drugs, food, shelter, protection, and other basic necessities of life. Finally the video touched upon rape. But more importantly, it explained this concept of consent. Can anyone tell me what consent is?”
Dark fuzzy dots were splitting his vision in half. Peter closed his eyes and opened them, hoping to clear the dots away.
“Yes, Betty?”
“Consent is when you give permission to have intercourse. It has to be spoken, and it doesn’t count if the person is drugged or too drunk to understand.”
“Very good, Betty. All sexual activity without consent, regardless of age, is a criminal offense. So what if someone is at a party and they don’t say yes or no when asked to participate in intercourse? Is that consent?”
The whole class answered at once, muttering a low-disgruntled no. But Peter had just about lost all vision. Now everything around him was dark. He could still hear properly, but he couldn’t see. He was going to faint.
Reaching blindly into his backpack, Peter scurried to find his hall pass. He needed to go to the bathroom, to get out of the room.
Once he found the blue slip of paper, he stood on shaky legs and walked towards the front of the room.
Mr. Murch signed the pass and Peter managed to stumble into the hallway before collapsing against the lockers and falling to his knees.
He didn’t scream. Peter hasn’t screamed since it happened. He learned to stuff his fist inside his mouth and bite. It’s hard because he’s drowning, sinking, swallowing water. He knows he’s awake, and alive, but he feels like he’s dying. His sweater is blotchy with sweat marks under the armpits, his face wet with tears. He can see Beck’s face, feel his hands, remember the shame. His teeth grid down hard against his knuckles, trying to cut off the sob that’s trying to escape.
“Oh God,” he mumbled to himself, praying that he could just pass out after all. There’s bile creeping up in his throat, and he chokes it down, trying to anchor himself to something but he has nothing to hold on to. He’s drifting out at sea alone.
The sound of footsteps should have startled him. Maybe they would have if he even had an ounce of energy left. He doesn’t look up, but someone is there.
Once the expensive jock shoes came closer into view, he knew who it was, and he waited for the humiliation and embarrassment to join the panic party in his stomach. It simply can’t get worse. Flash Thompson, of all people, to see him like this? Peter might as well curl up and die.
There was a soft rustle as Flash slipped out of his varsity jacket and put it over Peter’s shoulders. It was only then, that Peter realized how badly he was shaking, and that Flash must have mistaken it for him being cold.
“Peter?” Flash said, his voice much closer than Peter thought.
“Hi Flash.” He muttered, tossing his head back against the lockers with a sickening thud. He was waiting any minute now for the relentless teasing to start. Sure Flash and Peter were closer thanks to the Web Heads. But outside of that shared experience, they hardly ever talked. Peter was still convinced Flash disliked him.
But Flash dropped to his knees in front of Peter so hard, Peter was afraid he broke something. Peter looked into his eyes weakly.
“Oh Peter,” Flash’s hand rested on his shoulder, and then the second thing registered in Peter’s mind: Flash called him by his first name. He never did that. It was always Parker or Penis Parker. Never Peter.
“I’m so sorry. Shit. I knew the second class started that this subject was going to be hard for you.”
Peter grimaced. Embarrassed. Can the world swallow him up yet?
“Are you gonna to be okay? Do you want to go to the nurse?”
“Not really,” Peter mumbled, but he wasn’t sure which question he was answering. He thinks maybe he answered both at once.
Flash nodded. Peter felt sorry for him. He clearly felt awkward the way his eyes were darting around the empty hall.
“Wanna talk about that lame lego Death Star you and Leeds are building?”
Peter smiled softly. Flash was throwing him a lifeline. Maybe he wouldn’t drown after all.
“We are gonna use four-thousand lego pieces.” Peter whispered, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, as Flash shifted to sit beside him.
“Wow that takes time and effort.”
“We mainly work on it during study hall.”
Flash nodded again. “I mainly work on my flirting skills during study hall.”
“Right.” Peter said sullenly. “And how has that been working out?”
Flash sucked in a breath. “Eh, you know, girls like to play hard to get.”
“Are you gonna ask me about it?” Peter sighed, his voice tired and defeated.
Flash shrugged. “You’d tell me if you wanted to talk about it, right?”
It was Peter’s turn to shrug.
“Then there you have it. I’m not going to force you to talk about something if you don’t want to.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered.
“Hey you don’t have to apologize for anything.”
“I just want to forget, you know? But I can’t. Everything reminds me of it. Not just health class. I’ll be walking down the street and one minute I’m happy and then next thing I know, I see a billboard or a random guy with a beard and all of a sudden I’m being pinned down again and - and he’s forcing me to - to - and it’s like a part of me is wearing away. I feel like I’ll never get to be myself ever again.”
Flash looked distant, like he was trying to comprehend how Peter was feeling. But he could never truly understand, and Peter was beyond thankful for that. He wouldn’t want Flash to be able to understand because that would mean he had suffered too, and Peter wouldn’t wish this kind of suffering on his worst enemy.
Flash looked over Peter, like a full-fledged war was going on in his head.
“Yeah,” he said at last, voice small, “I guess that’s true. You can’t go back. But you can focus on the present. I know it’s easier said than done, but people change all the time. It doesn't have to be a bad change. You’re still you, Peter. Trust me, you’re still as dorky as ever. This horrible thing that happened - it doesn’t have to define you.”
“I know,” Peter whispered. “But I can’t make the terrible thoughts go away.”
“Do you want to maybe - I don’t know - text me when you start thinking about those terrible thoughts? And we can either talk through it, or I could distract you with my witty charm.”
Peter grinned. “I don’t know about the witty charm part, but yeah, I would actually really appreciate having someone to text. You promise you won’t judge?”
“You never did.” Flash said, ducking his chin. He was referring to the time Peter witnessed Flash’s father ignore him.
“How are things going with your Dad?” Peter asked without missing a beat.
Flash shook his head, muttering something under his breath. “Oh you know. Same old same.”
“Hey, well, if you ever want to text me when your Dad is giving you a hard time, you can.”
“Thanks Parker. I might just do that.”
Peter slowly lifted himself off the dirty school floor, and braced himself against the lockers. Flash followed suit.
“Ready to go back to class?” Peter asked.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Flash said, looking around again. “You really should go to the nurse or something. This subject will just make you think of those negative thoughts.”
Peter sighed. “What should I tell the nurse?”
“That your stomach hurts.” Flash smirked, “At least, that’s always my go-to excuse.”
Peter laughed. “okay, fine. Get back to class, slacker.”
Flash gave him a playful punch but went back inside the classroom. Peter began walking towards the nurse’s office when a voice called out to him.
“Parker, wait!” Flash came running down the hallway, backpack in his hands. “You forgot this.”
“Oh thanks,” Peter reached out for the book bag, but Flash let go too soon and the backpack fell to the ground, spilling all of Peter’s contents in the middle of the hall. It was here, in the middle of scattered notebooks, papers, and calculators that a distinctive red and blue suit was laying out in the open. It was a suit that only belonged to one person and one person only.
Flash looked at the ground then back at Peter. “Are you Spider-Man?”
Peter’s eyes grew wide, and he swallowed thickly.