The pitter patter of cool rain calmed his senses, blocking out some of the overwhelming noise and dialling them down to a seven. He has always like it best when it was raining. Peter crouched down by the soggy ground and stared at the tombstone before his feet.
May Parker.
She was the one who died. His final family member, all because he’d been too late. If he had been ten seconds faster, he would’ve been able to hold up the monster so that the hospital could be evacuated.
May was selfless, waiting until everyone else was out before she even attempted to leave. Her death was all his fault and he knew it.
Ugly tears streamed down his red, blotchy face as he crouched down even closer to his Aunt, thighs beginning to burn.
“Aunt May…” he whispered, alone by her graveside.
(It was all his fault. Skip was coming out of jail. He deserved Skip’s attention again.)