Magdalena’s back hit the brick wall of the alley with shuddering intensity, the impact delivering a sharp jolt of pain up her spine. Where her temple collided with the stones left an echoing throbbing that reached her eyes, which were growing hazy. With slow realization of the situation at hand, Magdalena raised her forearms in feeble defence.
“Empty your fucking pockets— and hand over the phone,” the harsh demand struck her to her core, the unwelcomed breath of the stranger much to close to her face.
She lifted her chin in defiance, wincing at the pain the simple movement sent through her skull, “Get the hell off me.” Magdalena spat at the darkness, unable to see where the stranger’s face is in the pitch black. No witnesses to assist her tonight— not even the moon.
A hand roughly grabbed at her arm, blindly grabbing at her hands which clutched her purse. A thought hit Magdalena suddenly— he can’t see in the darkness, either. __
With a newfound surge of energy and confidence, she kicked out aimlessly. And yet, she made her mark, likely the attacker’s thigh. Not the groin— but good enough, she supposes.
He stumbled back, hissing, “You bitch,” the voice rough and dripping with rage. She swallowed back an insult of her own, focusing instead on maintaining her breathing. Magdalena really should’ve listened to all the self-defense tips her mom tried to give her as a teen.
Just as she expected the man to lunge back at her, Magdalena stiffened against the wall, arms over her face and eyes squeezed shut.
But nothing came.
Magdalena heard coarse dirt scuff against concrete, a muffled yell, fabric rustling.What the hell? __
She reluctantly lowered her arms, peeking around and squinting at the scene. Still unable to see, Magdalena reached for her purse for her phone, just as a blinding, white light invaded her vision.
A string of curses gracelessly left her mouth, the headache spiking to a new extreme as Magdalena blinked numerous times through the harsh light. She shielded her eyes with a hand.
“Oh, man— shit. I’m sorry,” A new voice mumbled apologetically, the light (a phone’s flashlight, as Magdalena can now see) flicking to face the ground instead, illuminating two pairs of shoes. Her own, stout maroon heels, and his, clearly worn and mussed red sneakers. Sneakers that are tugging at her mind fervently in vacant rememberance. Strange. Have I seen the brand before, or something?
Though her mind is still hazy, she could’ve sworn the nice, boyish tone was oddly familiar. She stored that thought away for now, however, as the current situation itself is more important— handsome voice or not.
Magdalena ran a hand down her face, pushing inky bangs away from her furrowed brows, “Who’r— Who are you?”
“Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” The guy asked, incredulously. But the question had no real bite to it, only vague humor. “I’m surprised, though, that you don’t know me. I mean…”
He must’ve gestured to himself, but of course, she couldn’t have seen it if he did. Magdalena scoffed, but nevertheless said, “Thanks.”
Then added, “Also, I can’t see you, idiot.”
He gasped, “Oh, crap, you’re right.” She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed as the stranger started fumbling with something adjacent to the alley’s wall.
“Did you… Kill him?” Magdalena asked, voice laced with hesitation. If he answers ‘no’, that’s great. If he answers ‘yes’, not so great. However, in either scenario she still walks away with her money, so…
“Huh? No! Of course not!” He yelped. The finnicking stopped for a second at the question, metal clanking against metal, before being picked up again.
She chuckled, “Alright, jeez. I wouldn’t have judged you if you did.” She probably would’ve, on top of calling the police, but Magdalena is more focused on making sure this dude isn’t up to no good either.
The headache is still fervent, and she’s not sure how well she’d do running considering she’s had a few drinks and is now suffering from a few bruises. If this new guy, her supposed savior, has bad intentions of his own… Well, it’s better to be safe than sorry.
“Anddddd… There!” In lieu of his confirmation, a warm light illuminated the alleyway. He’d lit a lantern, the lighter still in his hand. Magdalena briefly wondered why he had a lighter— maybe a smoker?
Magdalena sighed in relief, head turning to view him, and… Yeah. That checks out. The whole being-saved-by-a-thug thing.
The guy was wearing all black, hoodie and sweats, and that jarring, red pair of sneakers she could’ve sworn she’d seen before. However, his face is concealed by a not-so-striking red mask with lines of white straying in all directions. Where his eyes should be is instead two white ovals of fabric.
“Ah. You’re that new hero guy—“
“—Spiderman!” He finished for her, striking an odd pose with his fingers where the two middle digits are flush with his palms.
“—with the ugly mask.” Magdalena corrected. She can finish her own sentences, thank you very much.
Spider guy’s hand flew to his chest in faux hurt, “Huh?! My mask is amazing…” He huffed petulantly, posture deflating.
Magdalena shrugged, “It’s kind of tacky.” She admitted.
Yeah, she’d heard of this guy. Seen him save people from sections of buildings the police can’t reach, watched him evacuate more people from an entire preschool during an active fire than the entire firefighter squad combined. All great, noble tasks. It’s just the whole ‘superhero’ thing that pisses her off. Trying to act all mighty and great by hiding his face— not to mention with such an ugly fashion choice.
“Whatever, i’m leaving now. I’m a very busy superhero, Y’know. And you’re welcome, again!” He turned away, positioning his stance to take off.
Then, he waved, “See’ya, Lena!”
And with that, spider dude was gone. Magdalena rolled her eyes, watching him becomes a mere silloheute, and then a shadow swallowed up by the night sky.
Magdalena turned on her heel, now way too exhausted to go anywhere but home. She awkwardly stepped over the thug’s body— he couldn’t have at least brought him to a police station?— and made her way out of the suffocating alleyway. The streetlights were much more comforting, and Magdalena made sure to stray far from empty alleyways lest she gets tugged into one again.
And then, while walking past a barbershop’s swirling red and white pole, Magdalena paused. Paused as in completely frozen— eyes wide, one foot lifted off the ground frozen.
‘See’y, Lena!’
The shoes, the voice, the lighter. It all clicked. However, the joy of realization was shrouded quickly by her embarrassment of not catching it any sooner. The confirmation makes intense sense if she takes into consideration how late Troy will arrive to their hangouts, covered in suspicious dirt and badly applied bandages that barely covered up the bloody gash.
God damnit— her best friend is fucking Spiderman?!
—
Magdalena paced the apartment, bottom lip between her teeth. Her terrier, Penny, whined at her from the couch.
She, upon hours of pondering, decided to invite Troy for another movie night. No, not Netflix and chill.
They usually hang out a few times a week— with college getting in the way and all— but their schedules manage to align well enough anyway. When a double knock at the front door alerted Magdalena of his arrival, Penny barked and leaped off the couch.
Magdalena followed her pup to the front door, which Troy had already stepped through. They’ve known each other long enough to not need a verbal invite to enter. She pursed her lips, taking in his appearance.
There were clear eyebags marring his undereyes, and a splotchy bruise on his left cheekbone. Not very prominent, but still worrying enough. His blonde hair, that he’s so adamant on the upkeep of, is growing out into brunette at the roots. So, Magdalena quickly concluded, it’s clear this hero business is interfering with his personal life.
“You look rough, what’s up?” she prodded, making her way to the couch as Troy dropped his shoes off near the door. Though Magdalena knows this simple question won’t get the answer she wants. Not yet, at least.
Troy shrugged, plopping down on the opposite side of the sofa, practically melting into the purple-dotted cushion. “You know Mr. Zehir and his workload.” The response was almost robotic, answered quickly without much thought. It’s possible, Magdalena concluded, he’s telling the truth that he’s gotten more work than usual. But how does that explain the bruising?
She decided to inch closer to her point. “And… He’s beating you up for every bad grade you get?” Magdalena chuckled dryly, “Y’know, considering the bruises.”
His gaze averted to the television, and Troy laughed awkwardly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually did.”
“You’re ignoring my question.” Magdalena snapped, then jabbed at the sliver of exposed skin from where his shirt hiked up after he placed his hands at the back of his neck.
Troy cursed, shoving her hand away, but she only pushed more. “I’m serious. That bruise on your face— the bruise on your stomach I barely touched but you literally flinched at— that’s not normal.”
“Whatever, just drop it, okay?” He snapped, sounding surprisingly upset.
Magdalena rolled her eyes, standing up to stare him down, “Alrighrt, just fess up. I already know you’re Spider-dude.”
Troy’s mouth snapped shut, eyes comically wide. “I’m—I’m what?” He chuckled nervously, shifting in place, “What’s gotten into you?”
“You ‘saved’ me in the alley and called me Lena. You’re, like, the opposite of slick.” Magdalena scoffed, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest.
He groaned, face falling into his hands. “Really…? You weren’t supposed to find out— goddamnit.” Troy whined pitifully. She almost felt bad.
“Yeah, i’d be embaressed if I were you. Only a few months of this hero business and I already found you out.” Magdalena joked, smirking.
“It’s not that— you don’t understand.” He looked up, “It’s dangerous for you to know, I don’t want you to get wrapped up in all— all this.”
Magdalena cocked a brow, “All of what?” she pressed.
“I— I have enemies, there are bad people after me and i’m after bad people.” Troy spoke carefully, each word placed with the delicacy of a stroke on a canvas, “Now that you know… It’s dangerous.”
She scoffed, crossing her arms. Magdalena stepped back, eyeing Troy up and down, “Dangerous? Really? At least now I know why you walk around looking like some— some delinquent mafia-member. I’ve been so, so worried seeing you with these unatural cuts and bruises. And we’re childhood friends— what makes you think this day wouldn’t have come where i’d find out?” Magdalena hissed, growing impatient.
Troy flinched back, but stood up nonetheless. They were eye level, gazes strapped on the other’s like a vise. “I know— of course i’d know you’d find out— I just… I wanted to tell you myself. It’s been a lot on my plate, and I honestly needed time of my own to sort things out before coming to you,” He gestured with his hands wildly, expression frantic, “But I do know— since the day i’ve been born, and especially since the day i’ve gotten these freaky abilities— that I want to help people. I can’t sit behind lectures or a desk the rest of my life. And, honestly… I was worried you wouldn’t want to be associated with me as this new, hero persona.”
Magdalena exhaled, closing her eyes. Then, she laughed. She doubled over and laughed.
“Seriously? Why wouldn’t I want to be associated with you?” She slapped her thigh, looking up at a bewildered Troy.
“You’re such an idiot.”
He smiled weakly, “So you forgive me? For not telling you?”
Magdalena shrugged cockily, a playful grin decorating her lips, “I guess. Just let me make you a new mask and we’re cool, ‘kay?”
The blood pounded in her ears like a drum, the ballad frantic and uncoordinated as dust scuffed under her boots in a background symphony. If she swallowed, she’d taste the blood of her swelling lip. Sharp as a thorn on her tongue, and as bitter as betrayal.
“Leave her alone— She didn’t,” Leviathan’s voice faltered, stuttering off into a choked gasp. Her throat constricted around the words, like prey in the maw of a beast. “She didn’t— She’s innocent!” She pleaded, red crescents boring into her palms from where she clutched her hands into fists.
Mother halted, her dress of mauve silk bunching around her white-knuckled grip, “You— You’ve brought shame upon us. Upon this family,” She whipped around, pupils shrunk and frenzied in— in anger. Her tone was sharp, each syllable another dagger in Leviathan’s heart, carving past the mortal flesh and deep into her soul.
“Brought shame upon _me. _Levvie I—“ Mother froze, eyes softening as salty pools gathered in her waterline like a mural submerged. And just as quickly as her hesitation began, harsh waves of electric, crimson fury bubbled back up. “Leave. To your chambers, wherever you wish, I care no longer. Just— I ask that you leave me be.”
Leviathan shrunk back, lip quivering. She halted. It felt as though she was yelling over the rapids, desperation muted in a cacophony of waves. “Mother, please. I am begging.” She dropped her gaze, mouth pressed into a thin line lest she wails like a newborn. “She did nothing.”
“Maybe not her.” Her mother’s— the queen’s— voice cut through her eardrums like the whip of a flying arrow, “but her very family. That same family that… How could you disregard what they have put us through? Put your own sister through.” Mother rasped, and Leviathan didn’t need to look up to know the tears had fallen. Her outer shell shed like the trees during red-leaf.
Leviathan clenched her jaw, hissing, “Im not disregarding Eqi. How— How dare you?” She jerked her head up, the scowl pulling at her expression evident in her voice, “I loved Eqi. And… I love Chirre. This is not a familial matter in the sense you think of it as.”
“It is, whether you’d like it to be or not,” Mother spat, the wind picking up at their feet and threatening to bring her sayings with it.
“Please, just this once, let me— Let me have this,” Leviathan cried, “Her loss is not to be forgotten. I have never forgotten, on the morrow I will remember. Each of the four seasons I will mourn, but—“ She blinked back the tears threatening to spill over, “—But I do not plan to mourn another. Not Chirre.”
Mother shook her head, “No.”
Leviathan paused.
“No. No, you— you will not mourn her. Because you have not loved her.” Mother’s lip curled around each word, strained and vacant of mercy.
“She will be sent past our walls, to the second most gate—“
“Mother, no—“
Her voice only grew, echoing through the vacant courtyard, “She will. She will be kept under watch until her damned family makes an effort—“
Leviathan’s brows furrowed, teeth grinding painfully. Blood dripped from her palms. She shouted, “They will not let her off easily, she may be banished, even, please mother. Don’t put her through this— don’t put me through this.”
Mother turned away on her heel, away from Leviathans fogging gaze. And yet, facing away, the wind carried her words to Leviathan like a bountied secret.
“We’ve been put through one too many tragedies as is, but this time,”
Dread pooled in Leviathan’s gut, breath hitching. Her face wet, eyes growing splotchy and red.
“I am doing what’s best. For you, for me.”
“For our family.”
