▄▄ ˗ˏˋ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 'ˎ˗ ──
IN WHICH , ── ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
after Spider-man almost breaks
into her window, Amala has to
balance her two new lives: the
life where she knows him and the
life where she falls for Peter Parker . .
▄▄ *+...
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CHAPTER THIRTY ONE; at least i have you!
TWO WEEKS GO BY AND THE NIGHTMARES ARE DEBILITATING. When the sun goes down for its periodic slumber and the moon takes its rightful place in the sky, bad dreams threaten to smother Amala.
They're always the same.
She's in a car, her mother in the driver's seat, cruising down an interstate. It's dark and bright light turns red, yellow, green as vehicles whizz past. After several tense moments of driving, a bright strobe blinds them. There's barely enough time to understand where it's coming from. Instead, all she processes is the strobe making impact and the car skidding against the concrete. Glove clad hands make contact with the car, the skidding stops. The figure is masked and engulfed by a shadow — they're unidentifiable. She runs towards the figure involuntarily, breaking out into a sprint once the shadow around them grows darker. Her hands reach out. Her palms go right through them. Who is it?
When the scene changes seconds later, a gush of water knocks Amala off her feet. It's like a giant bubble of liquid encompasses her and it's freezing. It shocks her to the bone, sending her nerves into a frenzy. It's all around her and no matter what direction she swims in, she can never break the surface. It's always the same, she flails and wails until there's nothing left in her. At some point, her body gives out and her last inhale chokes her. Fuzzy minded and limbs heavy, her blurry eyes settle on a single detail. In the murkiness of the bubble, an inferno of tendrils lights the water. It gets closer, warming the liquid of her prison. She tries to scream. No one can hear her.
Minutes, hours, days later and she's on the busy streets of London, soaking wet. Her hair sticks against her face and her body shivers with exhaustion. Harsh wind almost blows her to the ground and each surge multiplies the goosebumps on her skin. The world is an eruption of chaos; everything seems to be ripped from the ground and hurled into the sky. A deep hopelessness births in the pit of her stomach. Nothing will ever be okay. No matter how much she runs, she'll always be stuck. She'll always be here. It's always the same. She looks into the sky and next thing she knows she's being swept by the current of wind, tumbling into the sky, her feet aching for solid ground. The globe flips on its axis and up becomes down — the sky becomes the floor. Her fall is anything but graceful and when she hits the ground, metal doors slam in her face. A rectangular hole is cut through it. It's always the same. A drone powers to life in front of Amala. A single bullet fires.
She wakes up eyes brimming with tears.
She looks around. Darkness blinks back.
The bed is empty. She's alone.
This time, it's not real. This time.
Four weeks pass and the world feels like it's burning from the inside out. Warm and joyful days turn scorching and unbearable; all the thrill of summer is lost. Days drag on without an end and nights harbor the monsters in Amala's mind. She spends her hours locked away in her room like a prisoner, mulling it over. It's like a broken horror movie cassette — it keeps on playing, playing, playing.
