𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝗿𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝘁𝘄𝗶𝘀𝘁. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻'𝘁 𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿.

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗹𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁, 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵, 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 (𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗹𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝗼 𝗶𝗳 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗼𝗻𝘁'𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀), 𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀: 𝟭𝗸

• *:･ﾟ──────✧･ﾟ*✦･ﾟ*✧────── *:･ﾟ•

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ PORCELAIN. It's a significantly strong material, durable. But with enough force, it cracks like glass. And no matter how many time one tries to put back together, it will never be the same. The crack will always show, the pieces won't fit the same way no matter what glue is used. It'll always have that little imperfection, sometimes noticeable sometimes not.

It's kind of like the heart. Once broken, it'll never be the same. It takes longer to repair too. It needs more than glue, it needs time. Like a breakup for instance. That hurts, a lot, like a stab in the gut. But it only hurts for a while, you get over it, that wound in your heart heals eventually. Then there are other things. Take death for example.

That takes much longer to heal. It's not just losing someone you loved, it's losing someone forever. With a breakup, it's just the love, the trust, or whatever is lost. And besides they could always be gotten back. But death isn't that simple, no, it's loosing someone and never having the chance to get them back. It's watching them as the light fades from their eyes, it's feeling their blood run cold, it's watching their body go limp, it's hearing their pleas to stay alive, it's feeling their pulse come to a slow stop. That's death.

That hurts a lot more than a stab in the gut. It feels like multiple stabs in the gut. Over and over and over and over again until blood starts to drown your lungs and bubble out of you mouth.

Of course, you wouldn't know what that feels like. But your boyfriend Peter would. He knows what it feels like to have his irony blood fill his mouth and flood his internal organs. He knows what it's like to be helplessly pinned to the ground as one person knocks his nose in and the other person repeatedly piercing his already bloodied suit with that sharp knife. He knows what it's like to look down and see a river of crimson cascading from his abdomen. He knows what it's like having to look into the eyes of the only girl he's ever loved and beg her to live, to not let this be his end. What it's like to tell that girl that he's sorry and he loves her for the last time.

He knows what it's like to die because one stupid girl couldn't stop sticking her nose into what she wasn't supposed to.

You only know what it's like to hold his dying body on your arms as every once of regret and guilt floods through your veins like the dark red blood staining your hands. What it's like to carry that body to the car of an unsuspecting driver and beg her to take you to the hospital. What it's like to watch nurses and doctors take the boy who stole you heart on a stretcher to try in vain to save his weak body. What it's like to see his heart stop, the loud beeping as he flatlines, leaving you forever.

You don't remember much from there. It's mostly a blur with copious amounts of screaming and tears. You do, however, remember how your heart felt like it was ripped to shreds, never to be repaired again. Your throat felt so raw, you recall as you shrieked uselessly to get someone to help the boy laying lifeless with tubes in his hands and blood dripping softly from them onto the pristine tile. Tears flooded your eyes as all the noise in background flooded to blur.

There was nothing you could do anyway. It was your fault that he wasn't on the opposite side of the glass, that he wasn't alive, give or take a few injuries. You meddled where you shouldn't have. You were trying to figure out Peter's secret. You were the reason he was at that weapons dealing. You were the reason he was brutally murdered by those vile, cold blooded murderers. And now you were paying the price.

Oh wait, scratch that. It's not like you were the one who's heart stopped beating in your bruised, broken, and bloodied body.

You just had to attend his funeral. You had to look at everyone in the eye, knowing that their tears, their grief was all because of you. You had to listen to the eulogies spoken by people, who too loved the late Peter Parker dearly. You had to get up on that stand and choke out a speech about the lifeless body in the coffin in front of you. You had to talk to all the people apologizing for your loss, and how sorry they were that you lost your beloved Peter.

The sad part was that they shouldn't have even been apologizing. It should've been you apologizing for taking away Peter's chance to love his whole life.

At least the guilt was a bit of punishment for you. You would at least live everyday of your life remembering the light in Peter's eyes, his bright smile, his loving and carefree nature, and how you ripped that all away from him. You would have to look at yourself everyday reminding yourself of the pure and innocent blood on your unworthy hands. No matter how hard you scrubbed it could never leave. You made sure of it that day.

Oh and let's not forget how you would have to face May, look into her eyes and see her grieving and broken soul through them. You would have to see the anguish and heartbreak that you caused. Every. Single. Day. And maybe one day you would make up for the killing the kind son, nephew, friend, lover, and hero that Peter was. Although you highly doubted that, you could never make up for snuffing that perfect bright light out existence.

You would forever be broken. There was no glue, no person, no amount of time that could repair crumbled porcelain that was your heart. That crack would remain and scar the skin of your sorrowful soul. You deserved every crack, every ache, very painful memory that would fill the rest of your miserable days. After all, you couldn't expect to smash a porcelain vase and build it back out of the rubble. It would stay broken, it's pieces longing to be connected once more.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

𝗗𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘃𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁! <𝟯𝟯

2/5/21