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Of Spiders and The Urge To Kill
“Would you catch me if I had to fall
Would you even find the time without it all
Tell me how
Help me say the words out loud”
--Mary Jane, Click Five
I mean, come on. Which gorgeous hunk would actually wear their panties (And yes, I’m referring to their undergarments as panties, since they’re not very manly.) on the outside?
It’s okay, Tom Welling. I forgive you for not acting rationally that one time.
… Or maybe that few hundred episodes.
And then there’s the whole creativity issue in picking out their powersuit colours. Or rather, the lack thereof.
Red and blue. Black. Red and blue. Black. Am I missing anything there?
Nope. Didn’t think so.
If you ask me, I think that superheroes are created to fulfil some ungranted childhood wishes.
Like… Maybe they wanted to be a ballerina when they were 6, but mummy thought it was too girlish, so they made sure to add tights onto the superheroes-to-wear list.
Those poor souls.
So you can imagine my devastation when I stepped into a whirlpool of atrociously ghastly superheroes, and found myself a Spiderman.
So gay.
Unforgettable, maybe. Romantic? I think not.
Our first meeting involved water balloons, flour, and fake tarantulas.
Lots and lots of fake tarantulas.
It all happened on the 11th January, approximately 5.30 a.m.
You know… The time when people who actually has a life would still be dreaming of leprechauns and pretty flowers.
But no. Oh, no. Not the two of us.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked my older sister, Gillian for what seemed like the thousandth time. We were standing outside her school hostel with big water balloons in the laundry pail to our left, and another big pail of flour to our right.
Oh, and did I mention that it was 11°c outside?
Yeah, and I, being the intelligent dork that I am, was scantily dressed in thigh-length shorts and a green tank top. With sandals.
Ouch.
“Positive.” Gillian told me in what seemed to be a tone of reassurance. It didn’t make me feel any better. But I zipped my lips shut, mostly to prevent my teeth from clattering under this weather. “Want me to go through the procedures with you again?”
I glared at her venomously and rubbed my palms together in hopes that I wouldn’t die as an ice Popsicle.
“You do that.”
“I will wake Marc up with a phone call, and ask him to slide open his window. He’s dumb when he’s sleepy or grumpy, so he’ll just follow whatever I say. The moment you see his head peeking out from the windowpane,” I let out a dramatic groan at this. Of which my sister so tactfully ignored. Bitch. “You start aiming these balloons at him. Simple as that.”
Yeah. Bloody easy. Except for one little thing.
Marc, my sister’s boyfriend, lives on the 12th floor.
“And he’ll love this birthday surprise because…” I trailed off, raising my eyebrows in suspicion.
“Because I’m the one surprising him!” She exclaimed, and then burst into a fitful of giggles. Yeah, you see that girl with black hair and blue-coloured contact lens? I don’t really know her. “Trust me, Tiff. He’ll just laugh and we’ll all be merry!”
Merry my arse.
“You’re buying me lunch.” I muttered under my breath, as I walked towards the pail of water balloons in defeat. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Gillian grinned in reply, then took out her cell phone from her pocket and started dialing Marc’s number feverishly.
I, on the other hand, positioned myself right beside the balloons in a half-squatting stance, mentally yelling profanities at my sister, as I waited for the head to poke out from the 12th floor.
The moment it peeped out, I mustered all my strength, and jumped, tossing a pink water balloon upwards.
Miraculously, it made it to the 12th floor, and landed right on top of a head.
…Disastrously, said head does not belong to my sister’s loving boyfriend.
“Oh, shit.” I heard Gillian grumble under her breath. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”
“What?”
She turned to me with an awkward, somewhat apologetic smile, and motioned towards that guy I aimed my balloon at. From the distance, I think I saw him waggling his finger at me, before disappearing behind the windows.
“That’s not Marc.” She declared, emphasizing on each word slowly, inaudibly. “Marc is a blonde. That head wasn’t a blonde.”
I shot her an awry look.
“No shit Sherlock.” I muttered. “What’s your point?”
“Tiffany,” My sister started slowly, her eyes still glued to the window hesitantly. “Tiffany, that was Jude. Marc’s roommate.”
“Gay name.” I spat nonchalantly and exhaled slowly, fascinated by the air vapour that came out from my mouth.
“Jude thinks he’s Spiderman.” Gillian pestered, now digging her nails into my skin. If she digs any deeper she’d probably be able to feel my radius bone. No kidding. “He is fanatical when it comes to Spiderman. And naturally, spiders.”
I untangled my hand from hers and picked up another water balloon from the pail, juggling it in between my hands.
“Mm-hmm. Gay obsession.” I mumbled absently, not really sure where this conversation was leading to.
“Tiffany, there’s a reason why I don’t go into Marc’s room every now and then.” She stated, her voice now trembling a little.
I never got the chance to shoot her with another witty remark, because at that moment, it started raining.
Or at least, it felt like it.
Unnaturally large splatters landed on my hair, my shoulders, and my hands, and I just shook them off hastily, as did my sister.
I halted my movements, and stared at the drops on my sister’s shoulders.
Funny thing.
See, the raindrops were black. I didn’t know the air was that contaminated, but that wasn’t the oddest thing.
The raindrops all seem to have possessed eight bent legs.
Eight legs.
And then came the loud, heinous laughter from above that sounded nothing like the roaring thunder I was used to hearing.
…Oh, my God.
He threw tarantulas on us.
I let the balloon fall to the ground with a loud splat, and screamed.
“OH MY JESUS KACHABABA!” I yelled atop of my lungs, and if anything, only made John (or was it Jane? I don’t know, all I know is that his name sounds gay.) laugh louder. “Bloody asshole!”
“TAKE THAT, BITCHES!” He shouted, and through my disgust I found myself liking his voice. Oh, what the hell, Tiffany. Beside me, Gillian started bawling. Like a banshee. Jack, Joshua, whatever, grinned harder, and I saw him lean forward a little, and spread his arms wide open like that scene in Titanic.
Then, he screamed the most moronic statement that I have ever heard.
“FEAR NOT, PEASANTS, SPIDERMAN IS HERE TO SAVE YOU FROM THE WICKED WITCHES OF WILD, WILD WEST!”
I would have rolled on the floor and laughed at his stupidity, but then I felt flashlights shining at our direction.
The school guards? Yeah, they sort of found us.
Well, long story short, my sister received a five-day detention for planning the entire mischief; Jude (He couldn’t stop yelling his name at me. Wonder why.) received a full week’s detention for throwing rubber tarantulas, scaring not only Gillian and I, but also a few other students who saw it from the window, and thought the world was crumbling to pieces; And I, of all people, received, also, a week’s detention for yelling Jesus’ name in vain and throwing water balloons.
And we were to serve our detention right after school, in one of Rollyard High’s classroom.
You know what’s the funniest thing?
I don’t even go to that school.
You’d think that after he’s gotten his sweet revenge, he’d just shut the hell up and mind his own business or something.
Yeah, you’d think.
“Oh my Jesus kachababa!” He mimicked for the umpteenth time in an unbelievably glass-breaking pitch, one hand strangling his own throat while he swayed his other hand in front of my face. “I’m afraid of spiders! Help me, I’m stooopid!”
“Bravo, bravo.” I said dryly, clapping my hands mockingly as I stared into his forest green eyes. “Wow, dude. You sounded just like me.”
“Oh, please, of course I don’t sound anything like you.” Jude replied with a light laugh, ruffling his naturally spiky black hair and leaning towards me from the table to my right. For a moment there I actually thought he looked pretty damn hot. “Trust me, baby, you sounded a lot worse than that.”
And just as quickly, the moment slipped away.
I groaned in exasperation and turned my chair the other way so I wouldn’t be facing him. It was bad enough to be stuck in detention in a school I have never attended.
But it is so much worse to be stuck in detention in a school I have never attended with a Spiderman fanatic like this… Creepy guy, alone.
Yes, my darling sister, the one who once promised to stick with me through and through, managed to get out of detention with her superior post as the school’s cheerleading captain.
I am so holding this grudge against her.
“So do you like Spiderman?” Jude started conversationally, and I jolted out of my trance.
Smooth, Jude. Hit on a girl with a topic about Spiderman.
Not that I think he’s hitting on me, but uh, well, yeah.
Right. Moving on.
“No.” I answered, now tapping a random rhythm on the table with my stubby fingers. “Nor do I fancy Superman, Batman, Ironman, or basically everything that ends with a man, really.”
“Dang!” He groaned, thumping his fist against the table, and then relaxed against his chair with a noisy sigh. “I knew you were one of those chicks who’d dig Egg Abbot or some shit like that.”
Meg Cabot. Her name, is Meg Cabot.
I tucked a loose strand of black hair behind my ears and turned around to face him once more, with a saccharinely sweet smile plastered painfully on my face.
“Aww, touché, Jude.” I giggled uncharacteristically, and patted his head lightly. He didn’t seem to enjoy that head-patting gesture that much, if that poorly-concealed scowl he gave was any indication. “And might I ask how did you guess that?”
That annoying grin of his came back as he reached out to pull a strand of my hair from its place just to irritate me.
Smile, Tiffany. Smile like you want him and not like you want to assassinate him.
I forced my lips to curl upwards.
Perfect.
“Oh, just a little something I call Spider Sense.” He drawled confidently, his fingers now twirling my hair right in front of my eyes. That ass. He smiled at me, his green eyes twinkling underneath his eyelashes. “You know, I used to be Superman, but one day I just…stopped.”
I slapped his hand off from my hair irritably, though that smile was still intact.
“Oh, Little Judie finally got sick of falling face-down every time he tries to fly from a chair?” I teased, and satisfaction washed through me as he frowned once more.
“Funny.” He remarked deprecatingly, rolling his eyes. “But no. It’s all very simple, really. The day I stopped becoming Superman, was the day I finally realized that being Spiderman is my true calling.”
I would’ve chucked a shoe at him, but I was wearing my favourite heels.
There is no way I was going to waste my favourite pair of heels on some idiot like him.
But God, he really needs to wake up from his childish fantasy.
“Whatever,” I muttered, packing my stuffs into my messenger bag. One more minute and I’m free to go. Just one more minute. “I detest both, so it doesn’t make much of a difference, anyway.”
Suddenly, I felt Jude’s fingers lightly caressing my cheeks, my skin warm under his touch. It felt odd, a little too abrupt, and yet I found myself shivering involuntarily.
What the hell.
“Trust me, baby,” He cooed with a knowing smirk. I’d give anything to slap that smirk off. Well, anything except my heels. “You’ll love Spiderman more than you can ever imagine.”
Right then, the teacher-in-charge stood up, acknowledged us with a nod, and left the room.
“Stop calling me baby, Jude.” I growled, angry at myself for falling for his touch. “It’s Tiffany.”
“Ooh, the girl wants me to know her name.” He chuckled lowly, and then stood up from his seat casually, picking up his bag. “You must like me more than you think… Tiffany.”
And then he strode towards the door, leaving me to glance appreciatively at his hair that was just as black as mine; his body, long and slightly tanned; dressed in a navy blue T-shirt that hinted the muscles underneath it and faded jeans that hugged his legs at all the right places; and the way he walks so smoothly, so confidently…
I snapped myself out of my reverie and shrugged.
I don’t like him.
Not at all.
My sister made it up to me by giving me a set of sexy lingerie that is lacey, pink, and has holes in all the wrong places.
I don’t even want to ask why.
“Thanks,” I muttered, folding the lingerie back into the paper bag it came from. “I’ll be sure to hang it up high and write a note, saying ‘This is what you wear every day if you plan on getting impregnated before marriage’.”
Gillian smiled from her place at my bedroom entrance, shuffling her feet nervously.
Odd. It reminded me of something I did when I gave a guy she hates her cell phone number.
I shrugged that thought off and moved from my bed to the door, my eyes searching through her nervous features.
“What’s wrong?” I prodded gently, tugging the hem of her shirt.
She can’t possible have driven a good 15 miles back home just for dinner, a short present-giving ceremony, and then stand at that spot, laughing like nothing in this world is wrong.
Something is wrong.
She looked away and laughed, a laugh that was too shaky and tense.
“Gillian…” I warned, scrutinizing her. “What did you do?”
After a moment of silence, she mumbled something that was completely incomprehensible, and continued laughing that nervous grin once more.
“I’m sorry, but could you repeat that?”
She heaved a deep sigh, and stared at me.
“IwasinMarcsroomwhenIthoughtJudewasn’taroundbuthewasandaskedmetogivehimyournumberbecauseheneededtotalktoyouaboutthedetentionstuffssoIgaveittohim.” My mouth dropped open, ajar. Gillian groaned. “I am so sorry, Tiff.”
I took a minute to wholly digest what she said. Then, I gasped in horror.
“You. Gave my mortal enemy my number.” I breathed hoarsely. “Gillian, that guy wants to kill me.”
Actually, it’s the other way round.
I feel like murdering him.
Gillian doesn’t need to know that.
“But he looked really sincere…” She trailed off, chewing her bottom lip that jutted out a bit. Then, she smiled like a kid who just got the biggest lollipop in the world. “You know, Tiff, I think he likes you!”
Breathe, Tiff. Breathe.
“I’m giving you a five seconds head start, my darling sister.” I said through gritted teeth, the guilty pleasure sinking in as I watch her take two steps back. “Five… Four… Three… Two… One.”
And the Tom and Jerry game commenced as I chased her around the house, trying to be oblivious to the fast, happy dances my heart and stomach was making from something Gillian said.
Those who are following Glass Virginity, I am so so sorry! I'll work on it as soon as I get over my writer's block. But for now, I'm working on a series of one-shots. Like this one.
Though this will probably be around two to three chapters. Too bloody long.
Enjoyed it:) Review, okay?
much love,
found.eventually