Marvel: Blood in the Water

Jared... whose Jared? And why did this pressure on my body refuse to go away? Where was I? Was I really drowning? I found myself asking questions for which I had no answers.

"Haaaa." Suddenly, all the pressure on my chest vanished, and I jolted awake. I immediately sat up straight, my mouth opening wide as I gasped for air. The relief of that breath was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It felt as if I had just returned from the very gates of hell.

How did I know I was heading to hell, you ask? Easy. The things I had done in my life would ensure that I would never see the gates of heaven.

With my eyes still tightly shut, I feared what I might see when I opened them. Was this what they called fear? It had been a long time since I had felt such a grip of terror.

"Jared, are you alright?" A female voice reached my ears again, laced with concern. I sensed the worry in her tone.

I took another deep breath and opened my eyes, trying to comprehend my surroundings. A soft yet firm hand gripped my cheeks, directing my gaze to the side.

"Aunt May?" The name slipped from my lips as I recognized the woman sitting at the edge of my bed. She resembled the actress who played Aunt May in the new Spider-Man movies. I didn't know her real name, but why was she here?

"You're sweating all over, Jared. Your viral fever seems serious now," she said, placing her palm on my forehead.

"What are you—aghhhh!" Just as I was about to ask her, a splitting headache surged through me, forcing me to clutch my head with both hands and lie back on the bed. I stifled a scream, pressing my jaw to suppress any sound. It felt as if someone were pouring hot water directly into my brain.

As the pain intensified, a whirlwind of memories began to flash through my mind. They all spoke at once, creating an unbearable noise that deepened my suffering.

I saw myself standing in a cemetery... in front of me were two tombstones. Who were they? The names read: Richard Parker... Mary Parker.

Parker? Did I know any Parkers? While I pondered this, I felt a tug on my sleeve. I looked down and saw a child standing beside me. He looked up with his beady dark brown eyes and asked, "Big brother, why are we here? Where are Mom and Dad?"

I wanted to ask the kid who he was, but tears began to stream down my own cheeks. I tried to wipe them away so no one would see, but I had no control over my body. I realized that this was a memory.

My hands instinctively caressed the child's face, pulling him closer to hug my waist as I said, "They've gone on a trip, like they always do, Peter. I'm sure they'll be back soon."

The little boy nodded, though he appeared sad, as if he were starting to grasp the gravity of our situation.

I was about to delve deeper into this memory when something clicked... Peter... Parker... Aunt May? How was this possible?

"Kids, let's go back home. I think it's going to rain," the same female voice called out, prompting me to turn back along with Peter.

This was her—the woman who had woken me up—Aunt May.

"Can we get ice cream on the way home, Aunt May?" Little Peter asked, his eyes lighting up with hope.

"Of course we can." Aunt May, now looking a little younger, smiled and turned to me. "Let's go, Jared."

In an instant, the memory froze, and a flood of new memories began to emerge in my mind. I was reliving the life of Jared Parker, the older brother of Peter Parker. Once a supportive brother, I had become someone who hardly checked in on my little brother.

After our parents' death, I had kept myself busy by hanging out with friends, playing video games, and engaging in activities that involved little family interaction, except during breakfast. Peter, who was also a nerd, didn't bother me much as he had found a friend in a chubby kid named Ned. The two of them would play on Mary's old computer while I holed up in my room with Richard's computer.

I opened my eyes again and realized I had returned to the present. Aunt May was watching me as I lay on the bed. I sat up slowly and said, "I feel better now, Aunt May."

"Feel better? What do you mean, feel better? You're sweating all over and just screamed while holding your head," she said, moving closer, causing me to instinctively retreat.

"I know, Aunt May, but—" I started, but she quickly placed a thermometer in my mouth. I was caught off guard and sat there, unsure how to respond to her overwhelming care.

After a minute, she took out the thermometer, blocking my view of the reading.

She eyed me with suspicion before saying, "Even if your fever is gone now and your temperature is normal, you can't go to the beach with your friends today. Just because you're a sophomore in high school doesn't mean you can wander around as you please."

'Peter would be out saving the world at my age (16), and I can't even go to the beach...' I muttered under my breath, but Aunt May didn't hear me, nor did she seem to care.

"I'll make some chicken soup. It's almost time for Peter to come home from school," she said, turning to leave the room.

I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Memories of my childhood, filled with laughter and shared moments with Peter, began to surface. I remembered the day we went to the park, how we'd spend hours playing catch, or how he would look up to me with admiration. Those times felt like a lifetime ago.

As the moments passed, I wondered what had happened to that bond. The guilt weighed heavily on me. I had let my brother down in his time of need, retreating into my own world of distractions while he had struggled to cope with our parents' death.

The door creaked open, and Aunt May returned, carrying a bowl of steaming chicken soup. "Here, eat this. It will help you feel better," she said, setting it on the nightstand beside me.

"Thanks, Aunt May," I replied, taking the bowl and savoring the aroma. As I began to eat, I contemplated the life I had chosen, the choices that had led me away from my family, and the path I needed to reclaim.

"Jared," she said, her tone shifting to one of concern. "You need to talk about what you're feeling. Bottling everything up isn't healthy."

I glanced up, surprised by her insight. "I... I don't know what to say," I admitted.

"Start with how you felt after your parents' passing. It's okay to grieve," she urged gently.

Taking a deep breath, I looked into her caring eyes. "I thought I had to be strong for Peter. I didn't want him to see me upset. So I just buried myself in distractions..."

Aunt May nodded, encouraging me to continue. "And how did that work out for you?"

"It didn't. I ended up feeling more alone than ever, like I was just going through the motions," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.

She reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. "You're not alone, Jared. You have me, and you have Peter. We're family. We need to stick together."

Those words pierced through the fog of my guilt and despair. Perhaps it wasn't too late to mend the rift I had created. Perhaps there was still a chance to be the brother Peter needed.

As I finished the soup, I felt a renewed sense of determination. I had to reach out to Peter, to show him that I was still there for him, no matter how lost I had been. It was time to rebuild what had been broken.

"Thanks for the soup, Aunt May. I think I'll go find Peter when he gets home," I said, a smile beginning to form on my lips.

"That sounds like a great idea," she replied, her eyes sparkling with hope.

As I contemplated the journey ahead, I realized that I had a long way to go. But for the first time in a long while, I felt ready to take that first step.

**

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