@theunsolvedoutcast Sent “🎁” for the Spotify Meme:
The Lament of Eustace Scrubb by The Oh Hellos
We both know I'm the one to blame 'Cause when I saw my demons; I knew them well and welcomed them
“Don’t follow me! Go away!”
Harry pressed his back against the cold brick of the alley wall. The night flashed before his eyes in pieces, but more than that, it was a feeling: it was rage incarnate, it was darkness, it was a ringing in his ears and the soft drip of blood between his fingers. But those hands weren’t his--long and tar black, clawed, dripping in their own ooze--and his teeth were too heavy for his jaw, and he was choking on his own tongue--no, not his. But the rage. Was that his? The bitter, sinking stone in his gut--did that belong to him, Harry, or the monster that embraced it?
He didn’t know what he’d done or where he’d been tonight, only that one second he was in his room, listening to his dad’s voicemail--how he wouldn’t be home again tonight, how he should order in for dinner, that he’d be missing his game that Friday too--and then Harry had come to on the streets of Queens, laying in a puddle of rain water on the dark New York road, Spider-Man hovering over him, and MJ beside him.
Harry ran.
Had he hurt someone? He’d seen the videos on Youtube: a hulking black beast sinking its jaws into a man’s throat. No, no, no. Harry didn’t want to hurt anyone. He now cupped his hands--human hands, hands he recognized--over his eyes and bit his lip until it bled. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. Why didn’t he remember?
“MJ, please leave,” he pleaded, not daring to look at her. “And I don’t need your help,” he spat at Spider-Man. “Just go! Both of you!” I don’t want to hurt you.
