...quo;Oh, now I get it. Now I see why Peter’s such a total flakeball.””
Gwen had just discovered I’m Spider-Man and came to terms with the fact that Spider-Man did not kill her father. I just wish she could’ve done it without pointing a gun in my face. And she calls me a flakeball? Still she has a point, “Exactly.”
MJ sat on the edge of my bed, a mischievous smile on her relieved face. “He was like this before.”
“No before I was a dork… Now I’m mysterious.”
“Yeah, whatever.” MJ quipped. I’m sure that to her I’m an open book. You can’t hide much from the girl who sows your tights.
For once I lay back and relax, thinking about how lucky I am. I’m alive. MJ loves me. Gwen doesn’t want to kill me anymore. Even Aunt May has been lightening up a little bit.
Gwen folds her arms behind her head, talking at the ceiling. “Your such a good guy, Peter. I swear to God. I don’t know how you can possibly put up with half the crap of what you do.”
“I need a psychiatrist.”
Gwen chuckles a little, “No. I need a psychiatrist.”
MJ leaned back, resting her head on my stomach. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah.” I had to agree ...