Going To New York and Meeting George Stacy

"Are you sure you'll be alright, Sammy?" my aunt said, her eyes red and puffy in a rare display of what would usually be a strong and confident face, "You could go to a college in California, couldn't you? I'm sure there's still one out there that would accept you--!" I cut her off by pulling her into a hug.

I detested physical contact. Genuinely. Ever since I was reborn I found that I had to follow certain rules otherwise I would risk a panic attack.

I couldn't eat anything not made by myself. Certain things were an exception, of course, like takeout. But even then I would make my aunt taste test everything before I ate it. I couldn't drink anything unless I personally poured the drink. If I did try, my body would work against me and force the contents of my stomach out of my mouth to stop me.

And my biggest rule was that I didn't like touching other people. Holding hands, hugging, kissing--even being within distance to brush shoulders with someone made me feel like clawing my eyes out.

Worst of all is that these rules usually make me violent or incredibly cold. Sometimes both.

A girl once tried to hold my hand in Elementary school...and I broke hers. I couldn't even stop myself, my hand just acted on it's own and before I knew it, the girl was crying.

Since then, I've improved my control over this unnecessary physical response but even then, I still hated touching someone or being touched by someone. Even now, as I hugged my aunt to try an reassure her, it was like every instinct inside me was screaming at me to let go of her and back away before she could hurt me.

...Yet I ignored such an instinct.

These 'rules' were no doubt birthed by the trauma brought on by 'that' woman and what she did to me. I refuse to be denied a normal life because of what happened in my previous one. Nevertheless because of 'that' woman's actions.

Regardless, my aunt seemed to calm down as I hugged her and she rested her head on my chest. By now I was much taller than her. She was 6'0" and I was 6'5" and much broader in size as well. To the point where I could easily eclipse her body with my own. Though as calm as she seemed, she quickly realized something and backed away from my hug.

"O-oh my god, Sammy, I'm sorry," she worried looked up at me, her gaze somewhat filled with guilt as she averted her gaze, "I know how much you hate hugging and yet I made you reassure an old lady like me."

Her tone was as equally guilty as her gaze as she kept looking away.

Shaking my head, I let a small smile grow across my face, "Pay no heed to it, Aunty Sam. I can't live my life always pushing people away even if that's what I wanna do," I shrugged, scratching my cheek as I felt a little embarrassed at what I was about to say, "Besides...it's the least I could do for the aunt who raised me, right? I can't just leave you crying like that," I said and while I was looking away, trying to ignore the corniness of what I was saying, I heard my aunt stifle a laugh before the dam broke and she burst out laughing.

"Our Sammy's turning into a real silver-tongued devil," she continued laughing, wiping the tears from her eyes, "Don't make too many girls fall for ya, alright?" she teased, seeming to improve in spirit quite a bit.

"Next time I won't do anything," I grumpily said, frowning as I picked up my backpack and walked toward the boarding for my plane.

Yet I was stopped by a hand. Refraining from slapping the hand away, I looked over my shoulder to see my aunt looking at me with a somber look, "Can I?" she asked and I instantly knew what she was asking. Giving a terse nod, she came close and gave me one last hug. "I spoke to a friend of mine over in New York. He's part of the NYPD like I had been. He should be a fancy Captain by now. He'll be looking out for you. He secured you an apartment in the same complex as him, so he'll help you settle in. Just...just look after yourself, okay, you big dumb nephew of mine?" she spoke in my jacket, refusing to look up. No doubt because she was crying.

I stroked her back a little, trying to comfort her and she seemed more at ease after that.

We were all the other had. She was my only family member and I was the only thing left of her older brother. After my father committed suicide and her sister-in-law, my mother, died from the after effects of childbirth...I guess you could say I was the anchor that kept her going.

Even then, we moved from New York all the way across the US to California because living in the same city after her only family had died was just too much for her.

And now, her only family is leaving for the same city where the rest of her family died.

It was hard for her to let me go. Both as an aunt and as an individual. Yet, in the end, she still let me go because she loved me and knew despite me being her nephew, I was now 18 and had every right to choose where to go.

"Have you seen the amount of trophies and medals in my room? Or my robust body? I'm sure I'll be able to handle whatever I find in New York, Aunty Sam," I joked, teasing her for being such a worrywart. All I received was a choked laugh before she pushed herself away from me reluctantly and wiped her face and eyes aggressively with her sleeve.

Looking back at me with puffy eyes, she gestured behind me with her chin, "You better get going, Sammy. You've got a flight to catch," she smiled, trying to look cheery and strong but just as I turned to go, she called out again, "I'll call you--No, you call me, okay? When you get to New York, call me just so I know you got there safe, okay?"

I put my thumb up to signal that I would just as I pulled out my phone and opened up my texts.

Typing out a little message, I hit the send button and a few seconds later I heard my aunt speak up again, "I love you too, Sammy! You better come back to visit your aunty when you have the time, you hear me?! Or there'll be hell to pay!"

Despite not turning around, I could pretty much guarantee she was crying over the goodbye text I sent her. Why didn't I say it aloud? Because...I don't know, it's embarrassing, I guess. Maybe I'm one of those fabled Tsunderes? One of life's big mysteries, I guess.

Anyway, time to see if my electricity powers subconsciously do or don't fuck with airplanes.

Another of life's big mysteries I really don't want to know the answer to because the answer may or may not be my death. I've already died once - that's enough.

. . .

Standing in the elevator, I flicked a coin between my fingers, expertly grabbing it before flicking it back to the other hand. I continued doing this, similar to Connor from 'Detroit: Become Human' and how he did it in the opening elevator scene for the game. Why did I do this? Honestly, it was like a stress reliever for me. Every time I had to meet new people or go to new places, I felt on edge but flicking my lucky coin about seemed to calm me down ever so slightly.

Right now, however, I was merely doing it because I was bored. A long as hell plane ride with nothing but bad movies to entertain me, followed by a boring taxi cab ride where the guy driving was listening to music which was too loud--I was bored and annoyed.

So, doing this little boredom/stress-reliever action did serve a purpose.

It was a little harder to do through gloves but it was manageable. Adding to the challenge was how I thought of it.

Finally, the elevator dinged and the doors opened and I put away the coin in my back pocket before exiting the elevator. I walked a few meters into the hallway before turning to my right and seeing the door number was 1109, I lifted a hand before knocking the door and patiently waiting. I didn't have to wait long.

The door opened slowly to reveal a tall and well-built man with greying blond hair and icy blue eyes. He had a well-groomed mustache on his upper lip but the rest of his jaw, chin and cheek were devoid of hair revealing his somewhat wrinkled skin.

My enhanced eyes picked up a few faded scars where the skin had been cut in a fight - this man had seen more than just a few fights. I'm confident of that judgment.

The man looked me up and down before looking back up at my eyes, "You must be Samuel, right? Samantha's nephew?" he asked and I gave a nod, to which he put out his weathered hand, "The name's George Stacy. It's nice to finally meet you, son," his tone was even and was neither deferential nor disrespectful. It was just neutral.

"It's good to meet you too, sir," I said, just as neutral as him, as I took his hand and shook it with a firm grip. Seeing him looking down at my gloved hand, I spoke up, "Ah, about that sir, I don't--" though he cut me off and proved I needn't have spoken in the first place.

"You don't like touching people. I know, kid. Your aunt told me all about your do's and don'ts," he said before cracking a thin smile, "It's probably for the best you keep those gloves on when you touch things in this city anyway," he cracked a laugh and I joined him, chuckling quietly. He seemed like a decent guy compared to what I was expecting. "You want me to show you your room?" he asked, his laughter dying out just as mine did.

"If you don't mind, sir," I nodded and backed up to let him out the door.

As he was exiting, he looked me up and down once more before looking at me with somewhat curiosity in his eyes, "You play football, son?" he asked and I shook my head. He clicked his tongue, seeming disappointed, "Built like that and you don't play football? A waste of God-given talent," he said quietly to himself and I decided not to comment as I followed him down the hall.

We stopped at the next apartment, '1111', and he took out some keys as he unlocked the door and took them out before handing them to me.

As I took them, he spoke up, "A few ground rules, Samuel. No parties. No drugs. No alcohol. You can have any lady friends over, I won't deprive ya of that - I can help you soundproof the place if you want as well - and most of all, if you do have someone over, give a warning to me or my wife so we don't think some random burglar has broken into your apartment. You understand, son?"

"Loud and clear," I said, looking the middle-aged man straight in the eyes. The mini staring contest continued for a few more seconds before George smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. Despite the minor annoyance I felt from the contact, I returned his smile with one of my own.

"Well then, how about you come over for something to eat tonight?" he asked and just as I was about to decline, he held up his hand, "Your aunt told me about this too. We're getting takeout and I'll taste test it all before you even have to touch it. So, please, come over. Otherwise my wife will think I'd done something to scare ya off," he said before scoffing and gesturing to me, "As if I could ever scare a big fella like you."

Uncharacteristically of me...I actually found myself laughing at what he said. When I caught him looking at me weirdly, I calmed my laughter and explained to him, "...Sorry, that's just similar to what I said to my aunt before I left. I guess some people worry about improbable stuff, huh?"

Cracking a smile at what I said, George shook his head, "You can say that again, kid. My wife seems to love worrying," he said before he looked back over at me, "So, what do you? Takeout or no?"

"...Sure. I'll come over. Purely because I doubt you'd do anything bad to me," I said, my suspicious tone still there but only a fraction of what it would be if it were some complete stranger. The only guarantee I had for George was from my aunt and the fact he was a police officer. The odds were against him being the type of guy who was spike my drink or drug my food.

"Good choice. If you'd disagreed, I'd have had a vendetta on you for life with the amount of grief my wife would've given me," he joked and exited the room, gesturing me to follow.

Taking a deep breath, I exited my new fully furnished apartment and locked the door behind me.

Hey, at least I'm getting to meet Gwen Stacy out of this, right?...Man, I'm really grasping at straws over here.