Fucked up generosity
These sandwiches were the best thing Peter had eaten in months. Spread luxuriously across the same conference room table, was a pile of mouth-wateringly good sandwiches with all kinds of fillings. Peter had to resist the urge to scoff down multiple at a time and hide more in his pockets. They were cut into little triangles like some sort of posh afternoon tea, with small snack bowls alongside. To some this would be a simplistic lunch, but to Peter? This was the height of luxury!
He had learnt pretty quickly at St Edmunds that despite most of the food being sub-par to say the least, he needed to scran every scrap of what they offered for fear of being denied at the next meal. Matron never explicitly explained that infraction equal missed food, but with the punishment of extra chores always being scheduled during dinner, Peter had just read between the lines. He also missed breakfast very morning during the week, as an unfortunate consequence of his different schedule while attending Midtown as Matron put it. So yeah, this food intake was somewhat limited, and he was absolutely going to take advantage of this free buffet.
Chatter bubbles around him, typical posh arrogant laughs entering from rich kid and his group of friends, that Peter chose to ignore in favour of steadily making his way through the tray of sandwiches.
"That guy was actually mad - how on earth is he employed here?" rich kid announced haughtily.
Pete rolled his eyes once again at their antics, who knew rich kids could find this much to complain about? Wiping crumbs of his fingers, he sat back in his chair, and the clock in the corner of the room caught his eye. Shit, it was almost two. He'd hoped to be back at school by half three latest, but that was out of the window now. He didn't even have a phone to tell anyone - he's gonna be in so much shit.
"Somewhere to be?" Cara asked, noticing his interest in the clock.
"Oh, umm no, no, it's umm fine," he stuttered unsurely.
She raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything to challenge him.
"Hey, tell me if this is weird, but do you want to exchange numbers - there isn't many people that understand what it's like to be a minority for stuff like this. I mean I know you're like white and everything but you get it I think," she rambled slightly nervously.
"It's not weird, not at all, but I don't have a phone," Peter replied, sitting up slightly.
"You don't have a phone? Like you're not just saying that? What teenager doesn't have a phone?"
"Oh, I did have one, it just got taken away."
"You got your phone taken away? Oh god, I forgot you still only sixteen. Go on, what did you do?" she laughed.
"Nothing. It's was stupid, really," he carefully redirected.
Just before Cara could continue with her uncomfortable interrogation, the doors opened once again. In marched the man and woman in power suits and returned the same anxiety pit in Peter's stomach. He was good at science, and tests but interviews - talking to people he didn't know - people who would go on to judge him? Not exactly his strong suit. So his legs had a slight wobbly to them, and suddenly he couldn't get his heartbeat under control.
The woman started talking but the noise faded into the background, and the ticking of the clock grew louder and louder. It roared in his ears powerfully, increasing the pace of the drum in his heart. A wave of anxiety overwhelmed him, and he felt really small. The science had somewhat distracted him, but it was all too much. His breath sped up, and he clutched his heart.
Anxiety had always been there for Peter. The tightness in his chest, coupled with shortened breathes. It was understandable though, that the kid who spend his Fridays crouched on the stairs listening to the cries of the Aunt, losing his breath every time they paused, because it was better to hear her scream while alive than still and not. Bullying in school didn't help, anxiety increased accompanied with paranoia. Eventually, circling through home and home, most of them unsafe, his anxiety was proved right, and remained a contrast in the back of his head. To others, it didn't exist. But anyone that has experienced years and years of it would now, you get good at covering it up.
So Peter dug his nails into the back of the hand, almost drawing blood to bring himself back around. Satisfied with the crimson color that dropped down his hand, he returned his attention to the front. To his surprise, he found everyone looking at him.
"Mr Parker," the lady said gesturing to the door.
He cleared his throat confused, "Sorry?" he asked.
"Your interview, you're up first."
He nodded nervously and followed her out. They approached a cozy little office. Shelves bursting with books covered most of the walls. Cream blankets were thrown over the chairs in front of the desk. There were candles of muted, dull clouds that sat on every flat space in the room - windowsills, desks, drawers. The atmosphere of this office quietened his anxiety significantly.
Peter enjoyed the interview. The woman in the blue suit - Ola he thinks her name was - she was lovely. Easy to talk to. She drew his raw ideas from his always coaxing for more - she was a talented interviewer. The man was quiet, took notes in the corner, but didn’t say a word. Normally, it would have uneased him, but this interview monopolized his attention. They asked a range of question from why did he want this internship to what value could he add to Stark Industries. There was even some riddles, ethical questions and some oddballs including what superpower would he want. He has no idea the relevance of that one but it was an interesting interview to say the least.
“Thank you very much Peter for your time,” Ola finished kindly.
“Yeah, thank you,” he replied, turning to leave, “ oh and can I go leave now, it’s just my teachers driving me and I think I’m supposed to be back for half three, I can stay if there’s anything else but I just- ” he rambled nervously.
She smiled in retune and just added, “Yes Peter that fine. You are welcome to leave.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much for this. Todays been amazing and it means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome.”
With that, he left the office and made his way back to the lobby backpack in hand. It wasn’t far.
He approached the receptionist and plastered a smile on his face.
“Excuse me, I’ve just come back from an interview, would you mind pointing out the bathroom for me?” he asked politely.
He received a wave in a vague direction, and a few words for direction. Sliding into a bathroom stool, he set his bag into the closed lid, and began to strip his clothes. The dreary grey uniform hung heavy on his back, but nothing could dampen the high that this day had given him.
The ride back to school was the complete opposite of the ride there. Awkward silences were replaced by excited rambling only interrupted by questions egging him on. Mr Harrington matched his pure amazement as he described very second of the day in great detail. He praised the cleverness of the necklace tracker, and his intricate answers to both the interview and questionnaire. Raising Peter’s hopes further, Harrington seemed to be adamant that this internship was his.
They pulled into the school carpark at exactly four o’clock, which in theory wasn’t that late, but that this point any excuse to fuck Peter over was one that St Edmunds would take advantage of. He thanked Mr Harrington and hurried over to the familiar car, trying to ignore the thunderous look on the man in front of the wheel. He didn’t attempt an apology knowing it was useless against his incoming punishment. However, Peter couldn’t bring himself to care and his smile stayed plastered on his face the whole ride home.
When he tries to hurry upstairs like normal ready to ramble again to his roommate, the man held an arm against his chest stopping him from reaching the staircase. He thought it was probably to do with his tardiness, but after the great lunch he had, he didn’t really care about missing dinner.
He was ushered into Matrons office, which wasn’t necessarily unusual, but the four boys stood one line with straight backs and their eyes fixed on the floor was definitely unusual. The glee on Matrons face was unusual. All four of them not willing to meet his eye was unusual.
“Mr Parker, you’re late,” she spat harshly, although there was a glint of excitement in her eye.
“Sorry, the interview ran over,” he said uneasily.
“Ahh the interview - a privilege that I generously allowed you to attend,” Matron smirked as she walked towards Peter - too closer for his liking.
“Yes, and I’m really grateful..” he started before being silenced by a raised hand. This hand had sharp clean nails that were short and cut neatly. There were wrinkles but they were subtle almost unnoticeable. It was exactly the kind of hand he had expected, and the rapid movements didn’t surprise him.
“Generosity that you, Mr Parker, have thrown back in my face. As an institution, we have provide our residents with stability, and security to help ensure they are good members of our community. In return, we expect compliance Mr Parker,” the volume rose with each word and multiple swear words flew around in Peter’s mind, he didn’t know exactly what he had done wrong but it was something bad, “You and your roommates have disgraced this institution, and it is unacceptable.”
Still in the dark about what he did wrong, Peter tried to sneak a glance at the four boys, but there was still no response.
“We generously allowed you to keep attending your school, despite the contradiction this had against our program. But clearly you are a corrupting influence. As you were made aware, junk food is prohibited. The only food allowed is provided at mealtime. So why, Mr Parker, have I found wrappers stashed around your room?” she accused.
Fucking wrappers? This is all over some chocolate wrappers. Is she fucking kidding? Peter had to resist the urge to laugh. They were all so deprived of just about everything, so all she could get them into trouble for, a group of teenage boys from troubled backgrounds, was some fucking junk food. What a joke?
“I’m sorry,” he replied emotionlessly. Nothing he could say would help so he chose apologies.
“This is disgraceful behavior. Sneaking around, lying, breaking rules. From now on, you will be searched upon entry and exit. Your bag will be confiscated while you are in this building. You will all be stripped of your room, and you will all be completing chores during dinner until further notice.”
There was palpable panic written across the faces of the others. Maybe it was the lack of food - Peter was lucky with his lunch at school, but the others were here all of the time. That missed meal would mean a lot to them. In reality, he wasn’t fully aware of what was going on in this place, he basically just slept here and he hadn’t been her very long so he didn’t truly recognize or appreciate or understand what those other boys have experienced. Staying in this place twenty-four-seven for months or even years. The time that they got their bedding taken away was insignificant to Peter - sure, it was irritating but it was mostly just bizarre. But to the others? That would have been soul-crushing - losing the little comfort they had.
Stripping of your room wasn’t bedding though. Their room was already completely bare, what else could they take?
The words that Matron spat out next washed over him, replaced by his whirring internal monologue. It was only interrupted when he noticed an outstretched hand, the same hand as before with clean, short nails. This time he noticed a small thin scar down the centre of her palm. A scar he bet had an unexpected story behind it. She coughed snatching his attention again.
Reluctantly, he unhooked his bag from his shoulder and held it out for it to be snatched away quickly. The sound of the zipper aggressively pulled out made Peter flinch. It was upturned harshly, books falling on the floor at odd angles that made the nerd inside Peter want to smooth out the pages. He didn’t though, he stayed as still as a statue. A jumper tumbled out landing knot of the piles of textbooks. Peter had to squeeze his eyes shut and turn away. Pens scattered over the floor, and he wished he had zipped up his pencil case properly. He knew there wasn’t anything that would satisfy Matron. She might latch onto the clothes but all she could do was take away that blue sweatshirt. Sad cause it was his favourite but in the grand scheme of things,who gave a shit?
She gave him a lecture, yelled a bit, yelled at the others, talked about respect or diligence or something. Threatened to kick them out - an empty threat they all knew. But she talked and yelled and screamed. Now, Peter was in the line with the other. Back as straight as board, eye contact with the ground. She was forced him to clear up the mess of his bag, then hand the fucking thing right back over. She locked it in a cupboard. His hopes rose when she held that key - maybe the rest of his stuff was there, but it was bare. Now it contained his bag, with all of his books and school stuff but missing his favourite jumper. They were detailed with their meticulous schedule, chore after chore after chore. He reckoned she had been made up some chores - they had a dishwasher, why do it all by hand?
They were stood in a line for a while and Peter couldn’t wait to get back to their room. Matron finally dismissed them, opening her office door. Peter was first out unsurprisingly, tried to make a beeline away form that office. However, to his surprise, a hand wrapped around his wrist tugging hard and preventing him walking away. He looked behind him to see Felipe shake his head, with his eyes still trained on the floor. Peter chose silence again, knowing that it was the safest option in most situations. He was proved right when man dressed in the staff uniform ushered him down a corridor he had never been down before. He suddenly wished he wasn’t out of that door first because he was truly going in blind. Clenching and unclenching his fist as he followed the man marching down the corridor. The stop came suddenly, as a door was opened. It revealed a cupboard - a tiny box of nothing. Only unusual in the fact that it was completely bare.
Peter looked back in confusion, still unable to catch anyone’s eye, but he felt a hand in his back that jolted him forward.
“Your new room Parker,” the voice matched the hand that pushed him forward.
Before he could gather his thoughts enough to respond, the door was shut and the telltale sound of a lock was heard.
Peter just signed and sank to the floor, leaning against one of the four identical walls. All light had disappeared with the close of the door. He suddenly knew what being stripped of your room meant. The next few weeks looked bleak to say the least. He wasn’t unfamiliar with a locked closet though and he’d be fine like always.