Chapter One
Does it actually get better? Peter asked himself that question every night before going to bed. Every morning when he woke up. Every time he sat against the bathtub with a blade in his hands.
The pain that had been residing in his chest since Ben died was unbearable. Every chance he had to see the red liquid leak out of his body, he took.
He had never told anyone that it’d gotten this bad. It wasn’t hard for him to hide the bad coping mechanisms he’d developed either. Ever since Ben died, May had been working nonstop. She picked up extra shifts at the hospital which meant she had been working 12 hour days in the emergency room. She tried working longer but the hospital had told her that working any longer without breaks would cause her to be more likely to mess up when assessing someone’s injuries. So, she went to every fast food restaurant and applied to become a cashier. She’d gotten interviews for about five of them so she chose ChickFilA. They paid the most and she figured a little extra money never hurt anyone.
If anyone was concerned enough to check up on Peter, he threw them off with a smile and a quick joke. Sometimes, he felt as if he was over doing it but nobody caught on so he didn’t adjust the routine at all. Even Tony hadn’t caught on. Peter spent a lot of them thinking about that. He couldn’t figure out if it was because he wished Tony did know or because he was so thankful Tony had no idea. Either way, there was no way Peter would tell Tony.
Peter had just woken up at three in the morning, on a Wednesday, when he heard a loud noise. He first thought was to check on May. He sat up and ran down the hall to where May’s room was located.
He mentally prepared himself before opening the door. He didn’t know what to prepare himself for but he had a strong feeling that he had to. Pushing open the door, he quickly looked towards May’s bed. Empty.
He pushed the door open a bit more and looked towards the window. It was about a quarter of the way open and due to the wind, the curtains were sways back and forth. Nothing wrong in May’s room.
Suddenly, he heard a scream. A scream so loud, he considered the possibility that someone next door was screaming into a microphone. He brushed off the thought, focusing on the fact that someone may need his help. Spider-man’s help.
Peter dashed back down the hallway, into his room, and locked the door behind him. He opened his closet and grabbed the suit Tony had made for him. Quickly, he threw it on and opened his window. He swung to the top of the building next to him, perching himself on the edge. He looked around, trying to figure out where the noises had come from. He patrolled for the next two hours, just to find nothing. He didn’t wanna go back, but he knew he was already supposed to be walking to school.
His school had strict policies. If he were to be absent without a notice from a parent or guardian, both May and Tony would be called. He knew May would try to give him money and buy him more food. She’d become pretty emotionless and tried to make him feel better by buying him stuff. She did the best she could.
He remembered the first time Tony had been called. Tony quickly became concerned and called off his meeting to race down to the Parker’s apartment. When he got there, he began knocking on the door. He didn’t want to barge in on Peter’s personal space but if the door didn’t open soon, he would open it himself.
The sudden knocking had startled Peter, causing him to drop the blade in his hand. Peter looked up, frightened. Around him was all of the things he needed to continue his bad coping mechanisms, and if he didn’t hide them soon, Tony would know about them.
Peter grabbed the ZipLock baggy of white powder, the three brand new syringes (filled with heroin), the blade, the bandages, the antiseptic, and the paper towel. He threw all of them into a gallon sized bag and tossed it underneath the sink. Luckily, he hadn’t started anything yet. He unlocked the bathroom door after checking himself in the mirror.
His eyes were a bit red and his cheeks were wet from crying. Peter swiftly wiped his tears on his sleeve. He didn’t take the time to look through the peephole, knowing it was Tony by the way he knocked. Once Peter had opened the door, Tony had begun asking him questions.
“Where were you?”
“Why aren’t you at school?”
“Are you okay?”
“What took so long for you to open the door?”
Peter didn’t feel like answering any questions. He turned around and walked towards the couch, leaving the door open with Tony slowing walking in.