Long Days

Chapter 7

Peter nodded as he understood where the conversation was heading. He decided to get to the point. He stated, "So, we need to make some cuts again."

May just nodded.

"Well, I don't really need new shoes‒" he started.

"Yes, you do. The soles aren't even taped on anymore," May interjected. "Peter, I've already done the math. We would be able to manage everything except for the extra food. And if it's between food and‒"

"I don't need to eat‒"

"Peter, listen to me!" May demanded in frustration. She inhaled before saying steadily, "I think we need to stop heating the apartment. We can put an extra hundred towards food if we can get our gas bill down, and heating the place is what's making the bill skyrocket."

Peter was quiet. She was probably right: heating their tiny apartment was costing them. He knew he should say something, but he didn't want to accept a cold apartment with snow approaching. If the temperature dropped as far as was forecasted, everything would be cold. He would put on a cold jacket before going outside, throw on cold sweatpants when he came home, and crawl into a cold bed with cold blankets to sleep. The only difference between inside the house and outside would be the thin walls that held what little belongings they had left. Peter knew he needed food, but was food worth it?

"May," Peter began slowly. "What's the point of keeping my feet warm outside if we can't even keep the apartment warm?" He knew the question sounded harsh, but he didn't care. He was reaching the end of his tolerance for this miserable life.

May answered in a low voice, "You know why."

The teen knew exactly why. It didn't matter what was going on at home as long as no one else suspected that something was very, very wrong. It was the same reason why he hadn't told his calculus teacher very much and why he hadn't talked to Stark for over a month: the less people involved, the better.

"Okay, cut the heat then," Peter conceded. May hugged him and left shortly afterward.

By the next night, all the warmth had left the house. Peter began to wear socks and a hoodie at all times, and he actually preferred to shower at school so that he didn't have to face the post-shower cold when he turned off the warm water. During the night, Peter piled all of the blankets he had onto his bed and even his extra sweatshirts on top in order to stay warm during the night. Ned had insisted that Peter sleep at his house, but Peter felt guilty about abandoning May. So, he sucked it up and slept at the apartment. In the morning, the bitter chill seemed to have sunk into his bones, following him everywhere throughout the day. He wanted to cry, but he was sure that even his tears would freeze against his cheeks.

About a week later, Peter was standing in front of the heater in Mr. Castine's classroom, hands wrapped around his mug of steaming coffee. Although he was directly over a heat source, he continued to shake and his goosebumps failed to disappear. Not for the first time, he wished that he wore his Spider-Man suit underneath his clothes, but the fear of someone noticing it kept the temperature-regulated suit deep in his closet.

"Peter, you haven't stopped shivering since you walked in. Are you sick? Maybe you should go home," Castine suggested, worried about the student whom he had grown so fond of.

"No!" Peter forcefully replied. The thought of leaving the warmth of this heater and going all the way home made him want to die at the center of a hot volcano. At least then he'd die warm.

Castine was confused by Peter's outburst. "Uh, 'no' you aren't sick, or 'no' you don't want to go home?"

In that moment, at the mention of 'home,' something within Peter broke. His normally collected outward appearance cracked. Suddenly, words were spilling out of his mouth before he could stop himself: "Home? What home?! You mean that apartment where I sleep every night? That hasn't been a home in months. That hasn't been a home since Uncle Ben died!" Peter's voice had risen as all the thoughts that he had suppressed over the past couple months were now expressed as screams.

"Everyone is talking about the holidays: the grandmas and cousins and moms and dads and vacations and presents and 'joyful' this and 'grateful' that while I'm working all the time just to have enough food for winter break!" Peter yelled, his words running together. "We don't even have a couch to sit on, let alone a tree or candles or gifts. I wake up every day trying to just be grateful that I'm alive, and let me tell you, that's getting harder every morning!"

Peter was crying now. "First we had no TV, and that was fine. And then we had no wifi, and I can manage that, too. But no food? No heat?!" With his heightened senses beginning to overwhelm him, Peter squeezed his eyes shut as he continued, "I'm just so cold and so tired and so stressed and so hungry‒"

Just then, Peter's grip on his mug tightened, and it imploded under his mutant strength. The shattered pieces cut his hands, and the coffee left him drenched.

The shattering brought Peter back into focus. In shock over the coffee and his equally-explosive rant, Peter stammered, "Oh my god, I'm- I'm so sorry, I- It just- I didn't mean‒"

"Hey, Peter, it's alright," Castine softly reassured him. He was surprised at how easily the mug broke under the teen's grasp, but now wasn't the time to analyze it. He offered some napkins and began to pick up shards from the floor. Castine himself was in shock. He had a feeling that the kid's situation was bleak, but he didn't think it was this bad. From his kneeling position on the ground, Castine glanced up at Peter. The boy hadn't moved and seemed to be staring into space. "Pete, you with me?"

Peter blinked then turned to his calculus teacher. Just then, a realization hit him. "You're going to tell on me, aren't you?"

Castine stood up. "Tell on you?"

"Yeah. Report me. To the counselors or school or whatever."

Castine sighed. As always, Peter was right. Teachers in New York were mandated reporters: he was required to report any suspicions of child abuse or neglect to his superiors. "Peter, the law is in place to help‒"

"You know what? Just forget it. I need to go," Peter said, ignoring Castine. He picked up his schoolbag and walked out the door.