Highschool Days

Chapter 28

NPOV

Peter woke up with a start, a pang running through his head. "Ugh..." His mind was fogged and with closer inspection, he was laying on the cold hard pavement.  A confused look found its way onto Peter's face.

The pavement felt familiar in some weird way. Peter glanced up and realized he was sitting in front of the Compound. How the hell he got to the Compound: he will never know. Shakily, Peter stood up and he grew dizzy, but he somehow composed himself and hobbled into the building. He got strange stares from workers, but they didn't say anything.

"Jar?" Peter's voice was scratchy and soft. "Yup, major hangover."

"What's wrong with me?"
"You appear to be experiencing a severe migraine. To treat it, get lots of rest, drink plenty of water, and aspirin."

"Great. Fucking Fantastic 4," Peter spat in frustration, stumbling into the elevator at a quick pace. By the time the elevator reached the penthouse floor, Peter had fallen over and was now crawling to his bedroom.

"Ow," Peter moaned tiredly. His legs ached, or more appropriately his butthurt. He cringed when he thought about what could have happened, but brushed it off. Spiderman can't get assaulted. 

Still, Peter went into the bathroom first and tore off his clothes. He couldn't know for sure. He gasped when he saw the yellowish marks all around his body, meaning they had been healing to the point he couldn't actually feel them, just see them."

"Jesus..." Peter breathed. He closed his eyes as he peeled off his underwear. He peered down at himself. Everything appeared...fine, surprisingly! Nothing looked out of the ordinary if you forget the lovebites all over his body.

Peter threw his clothes into the hamper before stepping into the shower, allowing the warm water to run over his body. It stung a bit, but that feeling was washed over and down the drain. Soon enough, Friday came over the intercom. "I would recommend getting out of the shower. It's unhealthy to be inside it for so long."

Peter didn't say anything, letting out a low "Yup." before stepping out, shivering as the bathroom grew cold. He was quick to wrap a towel around his body, popped an aspirin in his mouth, and marched into his room, slipping on some baggy pajamas lazily before collapsing onto his bed.

The painkiller was helping...in the slightest. Peter felt himself dozing off when suddenly--"Oh shit!" Startled, Peter shot up. His legs got tangled in the blanket and he fell onto the floor with a thud. His phone continued to ring inside his purse beside the door.

Peter scrambled to grab his phone, worried he'd wake up Aunt May if she was even home that is. It was Ned, and Peter picked up with a groan. "Ned I'm--" "Peter what happened at the party," Ned's voice was dark and serious.

Almost immediately, Peter didn't feel like he had a headache anymore. He sat up, bringing the phone closer to his ear. "What do you mean? I'm pretty sure I got pranked when I, uh, passed out, but that's about it." Ned was silent, a quiet "Goddamnit" could be heard from the other line.

"Check your computer." Peter's throat felt like it was slowly closing up. "Huh?" "Check. Your. Computer!"

Peter put his phone on speaker, pulling out his laptop, which was underneath his bed. As soon as he brought up youtube, he saw it.

A blurry picture, with his face clearly being pressed down. Hesitantly, Peter pressed the icon and gasped.

The audio was muted, the face that was above his own was pixels covering it, along with a big black (DICK) block covering it. Whoever did this to him didn't want to be identified. His ass was being spread and clapped mercilessly as a knocked out Peter rolled and attempted to cry in discomfort.

The camera constantly shook, someone was clearly holding it. Everything was fuzzy, nothing was clear. Nothing was clearly except his face. Peter's pitiful face stained with tears.

Typing could be heard through the phone, intense typing. "I'm already taking it down myself," Ned reassured. "I-I gotta go," Peter gulped, feeling bile come up his throat. His hands felt clammy, his stomach felt tight but it also felt like it dropped. There was a riot of comments.

Wow, who knew the Stark's kid was such a whore.

Another comment replied to that.

He's not the Stark's kid, just an orphan.

He took it like a slut!

Serves him right.

Haha get absolutely exposed!  XD

First!

What a whore, drink bleach.

Kill yourself.

Who would have known he was a bottom?

You's a hoooo

Peter shot up from his seat, racing for the bathroom. His knees buckled underneath him and he spewed out all his stomach's content into the toilet. He heard the sound of footsteps get closer and tears filled his eyes.

Aunt May raced in, looking worried. "Friday alerted you weren't feeling the aster--oh." Aunt May frowned at his crippled state, quickly sitting behind him and holding back his curls that were threatening to get in his way.

Peter felt even more disgusted with himself. "Hey, it's gonna be okay," Aunt May cooed. "It hurts!" Peter cried. Aunt May pet his hair.

"Maybe it was something you ate or drank, yeah?" Aunt May suggested.

"No!" Peter turned to scream at her, and she froze. Peter paused for a moment, his face scrunching up before turning to face the toilet. "No..." Peter said in a low whisper.

Aunt May finally collected herself before continuing to comfort Peter, rubbing his back and humming a familiar tune, whispering sweet nothings to him as he continued to dry heave. When he finally came to the stop with heavy breathing, Aunt May gently grabbed his chin, making sure he was looking her straight in his eyes.

"Feel better now?" Peter nodded, making it clear he wasn't sure. Aunt May helped him up, studying him as he nearly toppled over but immediately caught himself.

"Go lay down, okay?" Aunt May's voice was gentle and stern, and Peter nodded gloomily before trudging into his room and jumping onto his bed, feeling more exhausted than before. After Aunt May was finished doing what she was doing, she went into the hallway, pressing her ear against Peter's door.

That look Peter gave her when he screamed at her: she recognized that face. That look of fear and sadness. Fearing abandonment and being an outsider.

He had given her that look before, during a broken time. This time I speak of... is.

Aunt May gasped to herself. "Skip..."