This is late, it's a mess, and I am sorry, but thank y'all so much for reading and please let me know what you think.
tw: self-harm, suicide mention, depression, anxiety
summary: peter struggles to let tony help him on his journey to healing.
word count: 4063
The razor in Peter's hand was both his best friend and his worst enemy. He loved the way it made him feel but hated himself for loving it and hated the way it controlled him.
Sometimes, it felt like he was getting better. He'd go a few days without touching it, walk into Gino's office and be able to say each time that he was a few days clean. Of course, the repeated report during their weekly sessions meant that Gino knew he'd still been doing it at least once a week. But what he didn't know was that after their Thursday afternoon meetings, Peter that night and the next two days to give into the urge to hurt himself as much as he felt it.
He'd be bleeding once or twice every day over the course of those days, and that would last him until his next appointment.
Of course, he used to do that all week. So this was progress.
He was pretty sure he was making progress, but it was a weird sort of progress where he felt like he was just falling into new patterns of behavior and thought, which were only slightly less harmful than the old ones. He felt like he'd never not be in a cycle of self-destruction.
He had hit the point where he always regretted it these days... the point where there was blood on the razor and blood on his arm dripping from three new cuts, and he suddenly wished he hadn't done it.
He blinked back a rush of tears as he slipped the blade into its hiding place and took a deep breath.
Why was he like this?
"Peter!" May's yell from the hall made him stop breathing for a moment, yanking down his sleeve and rising like the bed was on fire. "Happy's here!"
He swore at the realization. It was Friday. Friday as in his day with Tony, as in the day he was supposed to wait to cut until he got home in the evenings.
It had been a rough day at school, and all he'd been able to think about was the blade that would be his relief at the end of it. It had made him forget all about his plans for the afternoon.
"I'll be out in a second!" He yelled, then grabbing his backpack from where he'd dumped it and pulling it over his shoulders. He couldn't risk rinsing his arm in the bathroom, because he'd have to go in the hall to do it and then what if they asked what he was doing and...
If he just kept his sleeve down, he'd be fine. That was the least suspicious thing he could do.
So he took a deep breath, practiced a smile, and hurried out to the front room to meet his ride.
Happy was standing in the kitchen. May was laughing at something he'd said.
She was leaning against the counter, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. He was smiling, and seemed relaxed.
What the heck was going on?
Trying to wipe the slightly disturbed look off of his face, Peter bounded out of the hall and flashed that practiced smile to the man waiting for him.
"Hey, Happy. Sorry that took a minute... kinda forgot what day it was."
"Don't worry about it, Kid, I had good company."
