Here to Help

If I was his son

My eyes fell on a box of cinnamon pop tarts. I remember when Dad bought me those, we were celebrating that I got to 80 pounds, a whole 5 pounds more than where I was when he found me. He said I could have a whole box just for me. Immediately I knew that's exactly what I wanted, and my belly grumbled in agreement.

I jumped off the counter and closed the fridge and extra cupboards, feeling a momentary rush of pride at having been able to decide what to eat without help. Something in the back of my mind told me that most people can do that already, but I pushed the thought away, focusing only on the blue box in the cupboard.

But I hesitated when I took it out. Someone will notice if all the pop tarts are gone.

But they're for me, I told myself. Dad bought them for me to have.

But what if Wade wanted some? What if Steve got hungry and needed something to eat?

But there's other food they could have, Dad said--

Maybe I should save these for later. I looked down at the box, biting my lip anxiously. Just in case. Hide them somewhere. So nobody takes them.

No, I'm not supposed to do that anymore--

Put them under the bed with the protein bars--

No, I wasn't supposed to hide those, I have to put them back--

Put them in the lab drawers with the sandwich from two days ago--

I have to throw that away before Dad finds it--

Stash them in the vents with the leftover takeout--

I dropped the pop tarts with a thud on the counter. I didn't even realize my hands had been shaking so bad, but the noise of the box hitting the counter startled me, making me flinch. Thoughts were swirling violently around my head again, only this time I couldn't focus on one to ground myself. Tears stung my eyes, and I fought hard to hold back a sob as I clutched the sides of my head.

"Stop, stop it, stop, stop stop stop stop stop--" I muttered angrily at myself under my breath.

Don't wake up Wade, one of the thoughts whispered.

I quickly clamped a hand over my mouth, but my breathing was starting to get louder and more ragged so I turned and shakily made my way to my room, my hands trembling so much I fumbled with the handle for a moment before getting the door open.

I closed it as quickly and quietly as I could, leaning heavily against it as I tried to muffle the pained noises coming from my throat without my permission. Now, not only was my stomach churning with hunger, it'd started to tie itself into knots, a deep, sharp ache spreading throughout my abdomen as I grew more and more panicked.

"Peter?" a voice said, startling me so badly I gave a yelp that could be heard clearly, even with my hand clamped over my mouth. I scrambled into the corner behind the door, trying to make myself as small as possible, and squeezed my eyes shut.

It was only after a moment that I realized who was speaking and reluctantly let my hand fall from my face and opened my eyes.

"H-Hi Friday," I said, cheeks burning at the high squeak my voice was making.

"Hello Peter. Apologies for frightening you."

"I-It's okay, I'm f-fine," I said. I don't really know why I said it when it was so blatantly obvious that I wasn't "f-fine." I'm hiding in the corner behind my door, of course I'm not fine.