Peter felt empty.
A shell that could shatter any moment, if too much pressure was built on it.
He was beyond tired. He felt as if he had cried for hours, his eye lids heavy. A pit sat in his stomach, Oy dread building up.
He didn't do anything against it. What was the point trying?
He had enough.
Enough being happy go lucky, enough being comedic relief, enough acting like a child. He just wanted out. If he was honest, he didn't even know why, or what out meant to him. He just knew he wanted it.
He started growing quieter over time, enclosed, and built walls.
He sat in bed, looking up at the covered glow-in-the-dark-stars ceiling. Music played quietly in the background, hands folded over his stomach. He rolled his head to the side and sighed.
"Why am I like this..." he mumbled and rolled on his side, curling himself up to a ball. He stared at his hand, his mind empty.
Something glinted from behind it. He focused on the object and saw the razor. He had forgotten to put it away the night before. He got up and put it away in one of his drawers. As he did that, his eyes wandered down to his arms, thin scars adorning his wrists, going all the way up to his forearm. They weren't deep. He didn't want to hit a major artery or vein. All he wanted was to draw blood and watch the thick deep red liquid contrast his pale skin.
Bored out of his mind, he grabbed his suit and left the building, not bothering to inform his family where he was heading. FRIDAY would probably tell them he had left.
He forgot to turn off the music, but he was sure it would stop eventually.
He gave it no second thought as he swung from building to building.
In front of one of the convenience stores, he perched himself on one of the buildings, stretching his legs. He bent down and reached towards the ground, a yawn escaping his lips.
Coming back up and stretching his arms behind his head, he jumped off the roof anf walked into the convenience store. He paid no attention to the gaping cashier abs made a beeline to the drinks. He grabbed a cola and a packet of gummies, paid, and left once more.
Midst-bite in a gummy bear, he felt his spider sense alerting him.
He sighed and placed his food down, then swing towards whatever the problem was.
Right around the corner we're some robbers trying to rob a bank.
Peter, not wanting to prolong the fight, decided to keep his snarky remarks and catch them by surprise, we then to the ceiling and call the cops.
Once that was done, he returned to his food and headed back to the tower.
On his way, however, he was met with another robbery, this time at a museum. An art museum.
He groaned and landed. "Don't they have anything better to do?" He mumbled, annoyed.
But there weren't just three, like in the bank. No, there were ten men.
"Oi! Didn't your moms teach you to not stay out past curfew?" He asked, gaining their attention.
"Get him!" A large bulky guy- which he guessed was their boss- yelled, pointing a thick finger at the masked hero. Two of them charged, which he easily took out with assign kick and a punch.
Three of the men pointed guns.
Peter's eyes widened slightly. Shit. He should've been a bit more careful in how he handled the situation.
He opted for shooting webs at the guns, effectively stopping them from pulling the triggers. He missed the third man, the web landing on his arm. The bulky man shot twice, startled by the action. Peter was able to dodge the first bullet, but the second his his side. He hissed at the sharp sting, feeling his now warm side from the fresh blood.
Peter ignored it and charged, taking one of the men between his thighs and swinging him to the ground, just as his Aunt Nat taught him.
The fight went on for a good twenty minutes. Peter finally brought them all down and webbed them up.
He swung back. He climbed through his bedroom window and tore his mask off, gasping for air. He was tired and sore, bruises and cuts all over his body. His suit had a few tears, as on of the men had a knife.
The music had stopped. The room was dead quiet.
He sighed and threw his suit to the corner of the room, then went to the bathroom and turned the tub's faucet on. He watched the water gush out and fill the tub, an empty look in his eyes. Once the tub was full and to the heat of his liking, he stepped in, biting his tongue from screaming as he felt the water hit his wounds.
He sat in the tub.
Just sat there.
Doing nothing.
Just sitting in the water, watching as his blood mixed with the clear liquid.
He brought his knees up to his chest and placed his head on them.
The bathroom was silent, the only sound being Peter's quiet breathing.
He had fallen asleep.
He woke up hours later, water cold.
He rubbed his eyes and squinted, the bright bathroom light too bright. He blinked a few times and got out, then got dressed in a large hoodie snd grey shorts and emptied the tub, watching the bloody water go down the drain.
The pit in his stomach was still there, gnawing and taunting him.
He ignored it.
Peter walked out into the hallway, looking if someone was still up.
All lights were out. He grabbed his phone and turned on the flashlight. The tower was eerily quiet, as expected at 4am. He walked down the hall and down to the kitchen, his feet pitter pattering softly against the wooden floor.
He opened a cupboard and took out a glass, filling it to the brim with water. He sipped from the edges and made his way back up.
Nearly back at his room, he almost screamed and let everything fall.
There stood Loki in his full bedhead glory.
"Uncle Loki! What are you doing up?" He whisper yelled.
"I could ask the same thing." Loki retorted, crossing his arms.
"Water."
"Hm."
Peter walked past him. Loki harshly grabbed his wrist.
Peter hissed in pain, yanking it away.
"What?!"
"Where were you. I can tell you're hurt, by the way you're limping."
"None of your business."
"Tell. Me."
"I was out."
"Show me your wounds."
"No."
"Show. Them. To me." He wasn't asking. It was a demand. Peter grumbled and motioned for Loki to follow.
He sat down oh his bed and pulled his hoodie off, turning his wrists down to hide the cuts best he could. Loki noticed and yanked Peter's wrists, making the teen yelp in both pain and surprise.
Loki frowned, his hard gaze softening.
"Peter..."
"I don't want to hear it." Peter snapped. He opened his mouth to say something then shut it again. He then said, "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you."
Loki said nothing, caressing his thumb over the thin scars.
"Don't be sorry." Loki muttered. He let go of his wrists. "You wanna talk about it?"
Peter shook his head.
"No thanks.."
He averted his eyes to the ground. He could feel Loki's eyes on him.
"And these?" He pointed at the recent ones from the fight.
"Fight. Caught some robbers trying to steal from the museum."
"Hm. You should bandage those up."
"I will. Can you... leave now? I'd like some alone time."
The room fell silent.
Finally, Loki decided to answer.
"Okay. I'll go back to bed. Get some rest, alright? You've got school tomorrow." Loki leaned down and kissed his nephew's forehead.
Peter nodded, not lifting his sight. He heard Loki's footsteps from fainter, until they were completely gone. He slumped down on his bed, an arm over his eyes. He let his arm then fall above him on his pillow.
He was back to staring at his ceiling.
-
So uh.. that happened. I finally decided to post after who knows how long! I'm sorry if the chapter was kinda boring...
This chapter was more of a vent really. I wrote this because this is kinda how I feel. Empty. Idk.
Anyways, I hope you guys can forgive me for staying away so long! I hope I can post more in the future!
So that's all I have to say, so... yeah.
Mari out.