Am I... The Villian? {~Book One~} {~2021-2022~}

Chapter Twenty; {~Past Regrets and Present Neglect~}

{~12/07/2021~}
{~Unedited~}
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Ever Enough
{~Book; One~}
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WARNING: ⚠️
{~This chapter contains, Panic Attack, mentions of abuse, self harm, child abuse, swear words, mentions of suicide, death, torture, Memories of the past if I missed any please tell me~}

{~Previously On~}

Third Person Pov~
"He's scared? He was the one who tried to kill me if you didn't know! He was the one who shot a man over a dozen times with a smile on his face!" Peter flinched violently at the sudden raised voices. His hands began to tremble as the words went in one ear and dared not to leave through the next. He knew that voice well, and that added onto the sudden anxious feeling he had felt. Tony was currently in the room next over, presumably fighting with Bruce.

'Did you hear that? Tony's afraid of you. I mean, you did try to kill him after all. You even killed that man in front of him, you enjoyed it too. How are you suppose to be a hero when you find pleasure in killing a man who was begging for mercy.'

Peter felt weight being pressed against him, a suffocating and exhaustingly heavy weight. The boy couldn't move, his body was pinned against the wall. He was weak, unable to puss the presence of the man off of him.

Peter felt hands glide along his bare chest, gently caressing the skin as it ran along each and every scar, each and every mark. Most of which that very person had made.

Peter felt phantom hands pressing against his body, felt the same suffocating weight lurk over his trembling bones. He could hear the heavy breathing of the man, a sound in which never left him. Not one in the months away from him. Peter could hear voices around him, though none of which seemed to process into his mind. Words went in one ear and out the other, unlike the words Tony had previously spoken. They stuck, they repeated, and only grew louder with every passing second.

"N-No h-he was b-bad. H-he-" Peter couldn't argue back with the voice, it was too loud, like gunshots at close range. Peter couldn't do anything besides claw desperately at his ears, begging for them to fall victim to silence. Though they never did. It only grew louder and more unbearable.

'No? He was bad? Look who's talking. Or did you forget what you did to her? How you plunged that dagger through her skin, how you pushed it so far it pierced her heart. Or had you forgot? Forgot what it was like to have the blood of someone you fooled into caring for you blood on your hands?'

Hands snaked their way up Peter's chest, clasping the boys chin in a tight hand, forcing the boy to gaze up at him, to meet his eyes. Oh those eyes, filled with lust and desire, willingness to do what ever to get what he wanted. How could Peter ever forget those eyes, the eyes of one of his rapists.

  'He used you and you let him, you liked it. What gives you the right to say he deserved it? Deserved death?!'

  Peter's breathing hitched once more. He never once enjoyed it, he never once found it pleasurable. He remembered screaming, pleading for him to stop. He remembered the banging on the wall from the man next room over. He remembered it all, though he never remembered it stopping.

  "I-wa-I wanted h-him t-to s-op... I-it hu-hurt." Peter's hands tightened around his ears as he remembered the sickening warmth of Skips breath traveling down his neck. Peter's hand had fashioned down on his ears, clamping them in tight firsts. His nails dug through the skin, resulting in blood leaking through the cracks of his fists.