Who's This?

27

Everything was silent. Peter couldn't hear the cars outside; he couldn't hear his obnoxious argumentative neighbors; he couldn't hear his own thoughts; but most of all, he couldn't hear his aunt. May layed stilll with no sign of life remaining in her body, no talking or teasing or laughing coming out of her. Peter's brain had completely shut off, causing him to topple over onto his side so that he was completely collapsed on the floor. After spending what felt like hours holding back, Peter broke out into a sob, his entire body quivering with every heartbroken howl. Every time he breathed in his entire body would shake, and when he breathed out it would seize, causing aches and pains everywhere.

Choking on his tears and lack of air, Peter roughly coughed, causing him to sit up to try and gain control over his lungs. He tried, he really tried, to calm down and think logically but it wasn't working. He was failing yet again, and he wasn't even surprised.

Peter clawed at his clothes and hair, suddenly too sensitive to the textures of them rubbing on his skin. One hand tugged at his hair in an attempt to pull anything and everything out, while the other tore his shirt apart, throwing them across the room. Peter couldn't think. He couldn't hear his own thoughts over his sobbing and bursting heart, and he couldn't feel anything due to him feeling everything. His senses were in overdrive and he didn't know what to do.

His neck was buzzing, his ears were tingling, his fingers were pulsating; he tried to tune it out just as he was doing with every other feeling, however, it wouldn't go away. Suddenly, Peter heard a small thump, immediately startling him from his breakdow, causing him to glance around the room but he found nothing that could've made the sound. Then, the buzzing and tingling and pulsating became stronger. Peter felt a tug, a yanking sensation, urging him to look back towards his aunt, and even though that was the last thing he wanted to do, he did it anyways. She lay exactly the same as before, but Peter felt something different.

Taking a deep breath Peter shuffled closer to May, anxiously removing her shoes and socks from her feet. He wasn't sure what he was doing but his instincts were taking control and he couldn't stop it. Peter slowly placed his fingers around her ankle, hopelessly grasping to any chance she would come back to life and everything would be okay. It was barely a second before Peter felt it: the slow, soft, and weak pulse vibrating from her ankle.

Suddenly, he was on the phone with the 911 operators, telling them his address all while gently placing his torn up shirt to May's wounds. Suddenly, May was being placed onto a stretcher and wheeled out of the apartment, Peter mindlessly following behind the EMT's. Suddenly, he was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, watching as doctors and nurses strategically ran around talking to one another.

Peter didn't know how long he had been sitting thoughtlessly, bouncing his leg up and down and fiddling with his fingers, before he felt a buzz coming from his pocket. Somehow, amidst the chaos, he had remembered to bring his phone with him. For the first time in who knows how long, Peter was brought back to the present, finally allowing his thoughts to process and make sense. Shakily tapping on his phone screen, Peter read the text message he had just received.

:Ms Nat :)>

Hey, Peter, what're you up to tonight?>

Peter stared at the message: On one hand he wanted to keep everything to himself, not wanting to burden his friend with his problems; on the other hand, he desperately wanted someone to tell him that everything would be okay. Sighing, he began writing his response.

<Peter:

<I'm at the hospital right now.

:Ms Nat :)>