Electric Web (A Peter Parker Fanfiction)

Old Friends (Part 15)

Warnings; MDNI 18+, Swearing, Mentions of past homelessness, descriptions of blood, Descriptions of wounds, Mentions of guns, mentions of drugs, Mentions of past torture, mentions of past domestic violence, Mentions of past trauma. Each chapter will have it's own warnings!! I am not an ER nurse, so I did my best, but I'm not an expert. I am but a girl with google. If I missed anything, let me know!

W/C; 7K

---------------------------------------

My eyes snap open, my chest hurting as I gasp desperately for air, scrambling to sit up. I grip the bedsheets, my chest, my shirt, anything to ground me back in reality. My mind races, flashing between the nightmare I just woke up from, and memories from being in that basement.

The sight of my own room starts to bring me back to reality as I swallow and gasp for air, trying to get my breathing to go back to normal. I breathe in as much as I can, my breath slowly finding a somewhat normal rhythm as I put my head in my hands. 

You're safe now. You're home, in your bed, and Mason is in prison.

It's been almost a week since I've been out of the hospital. And most days, unfortunately, I've been woken up by some of the worst nightmares I've ever had. And that's saying something. Usually, it's not even what actually happened to me, it's just weird, vague, confusing bits and pieces mushed together that wakes me up in a cold sweat, or gasping for air, or screaming at the top of my lungs.

Luckily, Peter wasn't home when that happened.

Last nights was definitely interesting. I was in the basement, cold, on the hard rough floor just like I remember. But, everything was stretched out in a strange way around me, too wide, too dark. Mason stood in the far corner of the room. Too still, too grey, with his mouth and eyes just a little too wide, his face sunken in a little too much.

I shudder, shaking my head in a futile attempt to physically shake out the memory. 

My stomach growls, thankfully distracting me for a moment. I rub my face as gently as I can, doing my best to avoid the still healing bruise on my cheek. I don't think I've had a normal meal in weeks. After, I don't know, 3, maybe 4 days, Mason forced me to eat at least a slice of bread, with a little bit of peanut butter and made me drink a glass of water. I had been refusing the food he was giving me, but he insisted that me starving wouldn't be good for his 'experiment' and would physically force the food down my throat, even though I bit him and spit at him the first few times.

He would repeat that every few days, but I can't remember exactly how often. I had to give in eventually. As much as I didn't want to accept food from him, I didn't want to starve to death, either. Luckily, the bread and peanut butter every few days kept me from doing so, and eventually, I started accepting it every other day, and then a little bit every morning.

Captivity really breaks you down.

I stand at the stove, my stomach churning and flipping as I smell the bacon frying in the pan. I'm so hungry that the smell of food makes me sick. I ate Crackers and Jell-O in the hospital. Since then, I haven't been able to eat much more than that at home, but I miss regular meals so desperately, and I can't keep eating crackers and drinking smoothies forever. 

The feeling of a hand on my shoulder makes me gasp, jumping, and whipping around before my brain catches up to my body.

"Woah, hey," Peter pulls away quickly, holding his hands up as he steps back. "It's just me, pinky." He holds out one of his pinky fingers, smiling down at me reassuringly as my eyes trail down to his hand.