Spider-Man | Doesn't Need Help

PROLOGUE

  Hi, I'm Peter Parker. And it just so happens that...

I groaned in pain as I hit the stone floor with great force, feeling myself automatically go weak.

I touched the back of my head, immediately feeling what was probably blood on my hand. Damn French teacher! It was all his fault. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have been late. And now I had to pay the price.

I couldn't see him, but I heard my tormentor begin to descend the stairs. The sound alone made me want to cry.

But I didn't cry. I couldn't. I couldn't show him that he was hurting me.

“You know I have to, right, Peter?” he said gently as he turned on the small lamp that illuminated the entire basement.

The basement where I once again had to be punished.

The basement where I shed a lot of blood and, once, tears.

The basement where many people lost their lives. Defenseless and innocent people who had a lot ahead of them, but because of Mr. Adams, they lost their lives simply because he was bored. The man did it for pleasure, which was sickening to me.

I involuntarily closed my eyes as the man first lifted me up and then threw me on the table so that he had a perfect view of my back.

I smiled slightly. What my captor was about to do next was my favorite torture, because it didn't make me lose consciousness and was easy to hide.

I gritted my teeth as I felt the first cigarette I lit touch my back. It burned. It burned like hell. But the first one always hurt the most; the later ones got better.

I often wondered why Mr. Adams would feel the need to spend money on cigarettes just to punish me. But I didn't complain. I had no right to.

As I thought, things got better afterward. It stung terribly, but I didn't do anything. I stared at the dried blood stain on the table. My blood. I guess.

After about an hour, I knew he was slowly getting bored with what he was doing. That's why, at a certain point, I no longer felt the heat touching my skin.

I exhaled softly as I heard the man slowly walk away. I straightened only when I heard the door upstairs close.

He locked me in here again.

I rolled my shoulders back, immediately wincing. Only then did I allow a single, solitary tear to roll down my cheek.

I sat against the wall, trying not to let my back touch it. And then I sat.

I sat and waited. I waited for the man who had kidnapped me from the orphanage four years ago to kindly release me.

I sighed quietly, thinking that in the near future I had to be as careful as possible to avoid another punishment. To avoid being hit on the back with all sorts of things. Then things could get ugly. Again.

I closed my eyes, slowly leaning against the cold stone wall.

Okay, let's start from the beginning. One more time.

My name is Peter Parker, and I happen to be dead. My life is not life. I have no life, I have nothing. I only have the suffering that the world believes I alone deserve.

Nothing will change their minds, or mine. Many people in my short life have made that clear to me all too well.

Unfortunately, I have emotions I've been trying to get rid of for a long time. I haven't shown them. Day by day, I've been feeling them less and less.

To sum up: I am Peter Parker and I am nobody.

   ______________________________

hey hey hey
I'll just say that I don't speak English, but I was persuaded to translate and publish in English, so that's what I'm trying to do. hshshshs
  I apologize for any mistakes, and the only thing I can say is that I try to publish chapters every 2/3 days🥰
  ok, that's it for the beginning, see you next time, my black pancakes