Spider-Man | Doesn't Need Help

PROLOGUE

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

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

  I touched the back of my head, quickly realizing there was a liquid on my hand, probably blood. Damn French teacher! It’s all his fault. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have been late. And now I had to be punished for it.

  I couldn’t see, but I heard my tormentor start coming down the stairs. Just the sound of it made me want to cry.

  But I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I couldn’t show him that I was hurting because of him.

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

  The basement where I had to be punished once again.

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

  A basement where many people lost their lives. Helpless, innocent people who still had so much ahead of them, but because of Mr. Adams, they lost their lives just because he was bored. He did it for pleasure, and that was sickening to me.

  I involuntarily closed my eyes as the man picked me up and threw me onto the table, ensuring he had a perfect view of my entire back.

  I smiled slightly. What my tormentor was about to do was my favorite form of torture, because it didn’t make me lose consciousness, and it was easy to hide.

  I gritted my teeth tightly as I felt the first lit cigarette being pressed against my back. It burned like hell, but the first one always hurt the most; after that, it got easier.

  Quite often, I wondered why Mr. Adams specifically spent money on cigarettes to punish me. But I didn’t complain. I had no right to.

  As I thought, it did get better. It burned like hell, 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 getting bored with what he was doing. Eventually, I stopped feeling the heat against my burning skin.

  I exhaled softly as I heard the man slowly walk away, but I didn’t straighten up until I heard the door close upstairs.

  He locked me in here again.

  I moved my shoulders back, wincing immediately, and only then did a single tear roll down my cheek.

  I sat against the wall, keeping my back from touching it. And then, I sat there.

  I sat and waited. I was waiting 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. I needed to avoid being hit on the back with all sorts of things. Because then it could have been bad. Again.

  I closed my eyes and slowly leaned against the cold stone wall.

  Okay, let’s start from the beginning. Once again.

  My name is Peter Parker, and he happens to be dead. My life is not a life. I have no life; I have nothing. All I have is the suffering the whole world says I deserve. And nothing will change their or my opinion; many people in my short life have made that clear to me all too well. Unfortunately, I have emotions I’ve been trying to deny for a long time. I didn’t show them, and day by day, I felt them less and less.

To sum it up: I’m Peter Parker, and I’m 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