Spider-Man | Doesn't Need Help

CHAPTER 9

  I slightly opened my eyelids, immediately sensing that something was wrong.

  I was lying down. But it wasn’t the old, thin, and uncomfortable mattress. I was lying on something soft, and for the first time since winter had begun, although spring had just started, I felt warm.

  I felt really good, but where was I…

  Slowly, I opened my eyes more, until I finally saw the perfectly white ceiling. It was only now that the sound of an annoying beeping reached my ears.

  Where the hell was I?

  Suddenly, the last memories before I lost consciousness started to come back to me.

   I quickly sat up, immediately looking around. I was in a small room, and I immediately recognized it as a hospital room.

  My breath quickened, causing the machines next to my bed to emit an even more annoying sound than before, and with my enhanced hearing, it was becoming unbearable.

  I shifted my gaze toward the door, from behind which I heard footsteps. I wasn’t wrong because, moments later, a man entered, dressed in a white coat, with matching pants and shoes. He also had a mask on his face, the same color as the walls, which he immediately removed as soon as he closed the door.

  I looked at him uncertainly and distrustfully. I’ve been afraid of doctors since I was little and just didn’t trust them.

  "Good morning, Peter," he greeted me kindly, smiling.

  I put on an indifferent expression, slightly furrowing my brows.

  Rule number three. Never trust adults; you can only rely on yourself. — It was one of my basic principles. Honestly, I didn’t have to try hard to follow them. It just came naturally…?

  "What am I doing here?" I asked, my voice emotionless.

  The doctor, still smiling, walked closer and sat on the stool next to my bed.

  He sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and slouching.

  "Listen, Peter" he started, looking at me with pity in his eyes, which I hated. — I can’t tell you too much right now; the psychologist will be here soon, and…

  "How did I get here?" I interrupted, feeling more and more uneasy.

  The last thing I remembered was during my punishment, when Mr. Adams started kissing me with a gun. I didn’t remember anything else.

  The young doctor furrowed his brows slightly, tilting his head.

  "You don’t remember, Petey. Can I call you that?"

  "I don’t remember anything." I answered, responding to one of his two questions. "The last thing I remember is how…" I stopped abruptly.

  What was I supposed to tell him now? Mr. Adams would kill me if I ratted him out.

  "How Edward Adams was abusing you,"  he stated, and I was speechless.

  I lowered my gaze to the floor… But... I didn’t understand any of it. How did anyone find out? After all… They couldn’t find me for damn four years. They didn’t want to...

  "Calm down, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so blunt," he stammered, and I realized that the terribly incompetent doctor probably just inserted himself into the conversation. "Sorry, I… I can’t talk about things like this." He sighed, defeated.

  I rolled my eyes.

  "Back to the point," he cleared his throat. "Later today, if you’re up to it, you’ll talk to the psychologist." He fell silent.