Hold Onto Me 'Cause I'm a Little Unsteady

Chapter Ten

Sorry for the extreme delay yall. I'm not going to bore you with excuses as to why I haven't been updating, but I'm going to hopefully get back on schedule this weekend!

*

Peter curls into himself tighter than ever, wishing he could curl so tight he could simply cease to exist. Flip himself inside out and disappear.

The hunger gnaws at his insides like a lion begging to escape by ripping his stomach to shreds. A constant pain.

But it's almost comforting.

The constant of the hunger.

Not much has felt constant lately, at least he has the hunger.

Elodie and Luc haven't been around. Peter worries sometimes that maybe they're dead, but he always stops that train of thought before he gets very far. He's not going to worry about the people who got him into this situation in the first place.

But he almost misses them, if he's letting himself be honest. He misses their French accents and Elodie's clicking heels, and their cruelty within reason. Because at least they'd talk to him. At least they'd use his name occasionally. At least they'd look at him look a human being. A terrible human being, but it's better than being looked at like a monster. Like a disease.

And they'd let him eat. They'd bring him food whenever he cried out of starvation. They'd bring him orange juice boxes and proteins bars. -He's already decided that if he ever gets out of here, he's never having either of them again. He'll make them banned from the house- He stops his thoughts again.

He doesn't let himself think of anything along the lines of home or his parents or his siblings. He can't have that sort of emotional vulnerability.

He's made a list.

Of all the things he doesn't let himself think about.

1. Dad

2. Pops

3. Harley

4. Morgan

5. Home

6. FRIDAY

7. Spider-Man

8. Elodie and Luc

9. Ned and MJ

He's left them broad enough that it covers most things. Like movie nights and their family sleepovers and Iron Man and Captain America and Morgan's stuffed animals and Harley's snarky humour and Tony's homemade pasta and Steve's desserts and-

No. He stops himself quickly.

He can't think of that.

Not when the thoughts make his throat close up and his heart stutter and makes him think of freedom- he adds that to the list quickly. Number Ten, no thinking about freedom.

He's tried but it's useless. He's weak and pathetic. Freedom isn't possible. Maybe ever. He needs to come to terms with that before it's too late. It's not like he really has a choice.

What he would trade to have that just one more time... He would trade the world to feel the sun on his skin or the grass beneath bare feet or even just to hear his dad's voice one more time.

No.

He can't think of that.

If he keeps thinking of those things...

He's not sure he'll make it much longer.

*

The small room where Peter stays curled up in the farthest corner from the door smells of dirt and sweat. Maybe Peter had been sweating. He can't remember. He's too dehydrated to sweat anymore.