13

                                    

                                          
Sad? 
                          
Happy? 
                          
Satisfied? 
                          
Angry? 
                          
Pain? 
                          
Which of those? 
                          
Peter stared blankly at the wall in front of him. 
                          
It felt... Nice. 
                          
A feeling he never knew he needed to feel. 
                          
It was more than satisfaction.
                          
More than happiness. 
                          
Maybe, more like a craving? 
                          
A craving, for the feeling that he needed so badly. 
                          
The pain felt so good. 
                          
Peter averted his eyes, glancing down at his arm. 
                          
His blood-filled arm. 
                          
And a smile slowly appeared on his face. 
~•~•~• 
Am I really going to this? 
                          
It's not like Mr Stark will be here to care. Or any Avengers. 
                          
But what about Mama and Papa? 
                          
They aren't here, they won't know. 
                          
Karen can inform them. 
                          
But no communications allowed. So they won't know. 
                          
Yes.  
                          
Yes, I'm really going to do this. 
~•~•~• 
Peter hissed in pain, as the blade cut through his arm. 
                          
He could see his skin healing fast, but he didn't care. 
                          
It was too good to ignore. 
                          
So he brought the blade across his arm again, wincing from the slight prick. 
                          
But other than that, he was fine.
                          
Happy. 
                          
He liked it. 
                          
He liked the feeling. 
                          
Addictive. 
                          
Blood oozed out gently, and Peter watched as the cut slowly closed. 
                          
It would probably scar, but it was nothing major. He could always wear hoodies. 
                          
Upon seeing the wound close, he cut himself again, this time, on his other arm. 
                          
And again, and again. 
                          
After 3 more cuts, he placed the knife down. Getting up, he took some tissue to clean up the blood, while his fast healing set to work. 
                          
Plopping himself on the bed, Peter examined the knife. It was a special one, the first knife Natasha had ever given him. 
                          
It was her favourite knife, and now it was Peter's. 
                          
Peter cleaned the blade gently, before putting it under his pillow like Natasha taught him to. 
                          
And with a still-healing arm and a smile, Peter laid down and fell asleep.