TW : mention of deadnaming, self harm, dark thoughts, mention of bullying and death.

“I’m sorry Peter,” she spurts catching him off guard, “I’m sorry for shouting at you earlier, and I’m even more sorry for calling you this name. I’m sorry for not listening to you. I can’t believe I really thought you would behave so badly, when Ben and I were the one who raised you, when you were and still are the nicest of all the kids on earth.” 

A single tear falls down of her eye as the teen looks at her, confused. He doesn’t get why she would say that now, why she would admit this, nor why she would apologize. She was right after all, he is just a horrible person, so why would she say that ?

“He told me” she continues, looking away an instant before caressing him with her glaze again, “your uncle told me everything. He told me how those kids were making your life at school  living hell, how you were always so stress  for them to know about your parents or your old name ; he told me everything, the hidden bruises and tears, the cries he caught at night, the insults, the pressure.” She shakes her head, another tear rolling down her face. “I’m not mad at you Peter. I never should have told you all those horrible things, or even to leave. This apartment, it’s your home. I am your home, and I can’t handle the thought of you walking down the streets like you did it, all alone in the dark, only to end your day this way. I can’t handle imagining what happened, and I hate that you had to live this by my fault. I’m so sorry Peter, I truly am dear. Because you’ve already been through Hell, and you just walk through it again, because you deserve the best things in this worlds, and if I could change everything that happened, I would. I love you so much, my little boy, my little nephew…”

Her head fall on Peter’s shoulder as she says her last sentences, crying silently. His body feels numb, he doesn’t know how to react to her words, he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell her it’s not her fault, he wants to tell her he regret never being able to confess what was happening to him. He wants to tell her so much yet he has no voice, no words. So he hugs her, he holds on tight, letting the silence take place in the room.

He should have known his uncle would stand up for him, and the thought makes him smile. The man was everything to him. And if he truly loves his aunt, it was different with Ben, because he found in his uncle a best friend, a protector, a rock, a confidant.

He knew everything about his nephew, guessing most of it and always being here for him. It’s him who first saw that he would bind for way too long, it’s him who saw the first bruises on his skin, it’s him who came in the middle of the night when the teen would cry himself to sleep. And it’s him who listened to him when he first wanted to stop his life. Never did the man get mad at him, never did he betrayed his trust - even though Peter is sure May knows about some things - never did he let himself down. And now the teen doesn’t how he will do without him.

They stay in this position in a couple of minutes, before aunt May slowly get up again, sitting straight in her chair. She takes Peter’s hand in hers, smiling with a true expression of love in her eyes - and the boy feels like he could cry on the spot. How could he doubt her love for him ? How could he ever think she would be that bad of a parent, that bad of a person, lying both to her nephew and her husband ? Guilt pinches his heart, smiling fondly back at her, trying not to notice the way her eyes are all puffy and red.

As he was going to speak, May suddenly moves, getting up and walking to her purse, looking like she forgot something important. The teen watches her searching in her stuff, trying not notice the absence of his binding on the clothes pile right next to her. In a matter of second, aunt May comes back, a bottle of water in her hand, sitting on the chair again.

“I forgot to give you something to drink,” she explains as if she wasn’t crying a moment ago, “even though I knew how sore you throat would feel…”. A spark of guilt passes in her eyes, as Peter watch her open the bottle and handing it to him.

He remains silent when he catches it, nodding as a thank you before drinking abundantly. The taste in his mouth is horrible, and he frown as he keep drinking, appreciating way too much the way the pain in his throat slowly decrease. It feels like being able to breathe or to speak normally again, and he smiles, loving to discover again the way it doesn’t hurt anymore. He hands it back to his aunt once he feels like he can’t drink anymore, not caring about the feeling of hunger that is twisting his stomach - he had chocolate before he passed out, and he will not bother May even more because he wants to eat something. He lets his eyes narrows again as she puts the bottle away, his face losing its light when he thinks about his binder and the following days again.

“They had to cut it,” the voice of his aunt breaks the silence, soft, making him turns his head to look at her. Her smile as sad, and it feels to him that she knows what he is thinking about, how hard it will be. He can also see more guilt, as if it was her fault they had to cut it or he couldn’t have another binder. “They had to do everything to help you to breath. You were in such a shock, a panic state, that you were suffocating. And, as the binder was restricting everything, and as you were wearing it for way too long - nearly, thirteen hours, if not more Peter, I think I should lecture you about this - it was their only solution. You have bruises on your ribs, and apparently it’s a miracle that they did not break”. He smiles oddly as she finishes her explanation.

He knew it already, it was previsible, but it still hurts to imagine having to go without binding now.

He mouths a ‘thank you’ to May, not really knowing what for, and she smiles before pushing a button to call a nurse - they should have done it sooner, obviously, seeing the reaction she has when she arrives. Peter barely listens to her, only understanding that he will stay in the hospital for the night, that he passed out for a whole day, and he was not allowed to bind during one or two weeks - he almost laughed at the poor woman when she says that, wanting to tell her that anyways he will not be able to have a binder before months if not a year because they cut his only one and because he doesn’t have the money to afford it ; but he remains silent, nodding in agreement.

He doesn’t realize the time is passing, only noticing that he should be asleeps when he sees his aunt sleeping again in the chair, with a blanket the nurse kindly gave her on. However, he lays in his bed, eyes open. He doesn’t know what he feels or what to think : it’s like his body is too tired for him to be in pain or conscious about anything.

Lazily, his eyes fall on his stuff again, and he finds his attention being catched by the little package near to his bag. It’s almost instantaneous, he falls in the same mind state as yesterday night, when it all went wrong - and he knows it can’t end well today either. But he watches and watches and watches the blades, their brightness reflecting the moonlight. He is aware that he is in a hospital, that he shouldn’t, that May is right next to him sleeping peacefully but the thought is here and he doesn’t know how to fight it. It’s everywhere in his mind, a urge forcing his body to stand up even though his legs feel like like jelly and he almost fell once his feet touch the ground. He knows he shouldn’t, that they’re going to see it, that it’s a bad idea, but he finds himself walking towards the chair, towards what seems to be freedom. 

Before he knows it, he ends up in the bathroom attached to his room - he didn’t even realize there was a bathroom in there - and he holds himself to the sink, avoiding his glance in the mirror. He sees himself back when he was younger, all those times he was in the same situation, and it feels even more wrong right this instant.

Before, he was able to feel at least a little confident in his body, knowing it wasn’t the one he was supposed to be in but that one knew except his family. Before, he wasn’t feeling this guilty. Before there weren’t all of those bad words engraved in his mind. Before, he was almost feeling fine.

But now, now, it’s so worse. He can feel his chest again the fabric of whatever he wears, he can feel the soreness of his ribs, he can hear the breathing of his aunt, only reminding him how much they just lost. It’s all too much, and combined with everything he thought yesterday, he can’t help it.

He opens the package, growling softly while he struggles, and takes one of the object in his hand. It’s cold, as cold as his heart and his soul, and it’s really hard not to lose control when he knows it all depends on this little piece metal. It’s hard not to paint in red the sink and his body, but the image of his uncle covered in this color haunts him and he almost drops the blade. His breathing is fast, and he makes everything he can to slow it, to gain control - but can’t. He feels this weird thing again, as if he wasn’t the one controlling himself, as if he wasn’t in charge of his body and his life, and he hates it. He hates it so much he poses the metal against his skin, and putting just a little bit of pressure, not thinking twice before tracing a line.

The thing is, the relief is not here. It’s not here and it makes angry, angrier that he can’t even find control again in the pain - which has always been like friend when it wasn’t an enemy to him, caused by others. He can’t find the control he is craving for and soon he starts drawing on his skin, the same way an artist would draw all the lines to form his best masterpiece. Slowly, he loses his sense of reality, acting automatically. He doesn’t know when he stopped or went back to his bed. He doesn’t know how much he drew this night, nor how he managed to hide and clean it. All he knows is that the following morning, he is going back home wearing the biggest of his hoodies, the sleeves covering even his hands ; he keeps a little smile on his face to reassure and comfort aunt May, though he doesn’t feel any better.

That was the final part of the first chapter. I hope you liked it, feel free to comment or like to let me know.
Stay safe and hydrate,
H.