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I’m tired, Peter thinks. And that’s it, that one thought somehow spirals into a mess. That one thought makes him realize with a jolt, “Oh, there is more than this.”
He doesn’t know where this came from, whether it was rational or not. But whatever the reason, the thoughts start streaming in his brain, drop by drop, searching for a weak spot.
He goes over the events of the past week in his head. Yes, it’s tiring, but he does it. Does it to find the cause, the result, the solution. Not one, but many incidents.
And it hurts.
Because Peter knows that this wasn’t just something that … went away. It was here to stay, and it hurt him. Made life miserable.
It isn’t that he didn’t have anyone around in him to confide in. He just wasn’t sure what was there to talk about. How did talking help if he didn’t know what to talk about?
And, and, what if, they see that he is weak, a mess, just… a load of nothing? And no, he was sure he wasn’t thinking about Spider-man.
Spider-man.
The thought makes him chuckle with mirth.
A part of him that he used to love before and now can only think of it with a catch of his breath. Because he believes that Spider-man offers more to the world than Peter Parker ever will. The thought makes him go weak in his knees.
Shudder.
The thought of Spider-man couldn’t make him breathe now. It turned toxic. The thing he used to love before was now a subject he hoped he never had to broach.
And that wasn’t it.
Spider-man made the voices go louder.
You’re worthless.
You’re worthless, Peter Parker.
An idiot.
You cannot save anyone, only I can.
And, he believes it. With every inch of his soul.
Peter stares out the window, curled up. It feels numb. Cold. Or Hot. He doesn’t know.
He sees the setting sun, red, red, red blinding through.
And he thinks, Maybe, the sun is setting for me too.