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"What's that on your arm?"
Gwen froze. The sleeve of her hoodie had ridden up while she worked at the stove, exposing a bright pink spot on her wrist where one of her canines had dug in the night before. She rubbed at it and tried to sound unconcerned as she replied.
"Huh. I hadn't noticed that. Maybe a bug bite?"
"Huh," Dad shrugged and went back to chopping peppers for dinner. "Well, keep an eye on it. If it gets bigger, let me know."
"Aye aye, captain." Gwen tossed him a lazy left handed salute, taking the chance to tuck her right arm behind her and adjust her sleeve.
Crisis averted. Which meant it was time to start freaking out, apparently. She pictured Dad's face if he found out. Would he be angry? Disappointed? Afraid? His imagined expressions flashed through her mind, each one hitting like a punch to the gut. Fear would be the worst. Her heart broke at the thought of what it would do to him, if he knew what she did to herself.
Almost as quickly as it had set in, the turmoil in her chest faded, replaced by a strange neutrality. But that was worse, that was so much worse. When she reached for her pain, she could feel it there, under the surface, but it was hard to make out, and even harder to hold onto. She squeezed the handle of the skillet til her knuckles went white, fighting the urge to inch her fingers closer to the heat, trying to remember how to stir the seasoned beef so it wouldn't burn.
Dad kept up the chatter from the other side of the kitchen. He cracked a joke. She laughed, smiled. Her voice sounded genuinely warm. But she couldn't find any of that inside. She felt like a robot, taking inputs and producing outputs, mimicking human emotions that she was incapable of experiencing.
By the time the meat in the skillet was done browning, the numbness had become unbearable. Gwen hastily switched off the heat and slid the pan to the back burner. "Be right back, gotta hit the bathroom," she said, already halfway across the room.
Gwen raced to the bathroom, locked the door, and sank to the floor. She pushed her right sleeve up and stared at the pale skin of her inner forearm, breathing hard. A dozen little pink marks stood out in an uneven line, from just above her wrist to just below the crease of her elbow. The sharpest points of her teeth always left those. She knew if she turned her arm and looked hard at the other side, she'd see a matching line, left by her upper row of teeth. A small yellow bruise, the size of a quarter, bloomed in between the two lines. She had never bruised easily, which had come in handy hiding injuries she got as Spider-Woman. It was just as helpful now.
Somewhere beneath the nothingness that shielded her from her pain, Gwen was vaguely aware that she should be trying not to do this. She should be fighting the urge, finding other outlets, talking to someone. But that feeling was just as fleeting as the rest, and once again she was left with only that all-consuming, terrible emptiness.
Gwen gripped her right wrist in her left hand and lifted her forearm to her mouth. She ignored the dulled warning from her spidey sense and bit down hard. The pain flashed through her, burning through the nothing, waking up the parts of her mind that were trying to sleep.
When she thought she had bitten as hard as she could without breaking skin, she took a shuddering breath and bit down again, a few inches to the left of the first mark.
Now she could feel the shame. A sob wrenched through her body, not breaking the grip of teeth on flesh. She was supposed to be Spider-Woman. A hero. She was supposed to be stronger than this. She clenched her teeth harder, feeling the strain in her jaw like a silent scream.
Another bite, closer to the wrist. Careful not to catch the tendons. Tears ran freely down her cheeks as she struggled to keep her heaving breaths quiet. She couldn't keep doing this, couldn't keep letting people down. She wasn't strong enough to protect Peter. She wasn't smart enough to keep her grades together. She wasn't good enough to not disappoint her dad. And this? This would break him. It was only a matter of time before he found out, and it would just be another dagger she'd driven through his heart. Just by being her worthless, selfish, pathetic self.
Another bite, close to her elbow, where there was plenty of flesh, plenty of room on her canvas. Her band deserved a better drummer. Her city deserved a better hero. Her dad deserved a better daughter. But she couldn't be that for any of them. She was just Gwen, just this broken, useless thing.
Her heart suddenly raced with a wild panic, and she hoped her dad didn't love her. If he didn't, then she couldn't hurt him. It wouldn't destroy him when she eventually, inevitably, lost the battle she fought every time she swung across the city skyline. Every time she saw the pavement rushing up to meet her, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up and wait for the impact.
Gwen let her arm drop to her lap. A row of five deep bite marks glared back at her, the skin angry and red between the indents. There was no room left for any more. She could already see which points would still be visible tomorrow, a new line of little pink soldiers. In two days, they'd be gone. All it would take was two days without biting, two days of the bare fucking minimum, and she could show her arms without being afraid. She hadn't let her dad see her arms in weeks.
The numbness would be back, sooner than she hoped. But until then, she could hold onto that familiar, comforting pain in her chest. That pain that was the only way she knew how to be.
She took a deep, shaky breath. Dried her eyes. Pulled her sleeve back down. And rejoined her dad for another evening of not yet breaking his heart.