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The first time he had hurt himself was an accident. Peter swore it was.
He was frustrated. Overwhelmed. He didn't have anyone he could turn to. Lie. He was digging his nails into his palms, and the sting helped. It burned, it hurt, and it helped.
He didn't realize that what he was doing was a bad thing. He had only discovered this distraction tactic by accident. He just pressed his nails into his palm, basking in the pain, before going on with his day.
The second time was… more intentional.
He was stressed, and it had helped last time, so it wouldn't hurt if he used pain as a means to focus, would it? Besides, it was under control.
So he did.
Every time he felt his mind wandering off the book he was studying, he pinched himself, trying to snap back to the subject at hand.
What came after that wasn't the same, however.
It was more desperate. He needed it; he didn't just need to use it, he needed the pain because it was distracting. Physical pain to stop emotional pain. Worked good enough, didn't it?
It got more serious with time. Digging his nails into his palms became pinching, which became hitting himself and leaving bruises, which became… cutting.
The spider bite only made everything much easier. Each cut healed just hours after they were made, and nobody knew.
He timed it perfectly, right after school, before May was back from her shift.
He changed the spots he cut to make them look like wounds from patrols as Spider-Man. His shoulders, hips, waist. He could easily pass off the occasional leftover scar as an amateur mistake.
Sometimes, he spent late nights on patrol up on the roofs of tall buildings, staring down at the world below, the passing cars, thinking of how peaceful it would be to just jump.
But, of course, he couldn't.
The people of Queens relied on him.
May relied on him.
And Tony wouldn't be thrilled if he were to kill himself.
Peter paused. ‘If he were to kill himself’. When had it gotten to that point?
Peter didn't think he would make it to his 18th birthday by any means. He knew that he'd either get himself killed, or kill himself.
The latter was unlikely.
He couldn't do that to May.
He needed to keep everything under wraps. Nobody could find out about his problems, or the fact that he cuts himself, or his suicidal thoughts.
It wasn't that serious, anyway.
Besides, even if people did find out, nothing would happen. May wouldn't be able to afford a therapist (not that Peter wanted to go to one), and he'd most likely get locked away in a psych ward.
He was a danger to himself.
The thought was oddly thrilling. He let out a hysterical laugh, sitting atop a tall building, his legs dangling over the edge.
“Look what you got yourself into,” Peter hummed to himself. “Look what you did.”
His hand hovered over his forearm before he began scratching the relatively fresh cuts, tearing the scabs off. Peter felt the wounds reopen, a sharp, burning pain panging through his forearm.
He felt the blood slowly puddle.
He deserved it.
He glanced over the edge of the building.
What an anticlimactic end this would be. No note, no motive. Nothing.
I could jump right now. Nobody can stop me. It takes one step, and-
He stood, glaring down at the ground. He began pacing in circles, thoughts swirling in his head.
He took out his phone.
Firstly, to Tony.
Hey. I know we don't do the whole touchy-feely thing, but you were like a father to me. I'll miss you.
Then, May.
Hi, Aunt May. I'm so sorry that I'm doing this to you, but there's nothing else I can do. I'm sorry that I'm not sorry. I should be, but I'm not. I needed to do this. I love you.
Then, the group chat with Ned and MJ.
Hey, guys.
I'm sorry for doing this.
I love you two.
Take care. Please.
He took a deep breath.
The thing he should've been scared about wasn't the fact he was going to jump, but rather the fact he wasn't scared about it. Just… oddly accepting.
He threw his phone to the ground and crushed it with his foot, stomping and breaking it.
Then, he finally stepped over to the edge.
He smiled, a bittersweet thing.
Without another thought, he let himself fall.
Air whooshing past him.
The peaceful seconds pass in bliss.
Then, finally, the ground was right there, and-
~Fin~