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Everything is pain. Life is pain.
Okay, Peter's being a little dramatic; but really, whoever created periods deserves to be banned from existence.
Actually, whoever created the spider that bit him deserves the death sentence. For the first three years of having his period, it was never bad. Light flow, minimal cramps. Then he got bit and everything turned around.
Sure, his flow is even lighter now. His guess is it's something to do with the fact spiders are made to preserve more liquids. He never really bleeds as heavily as he should. He measured it once when he got stabbed, his blood took about double the time to start showing through the bandage he was using than it should have. Double.
And Peter would consider that a good thing, if not for the fact his pain went the opposite route. It is so fucking bad. Peter has to take, like, five aspirin just to be able to move most of the time.
Though Dr. Banner is working on a painkiller that will actually work for him. Hopefully that'll be finished soon, because Peter can't fucking stand this. Literally. He cannot stand up right now.
He groans, curling up tighter in his bed. He's gotten up once this morning, to use the bathroom, which was a feat and a half. After that he just decided today was going to be a bed-day. He's never been so grateful for weekends.
"Period?"
Peter startles, head shooting up from where he'd had his face shoved into his pillow. May's standing by his bed, hands on her hips as she looks down at him. She's got that concerned look on her face, the same one she always has when Peter's hurt.
Right, that's another thing. His period screws with his senses. Usually he'd be able to hear her coming from across the apartment, but he didn't even hear his door open. His fault for fixing the squeaky hinge last night, he supposes, but he forgot what day it was. Besides, he's in pain and is therefore excempt of any wrongdoings for the foreseeable future.
"Peter?"
Oh, May's here. Peter almost forgot. "Yeah?"
"Did you eat?"
No, he didn't. He shakes his head in lieu of a response.
May sighs softly. "Okay, how about I go make us a salad?"
"For breakfast?" Peter asks. He sounds more offended than he meant to, but definitely less so than he feels.
May laughs, walking closer to sit on the bed in front of him. "It's past noon, sweetheart," she says, running a hand through his hair.
Peter blinks, shooting up… and immediately falling back down as a spike of pain goes up his abdomen and down his thighs. Ow. Nope. He's not doing that. Peter curls up tighter, pushing his hands against his tummy.
"Oh, baby," May whispers. Her hand slides down from his hair, rubbing his back instead. It doesn't actually help anything at all, but Peter would be lying if he said it didn't make him feel better.
Peter groans, risking the pain to remove a hand from his stomach and grab onto May's shirt. Thankfully, she gets the memo and moves closer, allowing Peter to move his head onto her lap.
"This sucks," he whines. "I'm never gonna have sex. And I'm not even a girl anymore. Why am I stuck with this bullshit?"
"I wish that's how biology works, Peter, but it isn't. You're gonna be dealing with this until you're old and greying like me." Peter groans louder at her words, shoving his face into her thigh as she laughs. "It's okay, though, you've got me. Right?"
Yeah, he does. He supposes that's one good thing. "Yeah," he mutters against her. "Can you make brownies with the salad?"
"Hmm.." May thinks about it for a second. "You eat the salad first, if you don't throw up, and still want the brownies after, I'll call Mr. Stark to pick some up from that place you like on Austin Street, okay?"
"Okay," Peter agrees immediately. It's not like theres any other answer to that deal, after all. He said once, when he was like ten, that he would kill a god for those brownies, and that hasn't changed.
"Okay," May copies. She carefully slides herself out from under him. "I'll be right back. Shout if you need me." And with that she walks out of his room, leaving the door open an inch.
Peter's really gotta start telling May how glad he is to have her. He tells himself that every month, and still doesn't really do it. But… he can worry about that in a couple days. For now he curls up again until his forehead's resting between his knees as he waits for his aunt to come back.