Dark Paradise

You're everything I want.

Peter lay on the couch fighting a light hangover caused by the drug. His body was not used to alcohol or anything like that, even in small quantities. He never understood how his underage classmates could get drunk.

He didn't want this. He didn't want to live like this. Constantly afraid when he will be drunk, drugged, raped again. Experience constant humiliation. He didn't want to keep expecting a day that might be his last. He found himself in this cage less than a week ago, yet it seemed like an eternity. He needed to hide, to escape as far away as possible.

"Help," he muttered to himself, turning on his side. He sat up slowly and covered his face with his palms.

How do I get out of here?

Something occurred to him then. He got up, walked through the house to the stairs, and went to the bathroom. He entered the room and then impulsively closed the door. He began rummaging in the white cabinets under and next to the sink until he found what he was looking for.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The boy sat hunched on the closed toilet bowl, his eyes mesmerizing the shiny razor he kept turning in his hands. All his thoughts revolved around two short questions that might be reminiscent of plucking daisy petals to find out if anyone likes you.

Should I do it? Shouldn't I do it?

In the end, the first variant won and the boy cut resolutely just below the wrist. That was the end of all ease. Red blood colored his hand and slowly ran down his palm. Peter calmly watched his wounds and the slowly flowing blood. However, as soon as the red droplets reached his thigh, he stopped. Didn't he hurry it? Does it really end like this?

Will I get a few shots and collapse right away?

How would his aunt and best friend react, who kept repeating to him, never to be thrown away or intimidated by anything.

There is only one thing we say to death... Not today.

He'll get out of here ... But otherwise.

Panic broke out. He reached for a towel he had pressed against his wound, trying to stop the bleeding, and opened the door to the hallway.

"Mr. Stark?" he called, looking around. He felt dizzy, had blurred before his eyes, and he finally slid along the wall to the ground. Everything around him suddenly turned black and quiet. He actually liked it quite a bit. He didn't notice anything. Then just something. Slaps.

"For God's sake, what have you done?!" The man stared desperately at Peter, who was breathing loudly.

"I-I... did a big crap. I'm so-sorry," the boy sobbed as he regained consciousness. Tony didn't say a word and disappeared downstairs.

"Mr. Stark?" Brunet wanted to follow him, but his condition did not allow him to do so. Tony ran downstairs, walked down the hall, and found himself in the kitchen. He pulled out a first-aid kit and rummaged in it for a moment.

"Show me your hand," he ordered as he returned to the bathroom. The boy obeyed and set away the soaked towel. The man placed his hand on his thigh. 

He applied roll bandage to his wound and began wrapping his upper limb around by other bandage, hoping that Peter did not cut too deeply and the bandages would not seep through, because then he would have to take him to the hospital or just let him bleed on the spot. Which was not an option.

"Please don't... don't be ang... don't be angry," the boy begged, tears streaming down his cheeks. As he watched the man's face full of anger, fear seized him again.

"Don't do this to me," Tony sighed, shaking his head as he was done tying, and finally gave the young man a look. He took both of brunette's palms in his and touched them lightly with his lips, "never again."

The boy looked down. A sudden wave of sympathy more than surprised him. "B-But I still don't know what you want." He decided to play "dumb" and ask that question one more time, though he knew what the answer would be.

"You." Tony grabbed his chin so he could look into his teary eyes. "You're everything I want."

The situation calmed down a bit, Peter was standing in a small room, where Tony locked him, in front of a large window, despite his great protests. He fiddled with a little free end of his bandage on his left hand with his fingers and watched the lightly snow-covered trees surrounding the garden. His gaze slid to Stark, who was washing his car in front of the house. As the boy stared at him, he shivered and his chest tightened. The feeling of anxiety was hard to describe. There was uneasiness as a premonition that something else would happen, but completely without an object.

Could he stay here with Tony? Get used to him? Could he like him? Could he love him?