A New Home (2.0)

Chapter Eight

Two weeks. It'd been two weeks since that day outside the chemistry lab. And so far, Flash had left him alone. 

Though Flash Thompson was the last thing on his mind. 

Here it is Monday, and Peter now sits on the couch in the common area. Alone. He skipped, which is something he hasn't done in a long time. His mother would be upset and probably worried-if she'd been here. 

If she'd been here. 

Tony and Pepper had to leave early this morning; the meeting that Tony had skipped was scheduled for today. Peter had told them he'd be at school. Assured them that he could get ready and not be late. 

But that just didn't happen. 

He'd gone to bed the night before, planning to go. Honest. But waking up was a different story. 

Alone, there was nothing to distract him. And reality hit him. 

His life was a mess. He was a mess. He could hide it all he wanted to. Smiling, talking, going to school; but nothing was right. It hadn't been right for a while. He still hasn't accepted any of it. And he doesn't really want to. Because if he accepted it, it meant that she was really gone. 

He didn't want her to be gone. He wanted her here. 

With him.   

Tony and Pepper hadn't yet been notified by the school that Peter hadn't shown up. If they had, they would've come back. Skipped the meeting (again). And Peter didn't want that. He didn't want to be any more of a burden than he'd been already.  

A movie plays on the TV, but Peter isn't paying any attention. He'd asked FRIDAY to play something, wrapped himself in his favorite blanket, and was now lying on the couch. He no doubt looked like a child, but what did it matter? 

His heart literally ached, because of how much he missed her. It wasn't even about where he was anymore. Here, Wimberley, it didn't matter. Because no matter where he went, she wouldn't be there. 

He had considered calling his friends back home a few times, but every time he dialed the number, he couldn't do it. It hurt. He hadn't talked to any of them since Todd and his father had helped bring the rest of Peter's things. 

Gwen Stacy, his small town sweet heart, had tried to keep in contact for a while. But after getting little to no answer, she just stopped trying. And Peter couldn't blame her. He felt bad about ignoring them all, but it just kept reminding him. 

Everything reminded him of his mother, and the things he'd never get back. 

Peter ignores the tears that have begun to fall. He makes no move to wipe them away, and just allows them to fall silently. At first, it's sniffles, but soon enough he's sobbing. Any facade or act, gone. 

"Mr. Parker, you seem to be in distress. Shall I contact Mr. Stark?" Friday's voice rings through the room, echoing off the walls. 

"N-No." Peter manages to reply. "Just... let me be alone with this, alright?"

"As you wish." With that she falls silent. Peter cries for a minute more, and the more he sits there the angrier he gets. His grief, it turns to anger. Anger at the world, anger at fate. Complete rage. He stands up and paces back and forth across the room.

He hates himself for what happened, regretting the time he didn't spend with her.

He hates himself for not doing more to help, even though there was nothing that could be done. 

"WHY HER?!?" He screams those two words at the top of his lungs, over and over. His voice cracks and fades with each and every word. He falls to his knees, hitting the floor as every emotion hits him all at once. Images of her flood through his mind. Her smile, her laugh, everything about her.