a spider & the devil

01. restless

"Why don't you tell me about the accident again?"

Peter expelled a pent-up huff of frustration, fingering his cane that rested against his knee. School counseling really was the worst. His eyes darted around out of reflex as he thought of his stupid Spanish teacher that'd sent him here in the first place all those months ago, when he'd failed his first test.

"I don't want to," he said determinedly, setting his jaw. The teacher sighed in frustration and shifted his weight in the chair, heart rate increasing just slightly in frustration.

"It often helps."

Peter closed his eyes on instinct, the memory of searing flames burning into his face.

"It was a car crash," he relented. "We got rammed from behind."

His ribs ached as he remembered getting slammed between the Arbiter's metal suit and a solid brick wall.

"The metal seemed to be screaming at me while it rolled down the highway."

The Arbiter's bloodthirsty screams echoed in his ears, drowning out his own.

"I...I remember feeling kind of hot as it all stopped. As it all stopped and...and I couldn't see."

Searing heat beyond anything he'd ever felt enveloped his body, totally burning his retinas from the inside out.

"Yeah, I uh, I couldn't see through the blood."

It was all Peter could do to hold back a smile. He liked messing with this guy who he'd deduced to have a small fear of 'cardiovascular leaks.' Of course his eyes didn't freaking bleed, it had been more light than fire that had blinded him. That was plasma guns for you.

Mr. Heffley's breath hitched and he sighed. "Alright, and now you can't see." Peter nodded. "Look, Mr. Parker, our worth is not determined by our abilities. Just ask any disabled person who has had any kind of success ever. It doesn't matter what we can and can't do, only how we approach and deal with situations."

"Mm..." Peter falsely nodded, a yelling rage inside. Who was Mr. Heffley to tell Peter how he should and shouldn't totally shut down his life?

Tie a blindfold around you, Peter thought grudgingly, and we'd see who would be coaching who.

"Well, it was lovely to see you again, Peter." Peter heard Mr. Heffley's lips stretch across his teeth in an awkward, false smile and his heartbeat skipped just a little: that meant he was lying, but he already knew the man despised him and his attitude. "Don't forget to journal about what you're feeling and loo-- I mean, be on the bright side of things."

Peter rolled his eyes and stood, gripping his cane in one hand and his backpack in the other. "Yeah, I'll look on the bright side. That's not offensive, sir, but avoiding it is."

He could sense Mr. Heffley's agitation reaching unhealthy levels as his hand touched the cold doorknob and he opened it, stepping out into the hallway of death.

No, it was the opposite of death, he decided as he tapped his cane in front of him, 'accidentally' hitting a few heels. It was the hallway of life: bustling with so many restless students with so many places to be and things to do. They chatted restlessly with each other and typed restlessly on their phones. 

The hallway was so much warmer than Mr. Heffley's chilly closet-room; Peter's skin tingled as it took in all the warmth emanating from the students swarming and sweating around him, the kinetic energy from their speedwalking to classes, sports practice, or to a secluded corner where a note left in a locker from a boyfriend instructed her to meet.