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chapter six

Saturday
     Saturdays were the worst.
Peter woke up to May yelling at him, which was sort of routine. He bolted upright in alarm as she stormed into the room, throwing the door open and slamming it into the wall.
"Get up, you should be cleaning the house!" She yelled, ripping the sheets off of him and dragging him out of his bed, throwing him to the ground. He winced at the pain stinging in his leg. Ah, how could he forget. He had been shot in the leg. But no biggie, he had super healing! If he were a regular person he probably would've bled out by now. But not Peter! 'I'm totally fine!' He thought as he got up from the floor.  "I have a date tonight, and he's coming over. Clean the house and then get out of here!" May snarled at him and turned, stalking off.
That's how Peter's Saturday's were spent. She always made him clean, and Peter would. Lately, he'd been going through a lot, and he just wanted to do what she said so he wouldn't get beaten senseless. Peter saw red flags in his thinking, but he ignored them. If he spoke up, what would happen? He'd already thought about it a million times. May would probably do something terrible to his friends if he tried telling someone about his situation. She threatened him using his friends a lot; she knew it was his weak spot. He didn't want to hurt his friends because of his own stupid actions.
Being left to his thoughts was getting dangerous, and he felt like he was slowly being driven insane. He shook his head as he made his way into the kitchen, —limping—, and started to pick up May's empty beer bottles; and shove them into a trash bag. He grimaced as his leg stung with every movement. 'Is it infected? Should I have taken out the bullet and then let it heal? Probaby... Is it too late?' He wondered, though he couldn't check at the moment with May around. Peter tried to think about other things as he picked things up, like school. But that just made him feel worse. May had stopped giving him lunch money, and Peter didn't have time to go get food in the morning. He would go hungry until dinner, where he would only have a few of May's scraps. She had only recently taken his lunches away, so he didn't know how or if he would adjust to it. He decided he should try and get a sandwich after school so he wouldn't starve. 'How can I earn the money though?' He thought, frowning.
"Hey, I said get to work!" May walked out of her room, already dressed and sneering at him. Why was she already changed? She was just in regular clothes too... Peter just stared at her as his thoughts raced around in his head.
"Hey, listen to me when I'm talking to you!" She grabbed him by his shirt collar, and his eyes widened as he came back to reality. He winced at the sudden movement. His leg was practically burning but he forced himself to stare at her. He wished he could just have enough of what he endured. Be done with it. Take May down, speak out. But he knew he couldn't.
"Sorry, ma'am," Peter broke eye contact to avoid her uncomfortable stare, and she released him. He resumed picking up trash and shoving it into the trash bag, scolding himself for stopping when he was lost in thought. Peter tried to hide how much pain he was in, though May probably wouldn't care. In fact, it would probably give her satisfaction. That gave him all the more want to hide the pain. He snuck a glance at the clock when May turned back into her room.

9:45 AM.

Had it already been an hour and forty-five minutes? May always woke him up at 8 AM on the weekends. Or maybe, she had woken him up at 9:30 so he would have less time to clean. That sounded like May. She took every opportunity to make him suffer.
"I have some errands to make after work," May returned from her room once again, this time with her phone. Peter looked up from the floor and nodded. 'Oh, that's why she's already dressed.' May turned and left, slamming the door shut behind her. Peter's tense shoulders finally relaxed and he unsteadily rose from the floor. 'I probably need to put new wrap on...' He thought, staring at the slightly open bathroom door. Dread wove through him as he glanced down as his leg. He didn't want to see his wound right now, it looked disgusting and he wished he could just forget about it. He just resumed cleaning instead.