Happy To Disappoint

Chapter 13

No voice mail.

It doesn't even go to the voice mail. Nothing except the sound of the cut-off line instead of the dialing tone. Peter wants to hear that sound – somehow reach out from the vacuum of this room. He wipes off his tears furiously – they're in the way and he needs to see the letters on the screen. He types away – a flood of messages, explaining and begging. Sends a sentence after a sentence in the hope the constant dinging would annoy Tony enough to look.

They remain unseen and soon after they don't even arrive. So Peter just keeps spamming. He keeps repeating the same thing over and over again until his vocabulary renders to 'TONY' and 'PLEASE' – creating paragraphs long enough to fill a novel just with those two words. He spams until the app announces he has to wait so Peter throws his phone on the bed way harsher than he anticipated. It breaks.

Peter's insides shrink to the point he can't breathe as he rushes to recover the device, begging the inanimate object to wake up. But the screen is black even after he puts the battery back in and closes the lid and that only means he's another six feet deeper in his grave.

"Come on!"

He rushes to the door instead, slamming his entire side against the wood – nothing happens. He tries three more times before he runs to his desk to send messages via his laptop instead. While it's loading, he hurries to his bed and tries to force his phone back to life once more – without results.

Messages, revival attempts, door slamming – it becomes a circle. The way life works in the small universe of Peter's room. He's scattered all over the place. Multitasking, trying everything he can think of until he can't think anymore so he takes whatever his body impulsively offers – like punching the door. He thinks of the razor in his bathroom. Thinks a few years back and how easy it was just to cut and let the pain pour out. He thinks of the blade splitting his skin and decides against it.

Daddy said no one's allowed to hurt him – not even Peter himself.

Tony's arms were always so grounding and safe – just that memory is enough to remind Peter what he's lost. Suddenly all the attempts of escape are stopped by the pain that forces Peter down on his knees. His hand's gripping the doorknob like it's the only thing keeping his head above the water.

Get out. Find Tony. Explain. Get away from Adrian. Find Tony. Stay alive. Explain.

Peter repeats the steps in his head. It distracts him from his own tears. The sobs and the way his lungs burn because he can't get enough oxygen. With every passing second, the hope slips through his fingers. The louder he cries – the more hopeless everything seems but he cannot stop.

He's unsure how long it takes but his sobs quiet down by the time he hears the car door open and slam shut. The force of it makes him jump. He springs to his feet and hates the hope that stretches in his chest – what if it's Tony coming back – while he knows very well who it is.

Doesn't even need to look.

Stomping up the stairs – an angry voice yells his name. Peter's conscious enough to move away from the door – fully anticipating it to be kicked down. He grabs the camera with Tony's bullet in it just to have something to hold onto before he faces the door.

One chance, you have one chance. Don't screw it up.

"CLUMSY!" – bang – "STUPID!" – louder – "BITCH!"

Then the door falls and Adrian's eyes bore into Peter.

What follows is panic. There's no other word for it. Peter's seen Adrian angry. He's seen him furious but never like this. He doesn't know the words to describe it. All he does know is how that look makes him feel and he's... Frightened.