Wilson - Peter Maximoff

Chapter 1 - I was gonna say something that would solve all our problems

Wincing a bit, Peter drove the razor across his forearm, blood starting to come from the fresh cut. He sighed and let the blood flow stop on its own. He then went to make another cut, almost rhythmically. 

It wasn't his first time cutting. He'd been doing it since he was 17, when he realized that his father was Magneto. His father was a terrorist. 

His mother either didn't notice, or care. She was too busy with her cocktails and his little sister to care about him. Peter had practically been on his own since his mutation manifested, at about 11. He could care for himself, obviously. He could run in and steal anything he wanted, nothing done about it.

He had simply become a burden to his mother. Someone she had to clean up after whenever he made a big mess out of their lives. When his sister came into the picture, his mother turned to drinking. What else could she do?

Peter cared for both of them, though. He had been a tough kid to parent, and his many run-ins with the law couldn't have been fun for her. And that was before he'd joined the X-Men.

Sure, he could get attention from anyone he wanted with them, which was a comfort to him after not getting near enough attention from his family, but it just wasn't the same. Nobody really loved him. They were just faking it to make him happy. They didn't actually care about him.

Then, we have Y/n. She was so pretty, and funny, and nice to everyone, even him. Way out of his league. Totally unattainable.

So what did Peter do to satisfy his want for love and affection? He cut. He burned. He scratched.

Anything that would hurt him. It would give him the pain that he felt he deserved. He hated himself.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been happy. Every day he had was filled with sadness, hopelessness, and emptiness.

And nobody cared. Nobody cared about him. It made him want to die.

And that's what he would do.

Every night, he scouted out the best places. He wouldn't do it at the school and risk some kid finding him. He wouldn't use a gun. Guns weren't something he was too comfortable with, and his father would be able to tell if he had a gun. He wouldn't use a knife. It was too messy.

Jumping off a bridge would just be best for everyone. He'd just speed off, get it over with. Maybe nobody would ever find him. His body could decompose, and he'd never need to worry about anything again. He would be at peace.