Breaking Point

You don't notice it at first. The pain. Everyday life moves by so fast that you get lost in the haze. It's not till your alone, truly alone, do you feel the tears run down your face as you pray that the sun just won't come up. That there won't be another day. Wishing to hide from the world. But you can't. The sun will still rise and you'll be forced to live despite the fact you're dying on the inside.

Everyone has their breaking point. A point where they could no longer deal with anything life throws at them. And today seems to be his. Everyone, he had ever loved or at least remotely cared about, were gone. He had no one. In the rational part of his mind he understood that there was nothing he could do, but, in the grand scheme of things, all he could do was blame himself. After all, he could have done more. He should have done more.

Tears welled in his eyes at he stared down at the razor in his hand. It wasn't anything particularly special. He had gotten the blade from a handheld pencil sharpener he simply found on the ground. But the weight it carried was what was important. With shaky fingers, he took the razor out of his left hand and felt the oddly cold metal touch his wrist.

This wasn't the first time, but it always felt like it. Taking a breath, he slid the thin blade across the vein in his arm. He could feel the pain that came with spitting his skin open. Staring at his first cut, he thought about everyone he'd lost, or in his mind, killed.

Peter Parker was your normal slightly above-average teenage boy. He enjoyed science, photography, skateboarding, and crimefighting. You know normal teenage stuff. Know only to his short term girlfriend, Gwen Stacy, Peter was more than Peter Parker. He was Spiderman, the web-slinging, red and blue adorned, friendly neighbourhood vigilantly. And despite all the good he had done, the media hated him, the cops wanted him arrested, and everyone he knew, good or bad, had died because of him.

As he placed another cut on his wrist, he began to think of everyone he'd failed. His parents, Uncle Ben, Norman and Harry Osborn, Doctor Connor, Doc Oct, Captain Stacy, Gwen... Aunt May.

Everyone he cared about was dead. Everyone he tried to protect died, and it his fault.

After X amount of cuts later, the teen stared at the blood that had slowly bubbled up from the cuts and pool on his wrist. Peter's eyes lost focus as his gaze became mesmerised by the crimson liquid. He knew was illogical it was. It wasn't like this would bring everyone back. But it helped. It gave him some control in a fucked up world were nothing he did matter.

It was in that moment he realised he felt nothing. He felt empty. The brunette acknowledges that his wrist should hurt or sting, after all, he was bleeding. But he really just felt numb. Suddenly feeling sick to his stomach, he ignored the blood running down his arm and leant over the toilet next to him. Emptying the content of his stomach into the porcelain bowl, he slumped over, wiped his mouth and came to his senses. With a flush of the toilet, he cleaned his wrist with cold water from the sink and wrapped it in some gauze he'd gotten from a nearby CVS. Once all traces of blood had disappeared, he tucked the razor in his pocket and simply sat down on the ground of the bathroom and leant against the door.

For once, he decided to let himself reflect on everything that had happened. Peter let out a tiny breath of air, like a sour laugh. Funny thinking back on it. A normal day, like any other. Dressed in his costume, swing from building to building looking for petty crime before having to get back for dinner. His standard patrol, that is in till he caught word of a robbery in process at a local bank.

Of course, he immediately changed course and rushed over. Dodging the police's bullets which had gotten directed at him, he swung into the building and disarmed the robber. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, that is until he heard a gunshot followed by a scream. Turning around he saw another man shooting the hostages, and the person who had screamed was Aunt May.

He hadn't even noticed her before now. All he could think was why was she here? Last time she texted him was when she wanted to know when he'd be back so she could make dinner. Nothing there had mentioned her going to the bank. The second his eyes landed on her he quickly webbed the guys and left. Mourning silently, he returned home for the night, not bothering to stop when he heard some girl scream for help.

Now here he sat, in some orphanage that the Child Protective Service people shoved him in. Claiming that is was for the best. God, Peter wished this was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. He, a 15-year-old freshman at Mid-Town High, had just lost every person he cares about in less than two years. Everything went by so fast. Too fast.

With all that has happened his anxiety had skyrocketed and his nightly activities got cut down, which in turn made his anxiety worse. Rubbing the wrist that contained the newest cuts, he winced at the pain. To Peter, cutting wasn't anything new, just something he hadn't done in a while. Despite his efforts to stop, he always found his way back to a razor. He wasn't sure if this was just his way of punishing himself for failing or if it just brought him comfort, but in the end, it helped. Slowly he stood up, quietly left the bathroom, and walked into the room he shared with 3 other kids. Turning to 'his' bed, he got under the sheets and he closed his eyes, wishing for sleep that would never come. Tomorrow was another day, and little did he know it would change his life.

End of Chapter One

I hoped you enjoyed the chapter! To those coming from the original version of the story, I hope it wasn't too boring having to reread it.

If you enjoyed, please leave a review, constructive criticism and suggestions always welcome and it will convince me to actually write more. Thanks for reading, hope to see you at the next chapter!