He can't believe she's done this.
After she cuts his face open, he stumbles out of the apartment, towel pressed to his face, shaking, no idea where to go. He eventually stops at a bus stop, sinking down onto the bench, staring out at nothing.
Where am I going to go?
Home, maybe.
Not the apartment.
Home, home.
With Mom and Dad and Katrina. Real home.
They didn't want him to get a summer job, living away from him. Really, he could've visited them any time, and there were phone calls once a week, yes mom I'm doing fine yeah Pris is too we're doing great no she's not pregnant what do you think we do, but they had certain trepidations about it.
And now he had nowhere to go.
He's bleeding a lot, probably needs stiches, but right now the hospital isn't the first thing on his mind. Right now he just needs to go home, to get a hug from his Mom and have Dad ruffle his hair and see Katrina smile and just be a family. He needs a family, he needs someone who cares right now and he doesn't care how much blood he's lost.
The bus stops, and he barely notices until it almost leaves again. "Wait!" he calls out, getting up, lurching forward, hoping to God he has his wallet. He does, and soon he's heading home, uninjured side of his face pressing against the glass of the windows, injured side still pressed against the towel. It's going to hurt like a bitch when he pulls the towel away. Probably'll start bleeding even more.
The last bus stop is at the outskirts of town. He gets off and begins to walk. He's always kind of liked walking; it's peaceful –
The Long Walk.
That's what he'll do. Next year he'll go out for The Long Walk and damn it, he will finally end his miserable existence. He has enough time to spend with his family beforehand. Fuck school, he doesn't need to go anymore because he's going to die. If he's not picked, he'll throw himself off a bridge or something, but he is going to die.
After a while, someone slows down beside him, and he glances up. A professional-looking man in a suit leans over and opens the door. "Need a ride, son?"
He mutters a thanks and gets in, making sure not to get blood on the guy's seats.
"Where are you headed?"
"Home."
After a few missed turns and eventually ending up a few blocks from his house, he begins to walk again. He calculates in his head how hard the Walk will be – Math has always been his best subject – and eventually comes to the conclusion that if he does end up Walking, he will die.
He gets home and enters the house, using the spare key that's been hidden in the crack in the stairs for as long as he can remember. His parents are still awake, and as soon as his mother sees him she lets out a wail and lurches from her chair, pushing hair out of his bruised face – that's right, that fight with Ralph had been tonight, it seems like ages ago – and reaching hesitantly for the cloth.
"Peter," she says, and it's a half-wail. His father gets up, grabbing his coat. "What's-"
"I might need stiches," he says, managing a sort of half-smile. His father has already guessed this, he's already out the door. His mother goes and grabs a still half-asleep Katrina, who pats him on the shoulder while his mother carries her by, and then they're on the way to the hospital.
He wonders if he really needs to do this Walking thing, then decides that, yeah, he does.
If anyone deserves to die, it's him.
every so often i have intense feelings for a character and write a oneshot about them
welcome to peter mcvries edition