Day 58: Men's Showers (Fourth Shift)
The place was full of starry eyed heroes with hearts of gold. Perhaps not so much starry-eyed, he guessed. Just eager to please. Eager to help. Peter could count himself among those numbers on good day. At the moment, he had about had his fill from everyone else.
Maybe not for the bitter reasons of before. Sam was right: he had to spill some beans or he was going to go insane, push himself off a deep end. There had been plenty of close calls with that back home, and he hated to think how he would have ever gotten by without MJ to confide in. It was just that today, he was done with confessing. Drained. It took a lot out of him to keep crying on every offered shoulder and keep pushing through the story of how he'd brutalized Indiana Jones. It took even more to be the one with the wet shoulder when Jessica went into hysterics over hallucinations. To try and coax a genuine emotion from Sakura. Sam, at least, hadn't had anything to say about himself. Probably because he figured that being ten years older made it inappropriate to be confiding issues in Peter (which he was right about, to some extent.)
And it was for that reason that when he caught Scott Pilgrim's eye at the end of lunch, Peter had bolted in the opposite direction. Bad enough that he had to work through the people he had today, but Scott would just be the final straw. Screaming hit his ears too in between Indy's death rattles, screaming that suddenly stopped short as the man fell on stone seats and clutched his throat. Screaming the name in horror when the kick landed. Peter was not ready to sit down with someone who had been there. Especially not Scott. Never Scott.
Honestly, Peter would be shocked if he could ever manage talking to them again. A brief but bitter exchange with Sangamon earlier today was the only attempt thus far, and Peter hadn't started that one. Though he had cut it short.
Shedding clothes and padding over wet tile was perfunctory by now. Showers were welcome today. For once.
[For Edward Cullen.]
Maybe not for the bitter reasons of before. Sam was right: he had to spill some beans or he was going to go insane, push himself off a deep end. There had been plenty of close calls with that back home, and he hated to think how he would have ever gotten by without MJ to confide in. It was just that today, he was done with confessing. Drained. It took a lot out of him to keep crying on every offered shoulder and keep pushing through the story of how he'd brutalized Indiana Jones. It took even more to be the one with the wet shoulder when Jessica went into hysterics over hallucinations. To try and coax a genuine emotion from Sakura. Sam, at least, hadn't had anything to say about himself. Probably because he figured that being ten years older made it inappropriate to be confiding issues in Peter (which he was right about, to some extent.)
And it was for that reason that when he caught Scott Pilgrim's eye at the end of lunch, Peter had bolted in the opposite direction. Bad enough that he had to work through the people he had today, but Scott would just be the final straw. Screaming hit his ears too in between Indy's death rattles, screaming that suddenly stopped short as the man fell on stone seats and clutched his throat. Screaming the name in horror when the kick landed. Peter was not ready to sit down with someone who had been there. Especially not Scott. Never Scott.
Honestly, Peter would be shocked if he could ever manage talking to them again. A brief but bitter exchange with Sangamon earlier today was the only attempt thus far, and Peter hadn't started that one. Though he had cut it short.
Shedding clothes and padding over wet tile was perfunctory by now. Showers were welcome today. For once.
[For Edward Cullen.]