For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
The silence in the kitchen was a weapon. It was thick, heavy, and sharp-edged, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the frantic, guilty thumping of Peter's own heart. May stood in the doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, the dishtowel a crumpled, white flag of surrender in her hand. Her face, which should have been relaxed and happy after her trip, was a mask of pale, exhausted fury.
"A friction burn," she repeated, her voice dangerously low, stripped of all its usual warmth. "That's what you told me. A friction burn from a backpack strap. Do you think I'm a fool, Peter?"
"No, of course not," he stammered, his mind racing for a plausible lie, a foothold in the landslide that was his life. He found nothing. "May, I... I can explain."
"Can you?" she shot back, taking a step into the room. The full force of her fear and anger washed over him. "Then please, explain. Explain the last twenty-four hours. Explain why your phone was off. Not just on silent, Peter. Off. Explain why I had to sit in this house, the house where I raised you, and imagine you lying dead in an alley somewhere. Explain to me how a 'study session' ends with you vanishing from the face of the earth!"
Her voice cracked on the last sentence, and the raw, undiluted terror in that sound was a physical blow. It was worse than any punch he had ever taken.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, the words feeling utterly, pathetically inadequate. "We were at the library, and then we went to a hotel in the city to study, and my battery died. I didn't realize... I fell asleep. I just... I lost track of time."
"A hotel?" she repeated, her eyes widening with a new kind of hurt. The anger was momentarily replaced by a look of profound, maternal shock. "A hotel. With this girl? Peter, who is she?"
"She's... she's Diana," he said, the name feeling both sacred and like a betrayal on his lips. "She's incredible, May. She's smart and kind and..."
"And she's the reason you've been lying to me for weeks?" May interrupted, the anger surging back, fueled now by a protective, parental fire. "The reason you come home looking like you've been in a gang fight, with bruises you think I don't see? The reason you disappear for hours with excuses that don't make any sense?"
She was connecting the dots. Not the right dots, not the ones that led to Spider-Man, but she was building a picture, and in that picture, Diana was the cause of all of it, the catalyst for all of his recklessness and secrecy.
"It's not like that," he protested, his voice rising with a desperate need to defend Diana, to protect her from this misplaced blame. "She has nothing to do with the... the bruises. That's... that's separate."
"How is it separate?" she demanded, taking another step closer. "Look at you. You're exhausted. You're hurt. And you're lying to me. This started when she came into your life. What is going on, Peter? Is she in some kind of trouble? Are you in trouble because of her?"
Her mind had gone to the worst possible places—gangs, drugs, a dangerous relationship. It was a parent's nightmare, a logical leap born from a terror he couldn't possibly comprehend. And it was a thousand times safer than the truth.
He looked at her, at the genuine, frantic fear in her eyes, and a terrible choice presented itself. He could let her believe this half-truth, let her think he was just a stupid kid mixed up with a girl who might be bad news. It would hurt, but it was a familiar, understandable kind of hurt. Or he could tell her the truth, and watch as her entire world shattered, as the fear she felt now was magnified by a factor of a million, a constant, unending terror for the rest of her life.
There was no choice at all.
"No," he said, his voice firm, his decision made. "She's not in trouble. It's not her fault. It's mine. All of it." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of pure, overwhelming frustration. "I've just been... stressed. The midterms, the pressure of a new relationship... I haven't been handling it well. I messed up. I turned my phone off because I just wanted a day. One day without... without everything. It was my birthday, May."
The words hung in the air. Her birthday. Her nephew's birthday. And she had spent it terrified and alone, calling the police. A fresh wave of tears welled in May's eyes, and this time, she didn't try to hide them.
"Your birthday," she whispered, her voice breaking. She sank into a chair at the kitchen table, the fight finally draining out of her, leaving behind only a profound, bone-deep weariness. "Oh, Peter. Why didn't you tell me? We could have celebrated. I would have come back from Florida sooner..."
"That's why I didn't tell you," he said, his own voice cracking as he knelt on the floor beside her chair. "I didn't want you to worry. I didn't want you to change your plans. I just... I wanted one day. And it got out of hand. I wasn't thinking. And I scared you. And I am so, so sorry."
He rested his head on her lap, and the familiar, comforting scent of her—of lavender and home—enveloped him. He felt her hand come to rest in his hair, her fingers stroking it with a familiar, loving rhythm. The anger was gone. Only the hurt remained.
"I just... I see you changing," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "You're a man now, and you have this new life, this new person. And that's wonderful. It is. But you're shutting me out. You're building walls, Peter. And it feels like... it feels like I'm losing you."
He looked up at her, his own eyes now wet. "You could never lose me," he said, his voice a raw, desperate promise. "Ever."
They stayed like that for a long time, a quiet, fragile truce settling over the kitchen. The immediate crisis was over. The anger had burned itself out, leaving the smoldering embers of fear and a new, unspoken distance. He had apologized for the symptoms—for the missed calls, for the worry he had caused. But the disease, the deep, fundamental deception at the heart of his life, remained. He had protected his secret. But he knew, with a certainty that was a cold, hard knot in his gut, that he had just put a new, hairline fracture in the foundation of the most important relationship in his life.
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