6 | Failed Escape Plans

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I could hear whispers from the hall.

They were too hushed to be understood, but I knew by the tone that they weren't good whispers. Hearing something good about me was rare to begin with.

I didn't care, to be honest, because I was getting ready to leave. Staying here was a bad idea. Approaching the door, I kneeled down to stare at the knob. The locks had been removed, probably by May, who didn't trust me enough to keep the door closed.

Removing my pocket knife, I cut off a piece of fabric from the bottom of my shirt and wedged it into the missing lock space. Pressing the door closed, I let out a silent nod.

They wouldn't be able to see me escape.

Grabbing my bag, I slung it over my shoulder and slowly pushed open the window. Scaling the wall was a difficult thing to do, especially when I didn't want to make much noise, but I managed to make it to the roof.

"Now," I mumbled to myself, "let's go find a bat."

I wasn't actually going to beat my "dads" up, but I darn gosh wanted too. Out of all the stupid things they've done, this one took the prize by far. And they've done stupid things. One time, Steve got into an alley fight and tried to use a carrot as a sword.

Buck and I had to scare the other guy off before something bad happened to the carrot. Or with the carrot.

Skipping across the roof, I hopped the distance to the other building, landing with a thud. Once I gained momentum, I began to hop across the rooftops, my bag clutched to my side tightly. I was getting a pretty far pace away, until I heard something zip-lining through the air.

In a flash of movement, someone came falling from the sky, landing in a half-squat position.

It was Peter.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, tilting his head.

The boy stood on to his feet, his curly brown hair bouncing slightly. I purse my lips, narrowing my eyes.

"How did you find me?" I frowned.

"I saw you running across the roof."

He was an idiot. I'm pretty sure anyone looking out their windows would have seen me bolting across the skyline. It just didn't make sense how he would have seen it, since my location wasn't visible from any of his apartment windows.

"But how did you know I left in the first place?" I clarified.

"Spidey-senses," he smiled, "I heard you open the bedroom window and climb up the wall."

I didn't understand why he was talking to me like I was his friend. I literally threatened to snap his arms off, not even an hour ago.

"Whatever," I spat out, rolling my eyes, "just go home, kid."

"I thought you were a kid too?"

"I'm eighty six."

He laughed, running a hand through his hair, "yeah right."

Did he not do any research on my profile? I could have sworn someone who hung out with Stark would know everything about everyone. Tony was always giving out mission reports like they were goody bags at a birthday party.

Letting out a grunt, I brushed past him and began to resume my roof hopping. Before I could make it to the ledge, I heard his squeaky voice call out again.

"Wait!" Peter pleaded, "please don't leave."

I spun around, "why not?"

"Because Mr. Stark will kill me, and so will your dads."

"They aren't my dads."

He sighed in disagreement, "well, legally..."

There wasn't a point in fighting with this kid. Even if I kept trying to escape, he'd probably run after me again and keep babbling. He was annoying, like Sam.

"You know what?" I muttered, heading the other way, "stop talking. I'll go back."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Yay!" He cheered, holding out his arms as if to give me a hug.

Disgusting. I didn't want to hug a teenager, even if I was one. Especially not a spider-human. Don't get me wrong, Peter wasn't disgusting, hugs were. Only two people are allowed to hug me.

Steve and Bucky. That's it. They're the only people I can trust, and they're the only people that know the real me. Peter didn't know the real me, so I wasn't going to hug him. Did he not get the memo when I pointed my knife at his neck earlier?

"I told you," I frowned, rolling my eyes, "don't touch me."

"Sorry," he said quickly, retracting his arms, "I forgot."

"Well don't."

"I won't."

"Good."

"Do you like high-fives?" He blurted out.

Jeez, what was it with this kid? His desperation to get on my good side was bothering me. I didn't like to be touched. Whenever someone I didn't know touched me, something inside of my body gets set off.

I get angry. I get mad. I get flashbacks to the time where I almost died. I remember laying in the snow, then being picked up and thrown into the back of a truck. Then throw into a lab, where I was poked and prodded by scientists gawking at me.

It was then I realized that being touched hurt me. I couldn't find it inside of me to let someone touch me, without being reminded of the past.

"No," I said, shaking my head, "I don't like high-fives."

"What about handshakes?"

"No."

"Secret handshakes?"

"No."

"Then if I wave from across the hallway, will you get mad?" He questioned, "like at school?"

"As long as you don't touch me, I'm fine."

"So waving it is!"

"Sure, fine," I said, heading back towards his house, "whatever makes you happy."

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