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can't keep draggin' that dead weight around.
He spends most of his time on his own these days. That isn't a personal choice as much as it is a necessity. Peter has enough trouble juggling everything on his plate — school, work, and Spider-Man — without adding a social life into the mix. And, okay, maybe there is a little bit of choice involved. If he's being honest, he doesn't have much interest in making or keeping up with friends anymore. He feels distanced from the kids at his school, and too young to be taken seriously by anyone at the station. Which is fine. Because he doesn't know how long this ride lasts, and when it's over, he goes back into the ground. He wishes that he could say that it was a selfless thing, that he keeps to himself because he doesn't want anyone else to get hurt. But it comes from a place of anger and bitterness. He can never forget that he is living on borrowed time.
Still, that doesn't keep him from trying to make a life for himself in Darrow. He keeps pushing himself at school, planning for his future. Reminding himself that he still has one. He stays busy enough not to notice that his life here is infinitely emptier than the one he left back in Queens. Busy enough that he doesn't miss his family every minute of every day. Sometimes it even works. Sometimes it's more like every other minute, and that's an accomplishment.
This weekend, like every weekend lately, is dedicated to homework. Because it's hard to focus in his apartment — it's just too quiet there, and he still isn't used to it, if he ever will be — he takes himself to his favorite café. He claims a table at the back of the shop, where patrons rarely venture unless they're searching for the bathrooms, but the background noise is still enough to make him feel comfortable. And he gets to work, pulling heavy library books out of his backpack, setting up his laptop, and falling into a familiar routine.
Still, that doesn't keep him from trying to make a life for himself in Darrow. He keeps pushing himself at school, planning for his future. Reminding himself that he still has one. He stays busy enough not to notice that his life here is infinitely emptier than the one he left back in Queens. Busy enough that he doesn't miss his family every minute of every day. Sometimes it even works. Sometimes it's more like every other minute, and that's an accomplishment.
This weekend, like every weekend lately, is dedicated to homework. Because it's hard to focus in his apartment — it's just too quiet there, and he still isn't used to it, if he ever will be — he takes himself to his favorite café. He claims a table at the back of the shop, where patrons rarely venture unless they're searching for the bathrooms, but the background noise is still enough to make him feel comfortable. And he gets to work, pulling heavy library books out of his backpack, setting up his laptop, and falling into a familiar routine.