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It’ll only be for a few hours, he's telling himself. Then she’d have calmed down.
A few hours sees Peter knocking on their apartment and he can hear May inside, her breathing shaky in the echo of their kitchen. The kitchen that he’d been singing ‘We Are The Champions’ in that very morning as he poured himself a glass of orange juice. The kitchen that had seen the wrath of May’s awful cooking too many times to count. The kitchen that, only five hours previously, had been steaming to the brink with shouting and smashing and-- and--
She doesn’t come to the door, and Peter leaves.
Just wait until tomorrow , he tells himself as he takes the stairs back to the streets, to avoid giving his legs time to start shaking in the elevator. Everything will be okay tomorrow.
He keeps telling himself this as tomorrow comes around and she doesn’t let him in again. He keeps telling himself this as he uses his last bit of money at hand to buy a sandwich -- chicken mayo, of course -- to keep his mutated metabolism at bay.
He keeps telling himself this when another tomorrow rolls in and she eventually tells him to stop knocking. Peter knocks anyway. He's always been the stubborn sort.
Yet another tomorrow comes and he’s starting to lose hope. She tells him to fuck off now. To give her time -- as if he hasn’t had enough time already, he’d huffed to the empty backstreet he takes refuge on.
(Someone gave him a dollar fifty that day. He’d spent it on a can of pringles and a pack of gum to keep his breath somewhat clean.)
Though he keeps telling himself that everything will be alright tomorrow, there’s that cunt of a devil on his shoulder, whispering lies into his ears. Things like, she’ll call the police on you if you keep knocking, and she doesn’t want you anymore, and she doesn’t trust you because of what you did.
What did I do? he asks that little devil, and he gets no answer.
“Please, May,” he’d said hoarsely after spending a tired Tuesday sheltering from the pelting New York rain. “Can we just-- just talk? At least?”
“Give me time! Give m-me time, Peter!” May had shouted, even though she couldn’t of been more than two steps from the door.
He’d gone away wondering how much time she needed and never went back again.