20 Minutes Earlier

I lay on the couch. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to feel. I felt empty. Not hungry. Just emotionally drained, of everything in my life. What would I do? What would I do when he's gone? The house would be quiet. I would cry for days until I couldn't cry anymore. I wouldn't eat. I would tinker in my lab until my calloused and bleeding hands wouldn't work anymore. But for now, I am only on the couch. Only on the couch. I sit up. My head pounds, screaming for Advil™ and a glass of water. I slump over, my head in my hands. I feel the heavy eyebags that I had not know existed until then. I sighed and stood up. I just needed to talk to Peter. Let him know I'm sorry. I'm sorry for getting mad at you. I'm sorry for staying in my lab so much. I'm sorry for seeing signs of your health declining and I'm sorry for not taking action. I'm sorry.

I started walking to his room, as I prepared my speech in my head. I made it to his room and stood in front of the tall, white door. I knocked two, slow knocks on his door. No response. I looked down. "Peter... Peter, I'm sorry. I was being insensitive and only thinking about myself. I don't need you to go through that, and I really don't want you to worry about me. We have some things to work through these next four months," I took a deep breath. "but we can do it. Together. I know it. I love you, kid. I'm sorry." No response. "Pete, you don't have to accept my apology, but please let me know that you will think about it." Still no response. I was starting to get a little frustrated, but I kept my cool. "Peter..." I whined. I took a deep breath after a long silence. "Okay, I'm coming in, whether you like it or not." I slowly twisted the handle of the door and pushed in. I looked around the room and let out a sigh. Maybe he's not in here? I mean, the house is pretty big, so he could be anywhere. I started walking around the house, yelling his name. I called his phone multiple times but he wouldn't pick up. I was starting to get really frustrated after about 20 minutes of searching, and he wasn't responding to my texts.

I started to panic. Where could he be? Is he hurt? Ohmygodohmygodohmygod-

But in an instant, my panicking was interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. I looked down and Peter's name was written at the top of the screen. I quickly accepted the call and yelled out his name. I heard him mumble something and he went silent. My stomach dropped. "Pete, where are you, kid, I need to know!" He was silent, but I could hear cars driving by and the loud noises of the city. He's outside? What am I going to do? How will I find him?! Then I remembered something. Find my iPhone! Of course! I quickly signed in and the application was able to find him. He was... all the way in Harlem? How could that be? How long ago did he leave? I didn't let the distracting thoughts fog my brain, and I got into my car. I followed the directions on Find my iPhone until it said that I had arrived. I looked around and I felt my stomach drop. Peter was on the floor, propped up by a wall. I jumped out of the car and rushed to his side. I shook him a bit, and he slowly woke up. "H-hey, dad." He whispered weakly. He seemed to remember what had happened because he quickly tried to stand up. I held him down as I tried to calm him. "Shhh, shhh. It's okay. You're okay. I'm sorry I got mad at you. You were right. I should have been there for you. I'm sorry. We're going to get through this. I promise." We just sat there hugging and crying. After about 5 minutes, I brought him home to sleep.