Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Vera
With the help of James’s cloak and the offending dagger left behind, I’m able to tear off strips of cloth to use to try to staunch the bleeding. The cut is long and deep across the back of his hand. I look at it and I can almost feel it etched into my own skin.
That dagger was meant for me…
“How bad is it?” he asks weakly.
“It’s okay,” I say as I dab it. “It really doesn’t look that bad.”
“Don’t lie to me, Vera. I already lost one hand today. I need to brace myself.”
I press my lips together as I wipe some blood dribbling past his knuckles. I turn to him, forcing a smile. “I think you’re going to live.”
I turn back to his hand, applying more pressure to help stop the bleeding. He probably needs stitches, but all I have are these unsanitary cloths. I begin wrapping it around his wound, trying to bind it tight so that it can keep suppressing the blood. As I move, James’s fingers twitch.
“At least I can still move my fingers,” he murmurs. “That has to be a good sign.”
I brush my thumb across his knuckle, trying to swipe at a droplet of blood before it can dry. James’s breath catches in his throat, and I grimace when I realize I must have been too rough.
“You saved my life,” I whisper as I tie the knot.
I glance up at James in time to see him wince. I wince myself and pull my hands back. “Think nothing of it,” he says, his tone strained.
How am I supposed to think nothing of it? I’m alive now because of him. He threw himself in the way and stopped Wendy from ending my life. To the detriment of his own health, mind you.
James tugs his hand out of my hold and studies it. “You know, I think we had the right of it as kids. Bandages make everything better. As long as I can’t see it, I can start pretending it doesn’t exist.”
I hold out a hand, grasping his wrist. I turn his hand, studying my sloppy knot, but I hadn’t wanted to hurt him by trying to get it just right.
James rotates his hand until his fingers are facing mine. They wrap around my hand slowly before squeezing. I forget to breathe as I stare at our interlocked fingers.
“Oh good, I can still grasp things. It would be just a pity if I couldn’t murder that unsuspecting prince today.”
I smile wryly as I look up at him. “And I suppose you want to live through the plot then, because that’s the alternative.”
James exhales loudly before dropping my hand.
“Right. We should probably get to the ball while we still have all our appendages attached.” He holds up both his hand and his hook and frowns before pushing unsteadily to his feet.
Still, ever the gentleman he reaches out and holds out his hook to me to help me up.
I push to my feet, dusting off my skirts and stopping to make sure that no blood is on it.
No one from the lantern festival has come to check on us, only confirming my suspicions that these people are just extras, NPCs even. They aren’t relevant to the plot so why would they notice anything happening?
They’re just characters. James and I are the only ones here who are actual people. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye as I work on situating my ballgown. And a character almost killed me and did hurt James.
This story is not to be underestimated nor are the people living in it to be cut any slack.
The only person I can really trust and the only person I need to get out of this alive is James. No one else is my responsibility.
Sorry, Frederick, but you’re just a sacrifice I’m willing to make to bypass the ending. Because if there is one thing I know for certain it’s that I’m getting James out of this alive and intact.
I owe him my life, and even if I didn’t, he is still a person like me. He doesn’t deserve the fate of Captain Hook any more than I deserve Moira’s ending.
James’s cloak is ruined, hanging around him in ragged shreds where I cut off pieces to bandage his wound. I step toward him.
James moves back slightly. “What are you—“ he begins, but I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my fingers around the clasp, triggering the mechanism. James goes extremely still as I pull it off his shoulder and drape it over the side of the bridge.
“I think it will probably draw too much attention in this state.”
He shudders slightly as he reaches up, adjusting his mask. “Night is a bit nippy without it.”
“Do you think you’re done sightseeing?” I ask, also reaching up to adjust my mask. It must be getting a bit late, James is right, the temperature has dropped a bit.
He lets out a long exhale. “I suppose so, I was really hoping we could think of a different way out of this story without having to murder anyone.”
“I know it’s drastic,” I say stepping toward him.
“But if you think about it our situation is really quite drastic. We have one day left.” As I say it, I silently curse myself for not writing a longer span of time into this script.
I was so busy trying to make it as emotionally devastating as possible that I failed to make the timeframe longer than two days.
But boy does a lot happen in those two days.
The first day we speedrun the Little Mermaid story and Hook and Moira fall in love (hence the need for romantic lanterns and a ball to make the romantic plotline more realistic); and on the second day…
Neverland and death. Since the story was already a tragedy, the insta love was all right.
Like Romeo and Juliet, at least that was my reasoning, but now I’m really wishing I made it at least a week long.
Drat my inability to think up filler scenes and the time constrictions that made it so I couldn’t write a script for a three-hour movie.
James still looks hesitant, so I decide to go for a decisive final blow. “Unless you’re keen to kill me tomorrow.”
He flinches. “Okay, fine. Let’s get to the ball and get this over with.” He holds up a single finger. “But if you think about it, we’re kind of acting like villains right now.”
“Better to be branded a villain than to share a villain’s fate,” I argue.
“But won’t acting the part of the villain be what seals our fate?”
“No, that would be the plot that does that.” And the crappy screenplay I wrote after I realized happy endings were a myth and life sucks…
I press my lips together as a flood of guilt washes over me and I try to redirect that feeling toward anger at the plot for sticking me in this situation in the first place.
But all the while, a tiny voice niggles in the back of my head that neither Hook nor Moira deserved their fates either, and maybe I wouldn’t be this stressed if I had just written a happy ending in the first place.