Chapter 52
CHAPTER 52
WENDY
W hat happens next is a blur. At some point, I must have dropped the dagger, because as Peter leads me through the tunnels, hand gripped on my shoulder, I notice that my hand is empty. Except for Astor’s blood, which stains the folds of my palm, my knuckles.
We’d left him there, bleeding and grasping his wrist in shock. Peter had already begun to heal from the burns, aided by the fact that he was still transitioning from his shadow self to his fae form.
He’s still trembling, though. Even as his fingers dig into my collarbone.
I don’t have the energy to tell him he’s hurting me.
I hear little else except the pounding of blood in my ear, the sound Astor’s flesh had made as it split. Sickly. Like the last pig carcass I had cut through. But something else taps through the buzz in my head. Footsteps.
Charlie and Maddox round the corner, hair windswept, breathing hard. Upon seeing Peter, they instantly draw their swords.
“Saw you swoop into the cave,” says Maddox, steely gray gaze pinned on Peter. “We were keeping an eye out from the ship.”
Peter doesn’t seem to hear them. All I know is that his hand tightens at my shoulder.
It’s not quite fear that lances through me. I think I’m in too much of a state of shock for that. But my mind eddies into focus. Somewhere deep down, I know that these are my friends, and that I need to protect them, Peter still not himself.
As Charlie approaches, keeping her eyes fixed on Peter as she extends a hand to me, the other on the holster at her belt, I shake my head. “I’m going with Peter.”
They hesitate and Charlie gives Peter a suspicious look. “So you’re choosing him after all?” she asks, not bothering to mask the disappointment in her voice.
I continue, nodding toward where we came from. “The captain’s injured. He’ll be needing the two of you.”
Charlie and Maddox exchange concerned glances, then run off after their captain. Before they turn the curve, Charlie turns back to me. “Are you sure?”
I nod, because that seems like the only thing to do. She frowns. “Take care of yourself,” she says.
And then she’s gone.
The flight back to Neverland is cold.
Even with Peter’s warm arms wrapped around me, I can’t seem to fight off the chilled spray of the ocean surface below. Or maybe it’s just my heart turning to stone, refusing to beat blood to warm my limbs any longer.
I keep waiting for the agony of Astor’s betrayal to melt away. Keep waiting for my body to remember that there’s no Mark binding my soul to his anymore. No reason for his claws to cut so deeply into me.
I wait and wait, silence washing over me, but never relief. Just the rain, cold and cruel and pelting.
I wait for my feelings for Peter to return in full force. For the thrill I used to feel when he flew me through the air to billow underneath my skin, cascading me in light and joy and adventure.
But I’m not flying. Peter is. I just happen to be attached.
And what about you, Darling? Do you soar?
At some point in the journey, it dawns on me that despite everything, I still love him. Love Astor.
In an attempt to detach myself from that love, that pain, all I accomplished was severing the last of the threads binding his heart to mine. The only reason he felt anything for me in the first place.
I should have known better. Hadn’t I told Astor the day I confessed my love for him that it might not have been real for him, but it was real for me? The real seems like it plans on staying around longer, an unwanted house guest chipping my favorite pieces of dinnerware.
“Wendy Darling,” Peter whispers when my tears have finally dried up. When I peer up at him, his blue eyes stare down at me. I guess it’s been long enough for the effect of his shadows to wear off. That’s why he hasn’t touched me in the way his shadow self so desires. “You’re safe now. I’m taking you home.”
I repeat those words over and over to myself. I don’t have a home, not really. But John and Michael are the closest thing to it. Charlie was almost a home. Maddox too.
But their loyalties are to their captain, not to me. I wonder then if they knew his plan. If they wanted Iaso back, too.
No, Charlie wouldn’t have betrayed me like that. Besides, she didn’t even know Iaso. And the conversation I overheard between Maddox and Astor would indicate that Maddox knew nothing about Astor’s betrayal. It’s cruel of me, but it makes me feel better to know that Maddox will feel a twinge of the betrayal I do when he discovers what Astor hid from him.
It occurs to me that when I’d asked Astor to go alone with him into the cave, that’s what the three of them had been arguing about. Astor had already planned on leaving them behind, not wishing them to be around to stop him once they realized his intentions.
Lost in my thoughts, it takes me a while to realize it’s no longer raining. Yet moisture still drips into my hair.
Tears.
Peter is crying.
Finally, that at least seems to stir my heart. Makes it move from where it’s slumped, frozen up. Like a sore muscle refusing to extend after being overworked, finally giving in to a stretch.
“Wendy,” Peter says, his voice soft, broken. “I…” The words seem stuck there, in his throat as it bobs. His blue eyes are so beautiful, shimmering as he cries. “I don’t know why I…” His gaze flits back and forth, like saying it aloud will make it real.
I wonder now if it’s just the regret over Iaso’s second death that’s hit him, or if it’s all of it. Every bit of pain he couldn’t feel before now, all cascading down on him in angry waves, greedy to get what was due long ago.
He keeps gripping me with one hand, the wind whistling through my tangled hair as he grasps his chest with the other. “It hurts,” he gasps. “In here.”
I nod, brushing my forehead against his chest as I do. “I know.”
“She was my friend,” he says, like he can’t believe his own words. “When we were children. I don’t know why…why did I…? It wasn’t me,” he says, breathy now, almost shaking me, like he has to get me to understand.
I imagine that’s what I’ll tell myself when I look back on slicing Astor’s hand from his wrist. It’s such a pleasant lie.
But for now, I entertain it for Peter. I’ll have more pain to divvy out to him once we reach Neverland. Once I tell him I’m taking my brothers and leaving for home, though I don’t know where home is.
“The night in the Carlisles’ library…it wasn’t me,” he breathes again.
“I know,” I say, numb.
He nods, relieved that he thinks I understand. He thinks that because I forgive him, I won’t leave him. But I can’t go back. I can’t return to Peter’s arms, knowing what I confessed to Astor on the ship. Knowing that I love another man.
Knowing that had it been my choice, I would have never left Nolan Astor’s side.
When we land on the beach, my feet hitting the familiar sand, I can’t help but feel that I’m sinking into it. That the ground is unsteady, about to crumble underneath me.
“Wendy,” says Peter, shaking as he turns me to face him. “I’m so sorry for…for him. For the person I’ve been. I couldn’t…” He rubs at his chest, and I nod.
“I know,” I say, sighing. “I forgive you. You weren’t working with all your inhibitions.”
Peter nods, a panicked smile overcoming his features. Like he thinks maybe my forgiveness is too good to be true.
It is.
But I’m weary, and I want to see my brothers.
“I’m so glad to have you back,” he says, sliding his fingers over my ring and twirling it tenderly. “Now we can finally start our life together.”
My numb heart gives a lurch at the hope in his expression. Is that how I looked every time I stared up at Astor? Like he had crafted the very world I inhabit? Like he was the only source I could count on for my next breath?
I’m not sure who that thought makes me hate more: Astor or myself.
I wince, and Peter blinks, confused.
Slowly, I slip my hand away from Peter’s. I don’t want to talk about this right now. Don’t want to ever have this conversation, but I can’t bear for him to cling onto that stupid, desperate hope. Can’t stand to do the same thing to him that Astor did to me, stringing me along for his own benefit.
“I’m not staying,” I say.
Peter blinks. “You don’t want to stay in Neverland?”
I furrow my brow; saying the words actually hurts, but I don’t know how else to get him to understand. “I don’t want to stay with you.”
Peter flinches. And I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him make that expression. The first time he’s ever felt that kind of sting in my presence. It looks unnatural on his usually carefree face.
“But we’re Mates,” he says.
That, at least, stirs a bit of annoyance inside of me. “I’m aware. But I’m also aware that our being Mates wasn’t the original plan.”
Peter goes still, his familiar blank expression returning. “You’re mad because I didn’t tell you about Astor.”
“No,” I say, running my hand through my hair. “Well, yes, but that’s not the point, Peter. The point is that I don’t know who I am. The point is that, my whole life, my soul has been split in two, and I’ve been unknowingly making decisions based on the two of you. The point is that if I had the choice…”
Peter’s face turns to stone. “You would choose him.”
This time, I don’t back down from Peter’s pain. His discomfort. “Yes.”
“Even after everything he did to you? Even after he chose her over you?”
I take a breath in, frustrated that he doesn’t understand. “No. No, of course not. But before I knew that, I chose him, Peter. I chose him, not knowing if he’d choose me. Fairly sure he wouldn’t choose me, honestly. And I’m not tossing you the leftovers just because he didn’t choose me back. I’m not marrying you when I…” I let out a tiny sob. “When I still wish he’d made a different choice.”
“Is that what your plan was, then?” Peter asks, backing away. “Did you go to the cave to break the Sister’s blessing just so when you crushed me I could actually feel it?”
“What? Of course not,” I say. “And it’s not a blessing, it’s a curse.”
“I don’t remember asking you to break it,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Do you even hear yourself?” I hate how my voice spikes as shrill as the wind howling around us. “That curse was turning you into a monster. Or have you forgotten what you almost did to me at the Carlisles’? What you did to Iaso?”
At that, Peter actually blanches. Guilt immediately pierces my ribcage, but I refuse to let it master me.
“Tell me the truth,” he says. “Were you really breaking it for me?”
I open my mouth to tell him, “Of course.” But my tongue stops me, and I shake my head, wrapping my hands around my waist.
Peter approaches, softly this time, taking my cheek in his hand. “You wanted me to love you,” he says. “You wanted all of me; I know you did.”
“Of course I did,” I say, glancing away. “I meant it when I said I loved you, Peter.”
“And now you have me,” he says. “All of me, my heart on a platter. Ready for you to run it through.”
“Peter…”
“Things will be different, I promise,” he says. “I won’t let you go again, not like I did on the beach that day. I couldn’t bear to see you go again. Wendy Darling, I could be everything you’ve ever wanted. Just give yourself some time.”
He takes my cheek, brushing my Mark. My Mark that belongs wholly to him now. He means it to be romantic, but all it sparks in me is resentment. He’s right, that I still feel a pull toward him, a tug deep within my heart. But if I’ve learned anything from Astor, it’s that we don’t have to follow the paths our hearts mark out for us, not even when there’s magic involved.
We can always fight back.
It would be easier, to succumb to the comfort of Peter’s arms. Easier than leaving.
I’ve been letting the current take me wherever it will for so long, my muscles have atrophied. I’ve forgotten how to swim against the resistance.
But if I don’t want to drown, I’ll have to start remembering.
“Peter,” I say, taking his hand in mine and removing it from my cheek. “I’ve made up my mind.”
I think it might be the first time that sentence has ever left my mouth. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. It just feels powerful.
I watch him break, and it cracks me on the inside, but not my will. He closes his eyes, like he sincerely believes that when he opens them again, I’ll have changed my mind.
“You’ve changed,” he says when he finally looks at me through those long eyelashes again.
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I nod. “Goodbye, Peter.”
When I go to pull from his gentle grip, he tightens it. At first, I think he’s just squeezing my hand.
But then he doesn’t let go.
“Peter…” I say, warning in my voice, though I carry no threat.
He pulls me into him, pressing his forehead to mine, cradling my back as he pulls me into a gentle embrace. I let myself melt there, into my friend, just for a moment. But then he whispers in my ear. “Stay,” he says. “Choose me.”
Something on the crook of my arm burns, at first a gentle tingle, but it escalates as it deepens. For the briefest of moments, I don’t know what’s happening.
No.
“No,” I gasp, pulling away, but even now, my resolve is dwindling, coming apart at the seams. Glancing down, I catch the remnants of our bargain—the blank check I gave Peter the night in the tower, scalding my skin.
I try to pull away from him. “Peter, no! What are you doing?” I ask, panic overtaking my body. I watch as a third oval forms on my skin, filling the empty space between the other two as it forms a link. A chain. With each passing moment, my muscles do less and less to resist him.
“Peter, please,” I say, my voice high. Begging. But he’s not letting go, and I’m no longer fighting him. “Please don’t do this.”
His blue eyes go bright, tears glazing his eyes, but not falling. This is hurting him, too. Just not as badly as he’d hurt if I left.
“Don’t choose him, Wendy,” he says, then with an exhale that feels like death’s breath against my cheek, he says, “Choose me. Always. No matter what.”
The sob gets strangled in my throat—the lock clicking, the door shutting. The last bit of burnt flesh falls away, leaving smooth pink skin surrounding the now-completed bargain on my forearm.
“Okay.” The word comes out without my permission. “I’ll stay.”
No, no, no, no.
I want to scream, but it won’t come. It’s pent up in my throat, tied and wrangled and stuffed down. I want to beg him to stop, to let me go. For a moment, I fear my mind will leave me, that I’ll blink and my feelings for Astor will vanish away.
I cling to them like a safe harbor.
But they remain. I take in a breath and consider Peter’s words. The bargain only affects my actions, my choices. Not my feelings. I’m a slave to Peter’s will in body, but not in my mind.
“Okay,” I whisper, hating how my limbs betray me. How I fall into his arms. “I choose you. It’s you, Peter. It’ll always be you.”
That fool. When he pulls away, there’s nothing but joy in his eyes. Like he’s so relieved at not having to suffer the pain of me leaving him—the same pain I felt the first time I was separated from him in the captain’s ship—that the fact that it wasn’t my decision to choose him is inconsequential.
“I’m going to take care of you from now on, Wendy Darling,” he says, bouncing on his feet. “I’m never going to hurt you again.”
“I know,” I say, and I actually smile, eyes and all. Because that’s what choosing Peter means, choosing to go along with his dreadful games of pretend. His insane commitment to happiness at the cost of all else. Choosing Peter means being happy.
Or, rather, acting like I am.
My smile must be convincing enough; he must think the wording of his bargain has changed my feelings, because his face lights up, relief washing over his features.
When he links his fingers through mine, I can’t breathe. It’s not like the first time he held my hand, my heart hammering with excited tremors. No. I know what’s coming next. My stomach turns over in my gut, and I can hardly breathe. When he leans in, I sigh against his kiss.
“Peter,” I say as he leads me across the beach, toward the Den, where he’ll take me to his rooms and have me at last. Where, to him, I’ll seem as though I’m adoring every graze of his hands against my flesh.
I wasn’t me —wasn’t that what Peter had said once the pain had been taken away?
Now I’m not myself anymore either. Peter and I—we’re just two imposters playing at love. Play-actors on the stage, except my strings are in Peter’s hands, his in the Sister’s.
There’s a scream bubbling up within me, but there’s nowhere for it to go, so it just burrows within me, building the pressure behind my eyes and hollowing out my organs as it slams them up against the wall of my interior.
I want to go home, but my feet dance across the sand like that’s exactly where I’m going. Without me telling them to, my hands find themselves clinging to Peter’s arm, my cheek pressed against his shoulder as we walk.
When he looks down at me, it’s with the most devastatingly genuine smile. It’s the kind of smile that would have floored me once. I suppose it does now, just in the slamming me to the floor and holding me by the throat sort of way.
Halfway to the Den, I’ve resigned myself to my fate. At least I’ll get to see John and Michael. At least I’ll get to be with them, keep them safe.
And they’ll think that I’m happy.
It will take John years to believe it. But no one can act like I’m acting, put on a show like my body is putting on, for that long. Not without magic helping them along. And John won’t suspect magic.
Manipulation. A foolish girl following her own foolish whims, perhaps.
But he’ll find that believable.
And he won’t worry about me anymore.
And we’ll all be together.
And it will be okay.
It. Will. Be. Okay.
I’ve almost convinced myself by the time we make it halfway to the Den. Fairly impressive, though Astor wouldn’t think so. He’d tell me I’ve given in too quickly, granted Peter the power to lead me around like a pet on a leash.
But Astor would only be manipulating me if he said such things, so I choose to ignore his voice inside my head. He lost his right to my mind, anyway.
“Peter,” someone calls through the brush. Footsteps pound toward us, breathing labored. “Peter, you have to—”
Victor comes into view, his black hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, red coursing through the whites. I haven’t seen him like this since the day we found the man we assumed to be his brother’s killer. Even then, he wasn’t this distraught.
He swallows his words as soon as he sees me. “Wendy.” There’s no welcome home in his voice. No excitement to see me, despite the fact we’re friends. He tries to compose himself, stand up straighter, calmer. “I’m glad to see you home safe.”
It doesn’t matter how calm he tries to force his voice, he can’t hold the evidence that something is terribly wrong.
Because Victor’s holding Michael’s hand.
My brother hums under his breath, unaware of my return. His voice is high, sharp. I don’t need to hear what he’s singing to know he’s upset. Distraught, even.
The Lost Boy won’t look at me.
“Victor, where’s John?” Fear for my brother grips my chest, slicing through the love-struck exterior my bargain has me under. It’s still there, compelling me to choose Peter, but my love for John is something separate. Something I can cling to while I hold my choosing of Peter in the other hand.
Victor doesn’t answer. He just squeezes Michael’s hand tighter.
Peter goes quiet, but his voice is commanding, concerned. “Victor? What happened?”
Victor glances back and forth nervously between me and Peter, like he’s tiptoeing around a minefield, trying to find the right words when there are none.
Michael’s singing gets louder. “Last one to the top’s dead meat.”
My heart stops in my chest.
I drop Peter’s hand and run.