36. Rourke
Rourke
Perhaps I never really woke up. The angel that visited me in my sleep and peppered kisses down my skin and scales was only an aid to bring me to the never-beyond.
Have colors ever been this bright? The hues of the flowers, the leaves peaking from the tree limbs, I’ve never seen anything so brilliant. That’s not true. The beauty around me doesn’t even come close to her.
I sought her out when I woke, but didn’t find her in her room or the greenhouse. I guessed she could be here, but it’s only me and the bursting nature.
The gates are open. It’s not the first time, but for me it is.
My Darling was different—from most Darlings, yes, but also Peter’s.
I always knew he had his own, hidden like mine, but that his limitations weren’t the same.
Even when I was a rabid monster, unable to reason, I envied him for it.
He could leave the gates. Maybe not for long, not for good, but he could escape the suffocation of Hollowbrook, even for a little while.
Perhaps that’s why I was drawn to Belle from the start.
She was like me, trapped here. But of course, that wasn’t the only reason I was enthralled by her—far from it.
The list could go on and on, and even with my heightened vocabulary I’m not a man of words.
Father told me that he kept me here to keep me safe.
I wasn’t fit for society. It didn’t bother me much.
My hunger was sated by Father’s never-ending enemies, but there were times that I wondered what it would be like to be free.
Now, as I flex my fingers at my side, only a few steps away from leaving the grounds, the wanderlust I once felt is nowhere to be found.
Of course, I’m not truly free. Belle holds my heart under lock and key.
If only my previous chains were as lovely as they are now.
I rather enjoy the constricting weight of her binds.
“Running away?”
I turn toward the source of the voice, greeted by green eyes, a white smile, the face of the man who caused my now healing wounds, the face of the man who tried to kill me—Peter, my brother, in more ways than one.
I shake my head and sit on the small mound of earth, blanketed in a new coat of green.
Peter drops next to me, resting his forearms on his propped knees. “Have you even been outside these gates?” he asks, as if attuned to my thoughts—perhaps he is.
“Not since I was a child, so I don’t remember.”
He nods. “I’ll have to show you around one of these nights.” He slaps my forearm. It’s the first time he’s ever touched me without violence.
We stare at each other, seemingly both realizing the casualty of our conversation, so different than what we’re used to.
It might be the first time I’ve looked at him properly, with the daylight illuminating his features.
We’re so different, complete opposites in appearance, but I’d imagine if you cut us both open and examined our hearts, you’d find they beat the same.
Peter clears his throat and looks away, toward the winding cobbled road leading out from Hollowbrook. “You look well. Did you just wake up?”
I grunt a yes.
“I woke up yesterday.” He taps his nose with a smile. “I don’t think there’s enough pixie blood to cure the new crook in my nose this time.”
“I’m sorry.”
He chuckles. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“No, not about your nose. I’m sorry I almost killed you.”
He raises his eyebrow, turning to me. “That wasn’t you, Rourke. And besides, I was trying to kill you too.”
I nod, a lump swelling in my throat. “I wish it could have been different between us, that we could have truly been brothers.” Despite my envy, my hate, I yearned for Peter’s companionship. He was always out of reach, a phantom I could never connect with.
Peter nods, staring ahead again, his expression solemn. “There are a lot of things I wish. I know your mother wasn’t kind, but mine was. She would have loved you, too, if she could.” His voice cracks on the last syllable.
I don’t have the heart to tell him it would never work like that. If his mother didn’t die—wasn’t killed—Lord Pan wouldn’t have married my mother and brought me here. I’d likely have died out on sea, with no one to remember me or care.
“I knew he killed my mother,” I say.
His eyes widen as he studies me. “You did?”
“I thought he had done me a kindness. Perhaps that’s why I stayed loyal for all those years.”
“You’re different now. Belle’s blood made you sane.”
I throw his words around my skull. “Yes, but my devotion wasn’t always my illness. Sometimes, I knew what I was doing.”
He touches my hooked arm. “It’s not your fault. None of it was ever our fault.”
I smile and place my hand over his. “I know.”
We sit like this, letting the warm air blow around us, the birds sing in the distance, a symphony of Neverhaven coming back to life.
Peter sighs and shrugs. “So now what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will you stay?”
I suck on my words, tasting the flavors. “I’m hers, Peter. I’m nothing without her.”
His eyes flick over my features and he clenches his jaw.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I’m the same as you, Rourke. We’re not brothers by blood, but by so much more.” He shakes his head.
I smile, small but I can’t help the curve of my cheeks. “I guess that’s it then. We’re forever bound to Hollowbrook after all.”
“I’d be bound to hell if she led me.”
“Except it wouldn’t be hell, then, if she were there.”
He smiles now. “I guess it wouldn’t.”
I barely notice our hands are still touching until he leans forward and wraps me in a hug. My heart fights against my ribcage, his beats in tune. I’ve waited my whole life for this; his nearness mends my last broken bit.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?” he asks with a chuckle.
“For not killing me.”
“I think Belle is the one to thank for that.”
“No, when we were children—when I begged you to end me. If you did, I would never have gotten to experience her.”
He tenses, hugging me tighter. “I don’t think I can be credited. I was just a boy, a scared boy.”
“We both were.”
We sit in a comfortable silence for a moment longer, but only a moment. Peter pulls away, his expression warm as he jumps to his feet. “Come on, then.”
I rise. “Where are we going?”
“You have a town to see, and we have a gown to purchase. Our queen needs to look the part for her coronation ball.”
I trot after him, but halt before I step onto the cobblestone.
He turns back and outstretches his hand with a smile. I resist for only a moment before I accept his offering. Peter yanks me onto the road, nearly taking the air from my lungs. I find myself in a fit of laughter as he leads me onward, jogging as we travel farther away from Hollowbrook.
My brother and I are different. Yes, marked with the same scars, but Peter is the fallen leaves carried by the wind. I am the damp soil, consuming the rot. And Belle churns us back into something that blooms.