Quirky Tales on Love

Somewhere in Neverland

Somewhere in Neverland

 

What day was it? She couldn’t remember anymore. The days seemingly blended into each other, melding into one long line of images and colour and haziness. But she was walking home, through the park. It was evening and the sky was dusky.

 

Where did her life go? She thought back to her college days. The halls, the classes, the drunken laughter echoing after every midnight party. It had been the time of her life. She missed the anticipation in her belly, sitting in a circle with her friends, playing Spin-the-Bottle.

 

She had said goodbye to that game 2--maybe 3?--years ago. God, she couldn’t remember anymore. Her life consisted of the numbers that she typed in everyday, churning them out like the responsible accountant that she was. Wake up at 7, rush to work by 9, work, work, work, work until she came home and crashed on her bed just as the sun set.

 

Perhaps she was just exhausted; tired of boredom.

 

“On your left, miss!” She whipped her head up and veered sideways, but it was too late. They crashed and went tumbling, landing finally on the jogging path. “Sorry! I’ll . . .” He stared down at her.

 

She looked up at him and red tinged his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mumbled again, getting off her supine body. She lay there for a while, just looking at nothing, until a hand extended downwards. Grasping it, she pulled herself up, wincing when she tried to straighten.

 

Blood trickled down the side of her leg, where it had scraped against the rough path. “Oh, crap. I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.”

 

He helped her limp to a nearby tree and, wordlessly, she slid down the trunk, planting her bottom in the wet grass. An awkward silence ensued. “Hey, are you okay?” He nudged her, but got no response.

 

Sighing, he sat down, in his sportswear, and stretched his trainer-covered feet out in front of him. He poked her. “Miss, are you sure you didn’t hit your head or anything? I swear, if you’re hurt, I‘ll bring you to the hospital or something. This is all my fault. Miss, I’m so sorry.” Her lips moved as she mumbled something. “Huh?”

 

“Wendy. My name is Wendy. ‘Miss’ is too young for me.” She locked her gaze with his as she reached down and pulled off her professional black pumps, tossing them onto the grass.

 

“Oh, okay. Wendy,” he grinned. “It fits the carrot hair.”

 

She picked up a shoe and hit him with the heel.

 

“Fine!” he raised his hands and scratched the back of his neck. Black hair flopped into his eyes, so he peered at her through the feathery bangs. He was her age, but seemed childish, especially after he poked her again. “You’ve got problems, Wendy.”

 

“Oh, you don’t even know half of it,” she murmured without looking at him.

 

She leaned forward and rummaged in her bag. Her hand emerged triumphantly with a mini bottle of vodka, already half-empty. The man watched her, open-mouthed, as she took a generous swig. Just as she was about to take another gulp, he snatched the bottle from her. “Don’t drink. It never helps.”

 

Wiping her mouth, she stared up at him haggardly. “How would you know?”

 

He pulled back his sleeve. Tiny slivers of pale white crisscrossed the skin of his forearm.

 

“Oh.”

 

Then he extended his scarred hand. “I’m Peter.”

 

Wendy smiled weakly, and took his hand. “Okay,” she said, before turning his hand over and running her thumb over the pale lines, the evidence of his pain. Normally, she would keep her mouth shut, but screw it, she didn’t care anymore. “What happened?”

 

He let out a strangled laugh. “Life got crazy. My parents died in a car crash. My girlfriend left me for my best friend.” She looked at him as he shrugged, laying his past out for her, a total stranger.

 

She felt rather than saw the weight in his gaze. Again, she would usually stay silent. Usually, no one deserved to know about her problems. But this was not usually. If he could be so open about his pain, perhaps she could too. “My parents separated when I was a kid. It’s been almost fifteen years, and I’m still... I’m still so lost.” After a pregnant pause, she raised her head again. “I won’t make the same mistakes as them.” Another bout of silence. “Why does everyone leave me behind?”

 

“It’s all about sticking it out, I guess. And trying to feel forever young. Don’t you agree, miss?” He shrugged, then leaned back and put his hands behind his neck, a faint smile playing about his lips.

 

“But it would be better if we could start again.”

 

“You say that as if we can’t do that.” He laughed. “I know, I sound crazy. But we could just run away, right?”

 

She said nothing.

 

“You know what? This sounds crazy, but, come on.” A smile inched its way across his face, small and genuine. He stood and held a hand out for her to take. “Look, Wendy, we can get away. Two people, with giant problems, slamming into each other in a park in the middle of the night. It can’t be coincidence, right?

 

“I can’t do this alone. I promise, if you come along for the ride, we’ll get away. I’m lost, you’re lost, together we can find our way.” At her silence, he smiled wider, like he was draping an artificial layer over the original, trying to make it bigger, happier. For her sake. But that only served to make it look more jagged, a kind of broken hopefulness that pawed at her heart. “Last chance, Wendy, for a better reality. Say the word, take my hand, run away with me.”

 

Slowly, slowly, she raised her head, and by the time she met his gaze a smile, small and yet it was the warmest thing that had ever touched her lips. Last chance, the return of something that had slipped from her fingers after college - it was an “Everything Better” plan that she could never deny.

Because together, Wendy and Peter will always find their way to Neverland.

~~ A songfic based on All Time Low's Somewhere in Neverland ~~