hiraeth

twenty-eight

xxviii. Peter

Herman prods at the wardrobe, tugs at the handle just a bit, then removes the gloves protecting his hands. He throws them at Peter.

"Your move," he grumbles.

It smells like a campfire after the rain, the crackle and pop of the wood filling in the silence. Piper, Leo, Jason, and Will had all been educated on the environment they were supposed to imagine, but Peter is nervous. There was no way any of them besides himself and his sisters could picture his home clearly enough without risk.

He picks his way through the room, stepping over pots and pans, flowers and ticking clocks. Tentatively, he slips the leather gloves on and faces the wardrobe, the heat licking his skin. The rest of the group crowds behind him as if in line for a haunted house.

"Here goes nothing." He grabs the handles on both sides and pulls.

A forceful gust of hot air immediately engulfs them. His eyes water, but it doesn't stop him from seeing the yawning void of darkness greeting him. He had been expecting to see a rack of clothes at the very least.

But before he can hoist himself up and do as Herman instructed, someone forcibly shoves past him.

He looks down to see who it is and promptly grabs their arm."What are you doing?"

Nia doesn't even glance his way. She simply knocks his hand off and steps into the wardrobe. "See you bitches on the other side."

"Wait.' Peter tries to touch her again but she shoots him such a cold glare that he flinches. And like-what the fuck? "Let me go first. How will you know if you're there?"

She turns away. "I'll fucking know. Don't follow me. Enne, go next." She takes off running. Her shadow vanishes.

"She means that in a loving way," Enne clarifies, following Nia's instructions. She waves at the group. "See ya."

"I don't think she does," Peter mutters under his breath once Enne is gone. He whirls around and meets everyone's startled gaze. "Anyone else want to take my spot? Might as well."

No one makes a move.

"Great." Peter hauls himself up and screws his eyes shut, trying to imagine lush green forests, clear rivers...He blindly stumbles forward, but then he's thinking of Nia and the way she had suddenly gone quiet on their way back to the storage room. How she never once looked at him and didn't speak when he showed her his new and improved sketch. How her silence seemed more deadly than the wicked lilt of her insults. And it's too late: he's already halfway encompassed by the gloom before he can clear the image of her from his head.

Ah. Shit.

~~~

Nia is pissed. "I told you not to follow me," she says.

"I didn't do it on purpose."

"You had one job."

"You do realize you messed up too, right? Where are we?"

"I thought you knew!"

"How would I know?"

Nia glares daggers at him, the ocean mist spraying at their ankles. They're on sort of island in the middle of nowhere, and Peter might be imagining it, but he can still smell smoke.

"Where's Enne?" she demands, obviously deflecting the question. "I told her to go after me."

"She did," Peter says. "But your stupid ass got dumped here and she probably made it to Narnia."

Nia scoops up sand and hurls it at him. He dodges. "Well, your stupid ass lived in Narnia! I don't see how you could have...How you could have..." She trails off, stricken.

"Are you okay? I told you it was an accident."

But now Nia is patting at her waist and her legs. "Fucking-shit...mother-of..." She spins around and desperately surveys the coastline.

"What's wrong?"

She stalks towards some jagged rocks jutting out near the waves, kicking up some sand and mumbling profanities. "...of all people...dumbass..."

Peter's never seen her so...agitated. And that was saying a lot. He realizes she's looking her her backpack and sword. "Do you need hel-"

"And how exactly was it accidental!" she explodes, trudging up to him in fury. But she falters as soon as their eyes meet, and he sees something flicker across her face.

He takes a step forward, noticing her chin wobble. "Why are you-"

"You thought of me." Her voice cracks, and the blood drains from his face. "That's how you ended up here."

"I didn't," he insists, the panic slowly building.

"Bullshit."

"You asked me for the truth."

"Well, your truth is a fucking lie."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Forget it," she snaps, breaking eye contact. She jogs deeper into the island. He watches her go, and his gut twists in her absence. He blurts it out without thinking:

"And what if I did?"

His mouth goes dry. Shit. Shitshitshit.

Well. He can't take it back now, this--this unplanned confession of his. But the dejection on her face had been real, and he doesn't get it.

She slows down. The wind sweeps her hair up and paints it across the orange of the sky like a flame. He hears the waves crash onto the beach, her voice second.

"Then you're out of line, and you'll regret it." She doesn't look back, but he can hear her resolve. "Stay away from me, Peter, before someone gets hurt."