Trapped forever: The never-ending captivity of a lost girl.

chapter 7 (update)

Pan's POV:

"I think you do know," he said, his voice low as he stepped closer to me. "Get up."

I winced as he pulled me to my feet, the anger radiating off him. "What is wrong with you? Stand up!" he yelled.

I struggled to stay on my feet, my legs trembling. "Did someone hurt you?" His eyes were dark with fury, waiting for an answer.

I wanted to say yes, I wanted to scream at him that it was all his fault, but something in me couldn't. I stayed silent.

He stepped closer, his voice dangerously low. "DIVINE, answer me right now, or so help me God—"

"No, no one hurt me!" I shouted, the words spilling out of me.

"Then WHAT HAPPENED?" His rage was palpable, and I could feel the pressure building in my chest. I furrowed my brows and swallowed hard, trying to avoid his gaze.

"It was me..." I whispered, barely able to get the words out.

"SPEAK UP," he ordered, grabbing my wrist and pushing me into the wall. His grip tightened, forcing me to look him in the eye. "Continue," he demanded.

I felt my throat close as I looked down, not wanting to meet his eyes. "I used the glass to..." My voice faltered. He didn't let go.

"Continue," he pressed again, his grip on me now painfully tight.

"I used it to hurt myself," I finally said, the weight of my words crashing over me. I could feel tears pricking at the corner of my eyes, but I refused to look at him. His grip loosened, but I still couldn't bring myself to look up.

"Why?" he asked, his voice softening, but there was confusion in it too. "Why would you do that?"

I didn't want to explain. I didn't want him to understand. "You wouldn't understand," I whispered as I walked toward my bed, sinking onto it, the exhaustion from everything weighing me down.

Pan stood there, confused, unsure how to react. I could see it in his face. He didn't know how to comfort anyone, let alone someone like me.

I glanced up at him, half-expecting him to be angry. But his face was soft. It wasn't the usual scornful look, but something else—concern? Compassion? I couldn't understand it.

He sat beside me, breaking the silence. "Divine," he said softly, his tone catching me off guard.

I tried not to make eye contact, wiping my tears in frustration. "Divine, look at me," he said again, this time gently. I hesitated, then slowly met his gaze, my chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice.

"Trust me, I understand you," he whispered.

I shook my head, disbelieving. "Y-you do?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"Yeah, of course I do," he said, his words slow and deliberate. He hesitated for a moment before draping an arm around me. I shivered at his touch, unsure how to feel.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. His eyes locked onto mine, confused.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

I couldn't help but feel unsettled. This soft side of him—was it real? Was he pretending, just putting on an act? "Why are you pretending like you know me? Like you know what I'm going through?" I stood up, pacing. "Just stop faking it, please."

Pan stood up as well, his expression hardening slightly. "Trust me—"

"No! Why would I trust you?" I cut him off, the anger rising in me again. "Why would anyone trust you?" I looked up at him, my voice sharp.

He stared at me for a moment, and then a smile appeared on his face.

"What are you smiling at?!" I snapped, my frustration boiling over.

"Calm down, Divine," he said, and before I could protest, his hand was on my shoulder, rubbing gently. "I'm just trying to calm you down."

I flinched at his touch. "What are you doing?"

"Calming you down," he repeated, his voice so calm it felt like it could shatter me.

I turned my gaze away, feeling overwhelmed. "Would you look at me, please?" he whined, sounding exasperated.

I finally looked at him, and what came next caught me completely off guard. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice soft and vulnerable. "For everything. I have so much anger inside me, and sometimes it just explodes. I do and say things I don't mean, and I hate myself for it. I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused."

I stood there in shock, my mind spinning. I wasn't sure if I believed him. Was this real? Was this another manipulation? I scrutinized his face, looking for any sign that he was faking it. But he looked... genuine. He was sweating, his brows furrowed as if he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Please, will you say something?" His voice trembled.

I swallowed, unsure how to respond. He kept pleading. "Please forgive me. I'll make it up to you."

I frowned. "And how will you do that?"

He paused, taking a deep breath. "You can do whatever you want to me. Take out all your anger on me. Hit me, say whatever you need to. I'm here for that. Please, just... don't hate me."

It was strange. A part of me wanted to take the offer, to let everything out. So I did.

I slapped him. Hard.

"Harder," he urged, his voice almost pleading.

I slapped him again, harder this time. A red mark bloomed on his cheek. "Is that all you can do?" he teased, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Something snapped in me. I punched him in the chest, sending him sprawling to the floor. "Harder, Divine," he whined.

I kicked him in the torso, frustration building. He grunted with each hit, egging me on. I climbed on top of him, raining slap after slap across his face, pounding my fists into his chest. He winced, but his words were just as unbothered as before.

"Come on, Divine," he urged.

"I'm trying, okay?!" I yelled, my voice breaking.

Tears started to fall. I wiped them away, frustrated at myself for being so weak. "Sorry," I muttered through my tears.

He looked at me, his eyes softer now, but the anger was gone. "Take all your anger out on me. I'm here," he whispered.

I hit him again, harder this time. He grunted with every punch, gripping my hips to steady himself. "God, you hit hard," he laughed between gritted teeth.

Finally, I stopped, my fists sore from the impact. Pan lifted his shirt to reveal dark purple bruises from where my fists had landed. But for some reason, my eyes kept drifting to his abs, even though I told myself not to.

I quickly looked away, my face flushing. "Well, do you forgive me?" he asked, his voice unusually calm.

I nodded reluctantly. "Okay, fine."

"Good." He smiled, that soft smile again.

I caught myself staring at him, something strange twisting in my stomach. Was this real? Was he really sorry? Or was it all part of the game?

I cleared my throat loudly to distract myself. "Well," he said awkwardly, "I'm gonna go check on everyone."

"Yeah, okay," i  replied, he gets up and walks out.

I stood there for a moment, feeling off-balance. I slapped my face. What is wrong with me?

An hour later:

Bored out of my mind, I found an old dark red shirt and ripped it, turning it into a crop top with little holes for a distressed look. I slid it on, feeling a bit better.

I walked out of my tent and found the Lost Boys gathered around a fire, chanting and dancing wildly. I tried not to laugh at their bizarre antics.