Peter's Lily (Sequel to Pan's Tiger)

Chapter 40: Scars

Hey,
Hope you had a really nice Christmas (if you celebrate it)!
Thanks for reading. So excited to have 11k on "Pan's Tiger"! I know I promised an update sooner and I'm very sorry and this chapter is pretty bad, but I've already started the next one so it should be out soon.
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Enjoy,
Annabelle_the_reader
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A voice whispered quietly in my ear, bringing its lips so only I would hear them. The voice was stern and cold, sending a chill down my spine, but I couldn't identify it, all I remembered was the four words whispering in my ear over and over again, "Peter Pan never fails..."

I abruptly woke five hours later, wrapped in suffocating blankets that seemed to drown me in their masses. I woke next to Peter Pan, who hadn't left my side since he saved me so gallantly from my almost death experience.

I remembered my fall and winced, realising most of my body was wrapped up in tight bandages that didn't seem to mask the searing pain that shot through my every limb. I sighed as I noticed my body was scattered with livid bruises, like angry scars from my pathetic grip on the rock, constant reminders of how dangerous it had been.

I swallowed a lump in my dry throat, realising I hadn't drunk a single drop of water for hours and this, along with the high pitched screaming, was beginning to take affect.

In a state of boredom, I ran my thin, now pale fingers through my matted unkempt curls. Expecting their to be clumps of dirt and filth in my tangled mess of matted knots, I almost jumped out of my skin. My hair had been brushed and groomed until it was as silky as the hour I fell. I almost instantly knew it was Peter, and even if it wasn't, I knew that he would have been behind the kind gesture.

My eyes gently opened, blinking with the unexpected amount of light bursting in through the small lantern beside my bed. I blinked multiple times, inquisitively wondering why I was there, inside a building when I was caught on a cliff. That's when I realised, I was in Peter Pan's cabin.

It was around that moment that I heard a heavy sigh from my left. Jumping in fright, I turned my head to stare deep into the closed eyes of Peter Pan. Although covered by his shaggy hair, I knew his eyes would be the amazing bright, speckled green when opened. I had never been so close to him without feeling nervous. He was both intriguing and beautiful.

I acknowledged the way his arm was gently wrapped around my waist, pulling my small, feeble body towards his. But I was a retiring woman, preferring the company of myself, since entering Neverland, and sleeping was no exception.

I didn't feel entirely safe and secure in his grasp, in fact I felt quite contrary. This was like wrapping a boa constrictor around your neck and hoping it would squeeze. This was like placing a gun to your forehead and hoping it misses. This was like swimming with sharks and hoping when you slashed your leg, the blood didn't cause them to attack. To me, this was like all of these, put together, in the arms of my biggest enemy. I felt insecure, vulnerable, defenceless, helpless and reliant on his conditional mercy.

If Peter Pan awoke, angry with me trying to commit suicide, I would live to regret even agreeing to collect the Dreamshade all of those years ago.

I looked deep into his eyes, almost as if looking into his soul, then whispered softly, 'I'm scared, Peter Pan, really scared.'

Despite literally deriving from Neverland, which made it immortal, I felt like my heart never belonged in Neverland, much less so did it belong with Peter Pan. I felt more vulnerable than ever, like everything I said or did would hurt me. I couldn't love him, but neither could I not love him. I would be punished either way. I loathed him for his power over me, but loathed myself much more.