Monster // Peter Pan (Robbie Kay) (OUAT)

Chapter Thirty Five

Author's Note:

Please don't ask where I've been. Idk anymore. things have super stressful and i can't fit it all into one authors note, but things have been really hard. ill get back to you though, promise.

Also, just ANOTHER thank-you message for you guys. Your sweet words are contagious and I still lose breath when I read your comments. It's hard to respond bcs Wattpad doesn't let you say "thank you!" twice on your comments, and the amount of comments has grown so much (keep it up! I promise I read them all <3) Whenever I'm sad I read your generous comments and im blessed to have so many amazing readers to support me.

An amazing thing is I checked the reads a little bit ago and saw 684K. that's so amazing...i was so terrified you all would leave

Please remember that I am a student first, and I can't always get a chapter out every few days! The last few weeks of August were spent finishing summer homework I procrastinated doing the whole summer. the first quarter of school was an absolute disaster i dont even know where to begin i hate junior year

Finally, I've seen some confusion in the comments !! Andria has not been in Neverland for 70 something years. Mason has. I keep a day count at the top of every chapter so you know how long Andria has been in Neverland (:

Recommended Songs:

Recognize by Partynextdoor

New Person, Same Old Mistakes by Tame Impala

------ALSO ! ASK ME QUESTIONS FOR ME TO ANSWER AT THE END OF THE NEXT CHAPTER! <3-------

Please note that it's a little different in this chapter. The format is Andria writing a "diary" entry, if that makes sense. There won't be too many of this, but I wanted to get Andria to empty her feels out for you guys, clearly, because her emotions have been hazy lately. She's kinda trying to organize them for herself right now too, you know !

Chapter Thirty Five

Day 83

Diary #1

Date: Not sure. I forgot to ask Gale. I forgot he carves lines in the wall of his hut. I should've asked.

I wanted to start this out with "Dear life" or "Dear Neverland" or "Dear Pan," but then I changed my mind because that's really stupid.

First off, I wanted to organize the files in my brain right now. They're kind of scattered. I started placing events with Oliver into Chester's folder, and started cramming Mason and Gale into one file. So, organizing!

How do I feel?

Well, Gale and I are better than ever I suppose. The envy left his eyes. We sleep in each others' huts sometimes. Not romantically, duh. But friendly. He's my best friend. The BESTEST friend I've ever had. And Mason is like my little brother. Sometimes, I swear I'd lay my life down from him. He's entirely wise, especially for being eight, or nine, or something along there. I haven't seen him cry, I don't think. He has bold advice. I think that's why Pan doesn't tease him. Mason has this thing about him that people just respect.

Tyrell is beginning to speak up. He never said much at first. Now he has a voice. It's a beautiful thing to hear. His accent is thick, and lively, and I imagine that if he sang, it would be a delectable sound.

Chester is still an ass.

There's something in Oliver that frightens me when I look at him. Nothing like Chester. I look at Chester, and I think eh, he's an ass. But Oliver...Oliver's eyes burn with something evil. I don't know what it is. It's a hate I've never seen before. Pan is sadistic and all, but Oliver blazes with something harsher. I'm afraid he might kill me. Really, really kill me.

I think I wrote this down because I wanted to figure Pan out. Draw him out. Sketch his heart out and point out all the blackened regions and bloody leaflets and all the ones that pulse with real feeling. So, what is he?

I've decided that he isn't a monster. A boy. He's a lost boy, all on his own. So lost his heart has become feral. But he's shifting into something else. I'm terrified it's all an act. I can't figure it out. Everything I come up with to describe him doesn't hit the spot. He's the sound of a thunderstorm when you're in a room of all windows. He's a conversation of in one ear, out the other. He's looking into someone with such an invasive intensity. Subtle, but persistent. The strange awareness of your own heartbeat. Inside you, inside your brain, always.

He moves musically, in sync, like language. He's saying something when he walks. He's speaking when he crosses his arms, when he jams in his hands in his pocket. And when he grabs me he's screaming. But I hate it because I never know what he's FUCKING saying! What does he want! What is he asking me! Is he begging! Is he pleading 'Andria! Andria! Save me! Ask me something! Tell me something!'

I feel as if he wants something and I can't deliver. Like he physically can't ask for help. Like I am a mail woman supposed to drop off the package he ordered years and years ago.

I don't know what to do. I'm helpless. He doesn't punish me like he used to. I snuck into his hut and went into his room the other evening while he took Oliver out to the sea for a chat. And I looked at his books. They didn't have titles. They wouldn't open for me. Like they were glued shut. But one had a title, in handwriting. "Mine." And it opened, and was all black ink handwriting. But I didn't read a word. Pan caught me and wordlessly put the book back and grabbed me around the waist with one hand, softly but orderingly, and escorted me onto the deck. And he shut the door behind me and left me outside.

Why didn't he punish me? Let the boys shoot arrows at me? Make me stand on my tip toes on the cliff for the night? Make me sleep outside?

He didn't. But I want that book. I need it.

There's something about him. I feel something so longingly for him. I don't know what I want. Do I want him to open up the boundaries and tell me what he is? How this happened? Open the doors to the entire island? Do I want him to kiss me, fiercely, and let me feel all his tension? Or do I want him to love me, love me...

NO! No! No no!

no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no

i couldnt i couldnt i couldnt

i should bury myself in the walls of the well for that,

condemn myself for that,

end myself entirely for that.

love doesn't grow in open wounds. but every time I say he's incapable, a part of me is like, Andria, shut the hell up. If he's capable of hate, he can love. He is an extreme. if he's able to hate, he can love. He can.

but id never save him

Oh, Andria, stop writing. Put it to bed. Never speak to anyone again with a mouth like that. Never bring that up. Pan is a cloud full of rainwater. You can hold the pieces of him that fall. But you can never have all of him to yourself. He is part of the sea, and the sky, and the island as a whole. He'd never stay.

I'm going to bed.

-Andria

A/N: Thank you for all the love. - Mia