While you sleep//Peter Pan fanfic

Chapater 11

Liza's POV

I stand in front of a beaten down well, dipping my step fathers clothes into it to wash them. I ring out the last of the shirts, fold it, and put it in the basket.

I pick up the basket and start walking back to my house.

So I won't get beaten I have to jobs, doing every chore no matter how stupid, and I have to wear a dress and apron. So now I look and act like a maid, I pretty much a maid.

I roll my eyes at the thought of actually being a maid, if I had a choice. If I had a choice I would become a solider, but I'm female, and I'm a maid for Richie. My dream will never become more than a dream.

I start to think of a dream I recently had, there was this boy, and everyone called him Pan. Pan and I feel in love, then he died. A male named Felix, I think that was his name, feel in love with me after Pan died. We then went to England to find a cure for Pan, I think we were there for the body of my brother, but he had died. I was carrying his body out of the house when a sharp pain hit me in the back of the head, and that's where I woke up.

I shake my head, trying to forget the dream, because it was only a dream. I never went to "Neverland" because it doesn't exist, Pan isn't a real boy, neither is Felix. So why would I have  gone, if they weren't real to begin with.

I finally reach my home. I open the door to the house.

"Dad...I'm home. Your laundry is clean. Dad?" I step into the kitchen, I drop the laundry on to the floor. My "dad" is past out on the floor, holding a wine bottle in his hand. Parts of shattered glass is scattered around on the floor. I quickly start picking up the pieces cutting my knees, my fingers, and hands.

I try to pick up the laundry basket, but it stings with the cuts in my hands. I once again drop the basket, I look at my hands, the are covered in deep red slits. I clench my hands into a fist, wincing at the pain.

I grab the basket again, but don't drop it this time. I squint my eyes, trying to keep from yelling out. The pain shots through my arms, sending a tingling feeling.

I hurry to my fathers room, to put the clothes away so I can wash up. I fold shirt after shirt, pants after pants, socks after socks. Eventually these actions become automatic. I don't even think about where things go I just place thing after thing.

The basket becomes empty, I stand up without even looking at it, or wanting to pick it up again. I walk to the bathroom, and open the door slowly, trying not to hurt my palms. I hip check the door when it's wide enough that I don't need to hold the handle.

I reach in the medicine cabinet, I pull out hydrogen peroxide. I slowly pour it over my left hand, it stings like crazy, but helps a little, so I keep pouring. I rinse off my good hand. Then I pass the bottle between my hands. I do the same to my right hand. I grab the  sink and turn it off.