Robbie Kay Short Stories

Confessional

Confessional 

Y/N’s eyes open slowly as the sun greets her face and warms her body. She knows this isn’t real, it can’t be, she thinks. Every morning she wakes and expects to find herself back at home in her own bed. Instead, she is exactly where she’s fallen asleep the night before, and as always, she wakes up under the watchful eye of Peter Pan. This isn’t real, she manages to convince her subconscious every morning. He isn’t real. 

Y/N can’t remember how she got here, or how long she’s been tethered down to this strange land under his sweet, diabolic spell. Time seems to disappear into an abyss in Neverland. The days are marked with sunrises and sunsets, but they all manage to morph into one long, continuous day. Has it been weeks? Months? Is anyone looking for her, she wonders. Not that it matters; she would never leave the boy if given the opportunity. Y/N would happily stay lost, indefinitely, if it meant being able to stay with Peter forever.

Something deep in her calls for him, something she doesn’t quite understand yet. Being close to Peter makes her head fuzzy with anticipation. Just one look from him sends her reeling, stumbling backwards on her reason and temperance. The glint of his green eyes manages to touch every corner of her being; twisting and pulling her insides into heaps of excitement and confusion and sensuality. He has never once touched her, but what he can do to her with his gaze and his voice is just the same. Her body shivers and shakes under his stare as if he were licking her most secret parts with his wet tongue. Shamefully, Y/N wishes that he would.

But two can play this game. And what a naughty game it will prove to be.

Peter wanted Y/N in Neverland. He willed it to happen so she just appeared- a vision straight out of his own dreams made up from his desires, and perhaps a bit from his nightmares as well.  Oh, what she did to him. In the short time that Peter has had Y/N in Neverland, she has managed to flip Peter’s world on its head and send him spinning. Disoriented, he isn’t sure what to do with her. He wants to wrap Y/N in his arms and keep her there, comatose but audible. But at the same time, he wants to push her away along with the pang he feels in his gut whenever he looks at her. His own indecisiveness makes him uneasy so he keeps a watchful distance from her, swooping in occasionally when the longing in him wins out against his self-control.

And so this brilliant dance goes on for quite some time; each of them tiptoeing around each other, foolishly thinking they can somehow outride the sprays of their darkest desires. What they are really doing is just building up their unspoken needs, letting them pile way, way high in the sky, knowing full well that one day the stack will tip.

What silly games, indeed.