Between Sleep And Wake

Where the Mermaids Swim

As time passed, the less Wendy wondered how her absence would impact her family or Emma. Realistically, they could never locate where she was regardless of how much they searched. How could they find a place not seen on a map? That could not even be reached by a fighter pilot in the sky?

Neverland could make its habitants forget their former lives. Wendy had trouble recalling her own parents' names when she was brought here at twelve years old. She hoped it would happen now too; alas, it did not. It would be easier that way; she doubted she could return home.

However, she did wish her parents and her brothers would forget her existence. She wished Emma found another friend to live with. Was that a foolish thought?

Often she was tied to the wretched wooden chair she'd first woken up on. Peter sometimes loosened her knots, but did prohibited her from leaving his sight. She was like a criminal being dissected by a prison governer. It was humorous in a way, since it was Peter whose behaviour constituted as ciminal.

She did not need to see her reflection to know she was losing weight. Her food intake was scarce, despite how insistent Peter and Dorothy were offering her meals.

"You cannot keep refusing for long," Peter said to her, after she told him she wouldn't eat a bird he'd killed and roasted for her.

"I can, and I will continue to do so," she muttered.

It frustrated her when, during some days, she was too ravenous not to consume any portions at all. She would have a forkful or two of what Peter cooked before lying about being too full to eat more.

Peter never believed her. He always had an incredulous frown on his face, his intense blue eyes searching hers for remnants of the truth. "You are not a convincing liar," he told her once. "I wish you would eat. You look unwell."

He was right. She was always tired and she knew it was imprinted on her face.

There was one night, when he'd let Wendy up from the chair and tied her hand to his with thick ropes, so they could all trek to where the mermaids lived.

It angered her seeing Dorothy's glassy eyes and dazed smile day after day. Did she not grow tired of her own submissiveness? Was she really as content as she presented herself? Wendy kept waiting for the day Dorothy would become impatient and livid by Peter's selfish antics, but that day did not arrive.

The water was beautiful, much like Wendy remembered, shimmering the same colours as the bright moon and stellar night sky. The surrounding grove was ominously still. Not even a slight sound of wind blew across the air. It should have created a comforting calm, but it only made Wendy more anxious. She could see the outline of the mountains in the distance.

Dorothy went off to engage in discussion with a beautiful fair haired mermaid with ivory skin who swam towards them when they sat down by the water. Since Dorothy never presented any deep thoughts, Wendy was curious to know what sort of conversation they were having.

"She has always been this way," Peter said to her.

She turned her head to look at him. "Which way?"

"Simple minded," he replied, as if to have read Wendy's thoughts. "I was bored of her quickly, but she is company. She enjoys performing daily chores. She will do them without me asking her."

"Is that all? She completes common housework? She doesn't serve you with physical companionship?" Peter had seldom shown any affection for Dorothy that suggested they'd ever been intimate, but Wendy still speculated whether her purpose was more than just being present when Peter needed his hut cleaned or food cooked.

"I don't understand," he said. He sounded childlike; naive to the underlying meaning of her inquiry.

"I assumed that you had . . . laid in bed, together."

He looked confused; his brows knotted together and his expression blank.

"I mean . . . intercourse," she said, hesitating before the final word. Taking advantage of a guileless woman like Dorothy was not difficult; Wendy was concerned for her.

That word made him scrunch his nose. "Why—why would you ask me such a question?" He was upset.

"You are an adult man," she replied. "I'm fully aware of the intentions they have with subservient women who stand by their beck and call."

"I would not do that. It offends me that you believe I would."

She didn't know why he was reacting this way. Peter showed no reluctance when killing innocent people, yet he was somehow perplexed by the idea of keeping a young woman in his home to have sexual relations with her? Were the lines drawn when it concerned emotionally abusing compliant women? Did he actually hold a sliver of humanity?

"I would not hurt her. I never have," he continued, his eyes watching Dorothy now as she chatted with the mermaid. They could not hear her words though the mermaid was attentive, her chin propped on her hands and her gaze never breaking from Dorothy. "I try to be kind to her, but she does frustrate me. She does not challenge me. I spoke of the books I'd read with her once and she had no interest in them."

"Not everyone is fond of reading."

"They ought to be," he said, staring back at her. "They ought to be wise and philomathic, like you."

She was too astounded by his correct use of the word philomathic to speak. Adult Peter appeared well read and eloquent, even in comparison to most people in Wendy's life, but unknowledgeable otherwise.

Gazing into his eyes, she experienced that pull—the kind that had left her entranced as a twelve year old. He didn't look evil or heartless. He looked like a man who would gift the moon to her if he could, who saw her as the only woman who mattered in his life. She was the reason for his existence, for waking up every morning. She motivated him to be better.

His face was so close; she could hear his soft breathing and her own heart racing. Her focus went to the small freckles splattered over his tanned, perfect face and she found herself leaning towards him without thought or reason.

"I'm getting hungry," Dorothy said, her voice breaking the quiet.

Wendy retreated from Peter and blinked, her senses regenerating. She was disgusted with herself for being so weak. She did not speak a word to Peter during their hike back.