Broken Memories // PETER PAN OUAT FANFIC

Chapter 3: Not Just a Dream

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I awoke with a start to the sound of birds chirping in the treetops above me. I could hear waves gently lapping the soft sand where it met with the water's edge.

Wait a second. Birds? Treetops? Waves??

I opened my eyes suddenly and with a slight groan I pulled myself up from lying on my back to sitting cross-legged on the ground. My head was pounding and my mouth felt dry. I could feel the soft sand underneath me as I shifted my weight forwards, putting my head in my hands to try and stop it from aching.

What the hell happened? Where the hell am I? I'm pretty sure last time I checked, I did not live on a beach.

I tried to think back to remember what happened and how I got to be on a beach. All I could remember was a sense of freedom, and a pair of strong arms that carried me from my bedroom window across the sea, and, apparently, to this island.

What the hell???

Panic was now beginning to set in, making my heart beat faster and my headache seemingly more painful. I was alone, on a beach, that appeared to be in the middle of an ocean. I wasn't exactly a pro at reading the suns angle and figuring out what time it was, or whatever the sun is used for, but judging by the weak light that filtered through the canopy of trees in front of me I thought it was maybe midafternoon.

Another thing you should know about me. You know how I said earlier that I often start crying when I feel overwhelmed with emotions? Well, living with an abusive alcoholic father has definitely made me realise that showing your emotions isn't always the best thing for you to do. So, I learnt how to bottle my feelings up and not let them show in front of my father, because I knew that as soon as I let slip that he had made me frustrated or miserable, I would get a seriously hard slap on any part of my body he could reach. Seriously, I've been slapped on my head, face, arms, hands, legs, torso, and chest. He's even slapped my feet when I accidentally kicked his beer bottle off of the living room table. And it wasn't exactly a soft slap either.

While I was reminiscing about my father and my emotions, I heard a pair of soft footsteps treading on the sand and coming to a stop in front of me. I didn't want to look, but my curiosity got the better of me. Darn.

I lifted my head up slowly to get a look at whoever the person was. My eyes travelled from their pointy toed black knee-high boots with red laces (knee-high?!) to their greyish-green pants, along their arms with the wrists fitted with brown cuffs, up to their dark green tunic-like top complete with a brown leather belt, and finally rested on the strangers face. I realised it was a boy, a boy with tousled blonde-brown hair, darkish brown eyebrows arched in amusement, and piercing forest green eyes. I thought he seemed to be a couple of years older than me, maybe around 18 or 19. A smirk played on his thin lips as he looked at me, no appraised me, as though I were a piece of meat. Though, to be fair, I had just done the same to him.

The boy tilted his head to the side as he watched me. He then chuckled and stretched out a hand, which I realised was him offering to help me up. Now, I'm not what you'd call the lightest or skinniest girl around, so when someone offers me their hand to lift me up from the ground, pretty sure you can guess that I'll always say no. This time was no exception.

I blinked and quickly put my hands behind me on the ground and pushed myself off of the sandy beach floor. I realised that I was now somehow only a few inches away from the strange boy in front of me. I could've reached out my hand and touched his chest. Not that I wanted to. No, definitely not.

I took a step back as I tilted my head up slightly to look at the boy's face, realising that he was taller than me by a good couple of feet. I hated feeling short. I mean, I was still like 5'7, so not exactly short-short, but apparently short enough to annoy myself. The boy returned my stare, his playful smirk still lingering on his lips.