Panic

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

            Someone was humming a tune next to me.  I blearily opened my eyes.  This proved to be difficult, as some sort of puss-like substance had turned crusty over my eyelids, closing them shut.  I rubbed the crust off and opened my eyes.

            Peter sat in the helm, rowing the boat.  When he saw that I was awake, he grinned.  “You gave me quite the scare,” he said. 

            “Where are we?” I asked.

            “Oh, about twenty kilometres from Neverland,” Peter said.  “It’s insane that you got so far away from the island in four days, Wendy.”

            “Four days?”  It had felt more like four months.

            “Yeah,” Peter said.  “You gave us all a scare when we couldn’t find you.  We talked to Tootles, who said that you had talked to Nibs, so then we talked to Nibs and he told us everything.”

            “Everything?”

            “He said you thought you were a burden here and you ran away so that you could keep us safe,” Peter said, and he stopped rowing for a moment.  “You know you aren’t a burden, right Wendy?”

            I looked up at him.  “Help me sit up?” I asked.

            He slid an arm behind me and leaned me against his chest so I was sitting in an upright position.  I sank into his warm embrace and breathed deeply.  We sat there for several minutes, or perhaps several hours, I wasn’t really sure. 

            “I’m glad you found me,” I said finally.  “I didn’t want to leave you without saying goodbye.”

            “Don’t you ever say goodbye to me Wendy Darling,” Peter said firmly, clutching me closer to him as he said the words.  “I can’t live without you.”

            “I don’t plan on saying goodbye anytime soon,” I said, and I realized that I meant it.  I was done running away from my problems.  I was going to face them head on with a golden sword.

            “Good,” Peter said, and I looked up at him.  He kissed me, and I melted into that kiss.  He pulled away and kissed my cheeks, the top of my head, my forehead.

            “Stop,” I whispered.  He did, and I looked up at him.  Slowly, I kissed his mouth, feeling his heartbeat in his lips.  He ran a hand through my knotted and tangled hair as he kissed me back.  My hands found his face, and I felt the roughness of his cheeks beneath my fingertips as the kiss deepened.

            We sat there for a long time, just huddled together in the canoe.  “I lied to you,” I said.

            “About what?”  He sounded concerned.

            “The dreams,” I said.  “It wasn’t Father.  He never beat John or Michael.”

            “That’s alright,” Peter said, squeezing me tightly.  “I’m not going to ask.”

            “Thank you,” I said, relieved.  I was too ashamed of the trouble my dreams had caused and was still wary about Fonce’s warning. 

            Again, we fell into silence and the wind picked up.  “Peter,” I said.

            We sat up, and Peter took an oar.  “Please don’t panic,” he said loudly as the wind picked up even more.