VAST (IV): Peter Pan OUAT

Frank

It is the middle of the night.

I was able to sneak out of the building without anyone noticing me. The laundry room backs on to the fire escape, which is kind of nice. No one could come and bother me yesterday, when I stayed out in the town, nor could they bother me in the middle of the night, when I bused to the forest and roamed around, nothing with me but my old dagger and my thin green jacket to protect me from the cold and the night.

The thing is, I'm starving. I had my debit card on me, so I've eaten, but I feel awful wasting our money on fast food and meals I can microwave in the gas station. Besides, I've been awake for some odd 36 hours, I'm beyond tired, and I need to go home, even if that means I have to sleep tonight when I desperately don't want anything else.

But I do anyway. I climb up the fire escape and in through the open window back into my room. This time, I take off my shoes. I'm resigned to these tiny walls. The baby cries out in the night. Johnny gets up to soothe it, hushing it back to sleep.

I enter the kitchen, grabbing a can of soup out of the cupboard. When I place it on the counter, I can't help but want to stab it open. I want the soup to explode in my face. I want to feel my dagger connecting with metal, with something thin liquid beneath. It's the opposite of stabbing someone, really – through bone and then to flesh, rather than vice versa.

I frown at the thought of violence, all too familiar in my life. All too normal. 19-year olds shouldn't be fantasizing about stabbing soup cans, or about using knives which fit perfectly in the palms of their hands.

A week ago, I left my room and sat on the couch to watch a documentary with Harry about child soldiers. He threw up five minutes in. I couldn't help but wonder what would've happened to me if I had gone to Pan when I was 12, like some of the other Lost Boys. That would be me now.

Although, I would've had the added benefit of not falling in love with Peter, probably. That would've been nice.

I leave the soup can, heading to the bathroom. I need to shower. With the light on, and the door shut, I turn on the faucet.

My stomach grumbles and I try to ignore it, but it feels pretty damn impossible. I'm not starving, but it sure feels like it. I just want to go to sleep too. I can't help it.

Letting the water warm up, I turn to the mirror. My skin is dry and pale, much paler than it was even in the dim shade of Neverland trees. My hair is dirty but far cleaner than it has been before. I look like shit, but I always look like shit now. Now that we have a mirror, I'm just forced to face my own horror.

I hate my reflection.

I grab the door handle. There are footsteps just on the other side. Someone brushes against the door, passing by it. I stand still for a few seconds, waiting. The footsteps grow farther away.

Slowly, I open the door.

"What's the backpack for?" Alex's voice is a low mumble. It's difficult to hear him normally, though with a running faucet behind me I'm struggling. Alex has been quiet since we left Neverland. Quieter than before, even. Loud noises scare Harry.

"I'm leaving," Frank answers. I can't see either of them from here.

"For good?" Alex asks. There is a pause between them.

I slowly crack the door open so that I can slip out. My socks hit the carpet, and I am suddenly so thankful for the cheap flooring we have. If this were wood, it would surely creak beneath me. I've lost my ability to sneak around; before I could be silent in a forest and now I am bested by hardwood.