Never-Neverland
On the floor of the grimiest hotel of London lay a girl, a young woman, who was allowing her imagination to free her once more. It was a drug for her, the ability to break free and let go of the pain she was holding and paint herself a picture in her mind. It didn't matter how she had become the muddy girl on the floor, it didn't matter that she was an orphan with no family; all that mattered was the expanding fantasy in her mind.
There was one story she always went back to, the story of Peter Pan. And she was always Wendy, except, at the end of the story she stayed with Peter, with the boy she had given her heart to. He always appeared on her windowsill, on a windy midsummer night, looking like the dashing hero. Clothed in billowing green pants that hung low on his hips, she couldn't deal with tights, and a loose gypsy style shirt that would be blown about by the wind. He was the melting pot of all her favorite things, sometimes he was more pirate looking that gypsy, sometimes he was more bardic that gypsy, but he always looked heroic, her savior.
And he always hated Wendy, because she hated Wendy, what kind of a name was Wendy anyway? The name sounded weak, and Cara would have nothing to do with weak girls. She hated Wendy for breaking Pan's heart. How could she leave him, he was perfect. He didn't want to grow up, he wanted nothing to do with the responsibilities of an adult, the responsibilities she'd had far too much of. She believed that only a very cruel person could have left him. It didn't matter to her that he didn't know what love was, that Wendy should have stayed and taught him. And Cara had a superstition that he did know what love was. She knew in her heart that Peter loved Neverland, and would do anything to keep it safe, even not growing up. She thought if he could love a place that much he could learn to love her that way, she would just have to stick around longer than Wendy.
What Cara didn't realize was that her version of love, and Peters, would be very different. Cara thought love was fast, love was passionate, love was fierce, love was shocking and exciting. Peter had grown a little, and he had learned to understand that love was patient, love was deep care, love was passionate, but it was also quiet, love was fierce, but also gentle, love was a multitude of opposites things, but most of all, love was love, the deep kind that roots in your soul and makes you willing to die for the person you love. He understood that what he had had with Wendy was an infatuation, but he had grown, and what he felt for this grimy girl, was love of the purest kind.
Which is why he stopped to tap on her window that midsummer's eve. Cara looked up and gasped, there was a boy on her window, an odd looking boy who appeared to be dressed for a costume party, dressed to go as Peter Pan. She got up and opened the widow. He climbed into her room and stood there, looking, Peter Pan-ish.
"Hello," he said with a wide grin. "I'm Peter, Peter Pan." She stared at him, he was much different than she had imagined, he was older, she had pictured him ten or twelve, but this boy looked almost sixteen. He was tall, dashing, and a little dirty. To her he was amazing, her hero, her ray of sunshine in s dark and trashy world.
"Cara," she said, still in awe, Peter Pan was in her room. In her room, standing there looking like a storybook character, she smiled, he was a storybook character.
"I know," He said before leaning forward and grabbing her hand. "Come away with me," he whispered, exactly how she'd known he would. "Come away with me to Neverland." And so she did, she took his hand and leapt out of her window, never to look back, never to despair, and never to grow up.