Changing Toward Love
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Notes of the Authoress Anthy: Chapter Four! This is a really honest chapter ... not so happy, though ... it still focuses heavily on the past. I was so happy ... I have reviewers! ;_; -- happy tears! Thank you so much for taking the time to review my story. I greatly appreciate it. I'm eager to write the next chapter ... it, too, is Peter and Wendy confrontation ... mmm'hmm! Thanks again for reading and reviewing. Much love to you, darling readers!
Disclaimer: No, I don't own the movie or the book, but whoever does should be so proud! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!
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I'm so tired of being here...
Surpressed by all my childish fears ...
And if you have to leave ... I wish that you would just leave ...
Cause your presense still lingers here ...
And it won't leave me alone ...
These wounds won't seem to heal ...
This pain is just too real ...
There's just too much that time cannot erase ...
-- Lyrics from My Immortal by Evanesence,
... the song I listened to over and over and over while writing this chapter.
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As my fingers tightened around the cold metal doorknob, I found I couldn't think. Every one of my thoughts was evaporating rapidly into thin air, replaced by that very familiar, terrible ache inside, the ache that had been screaming at me for years to do this- to return for Wendy- but that I had avoided for so long in fear.
I twisted the doorknob, praying that the sullen Lost Boys had been wrong. Wendy was just the same, always just the same. She would be sleeping inside this door, her slender body curled up under the covers, dreaming of having grand adventures, of danger and excitement. She would look just the same as I remembered, and she would look at me with the same playful, and yet unnervingly calm eyes. It was the calmness in her blue eyes that had always drawn me, always made my thoughts freeze as she smiled at me.
I had thought then that all girls had that calm, captivating depth in their eyes, but as time had passed and those eyes were one of the only things that I was able to remember of her, I couldn't help but wonder if only Wendy had that certain blue calm inside. The longer I'd been away from her, the more things I realized were not traits of girls, but unique sparks of Wendy.
Tink and Princess Tiger Lily didn't have lips that were full and always so warm-looking, even from far away. Their smiles didn't curve up in that certain way, and their hair never pooled around their shoulders in soft waves as Wendy's had. She was very different from all the other girls I'd known. She was, and always had been, the only Wendy to ever be.
I felt my heart clench painfully again. If Wendy had truly changed as the boys had told me, then maybe she'd lost all the special things that had made her so impossible not to touch. Maybe all her tears had washed away the blue sparkle of playfulness in her eyes, erased the calm that had frozen everything inside me when I looked at her. And maybe her smile didn't curve up anymore, but rather curved down. Perhaps even her hair had gotten sad, limp and dull instead of soft and flowing.
The door clicked. I swallowed that same hard lump in my throat- I would see for myself. I would find out what had become of my forever and always Wendy.
I flew into the room silently, hovering only inches above the floor. The first thing I noticed was that compared to the nursery, it was nearly empty. There was a wooden dresser with a large, framed mirror over it, and a polished cedar wardrobe, and a small nightstand with a dark lamp.
There were no toys strewn about, no mess at all. If I had not known it was her room, I would have thought it her mother's, or some other woman's. This thought sent a cold chill through me. Wendy was not a woman, I chanted in my mind. Wendy was a fairy-girl with blue eyes and skin like the moon, a storyteller, the first girl I'd known to brandish a sword nearly as well as me, the only girl who had ever given me her ...
She was lying just there, in the bed, buried under light blue blankets that seemed shiny in the moonlight. It pooled over her bed, seemingly spotlighting it so that all the rest of the room seemed especially dark. But ... I couldn't go over there, to her bed, just yet. I needed just a little bit more time.
I floated around slowly, touching everything with hands that suddenly seemed too dirty to use. Everything was very polished, clean, without mark or mistake, and nowhere was there clutter or mess. This especially disturbed me; it seemed as though she barely lived at all in this perfect bedroom.
I stopped when I reached the dresser, for on top of it, sitting ominously, was Wendy's little chest. I remembered that when I had first given her my kiss, she'd run over to it to fetch a chain, the chain she'd used to string my kiss around her neck. That chest seemed strangely old now, half-hidden in the shadows.
I reached for it and opened the lid, dipping my fingers inside. I searched, tangling my hand in rows of delicate necklaces and sharp earrings, even a string of tiny pearls that glowed in the moonlight. My kiss, however, was nowhere to be found. I knew that if Wendy had saved it, she would have put it in her little chest for safekeeping.
And it was not there.
I winced as a horrible vision overwhelmed me. You've forgotten me, Peter Pan!,' Wendy would yell out into the night sky, and with a sharp snap she would rip the chain from her neck and throw my kiss out through her window, out into the dark London street.
Thinking of this, of the first thing I had given her being thrown away in pain, made everything inside me tighten and twist. It was much too easy for me to imagine this, believe it could happen. Much too easy.
And then it happened. I turned toward her bed, and just as I did, she stirred, shifting her head from the curve of the pillow to the pool of moonlight around her. My jaw dropped slightly; I was seeing Wendy for the first time in a very, very long time.
I flew toward the side of her bed, never taking my eyes from her. From a distance, she looked very much like the Wendy I had left behind. I felt the tightness in my throat returning; nearing her, she began to appear different. Her face was more oval than it had been before, less round, but her eyes and lips were still placed on it just the same.
And her skin ... it was still pale like the moon, milky like the string of pearls in her little chest. Without realizing it, I closed the distance between us so that I was now hovering just next to her nightstand ... her hair, I thought. It still pooled around her hair in gentle waves.
I reached out my hand, touching a wave of warm auburn; it was still so soft. I let my hand run down through it, reveling in the silkiness that was so unlike my toughened palm. And her lips ... they were still full and pink, still so warm-looking from far away ... the soft lips she'd kissed me with.
I lifted my hand from stroking her hair, touching my fingertips instead to her warm cheek, still pale and soft, skin glowing in the moonlight ... and as I did this, felt her warm, steady breath on my wrist, watched her chest rise and fall in unbreaking rhythm, it all came flooding into me.
Everything that I had been running from for so long came rushing into me in one great, powerful wave, flowing through me and swallowing my entire self with longing- that same terrible, miserable ache that was also sweet, insatiable pleasure.
My Wendy. She was still my Wendy, I knew that now, even if it was only in the honesty of her sleep. The air around her still shimmered with invisible pixie dust; it was Wendy-dust, the glitter that always hovered around her, always shown around her like pale sunbeams. She was still a fairy-girl, still Wendy.
But she was different, too.
I could tell that she had grown. Her face had changed, and her body had changed ... but strangely, I liked it. Her body was bigger, yes, but it was also full of gentle curves that I knew had not been there before. They were like the smooth curves of a fairy's wing, hugging her body so that it seemed to flow underneath the blankets like the waves that flowed up over the sand. She had changed, and she had grown.
But looking at her ... for the first time, the thought of growing up didn't frighten me, or disgust me. Wendy's growing older had made her different, yes, but it was a different that was also so ... beautiful. She was still so beautiful, and that meant that growing older had somehow, miraculously made even Wendy more like a shimmering fairy.
I smiled then, I really smiled. The terrible ache still swelled in my chest, but I didn't care, because Wendy was still soft and warm and ... Wendy.
I wondered then if her eyes still had that playfulness, or that deep blue calm. I had to know; I had to talk to Wendy again. It was hard to tear my fingertips away from her cheek, but somehow, I did, and I moved my hand to her shoulder.
Gently, I pushed. I shook her as softly as I could, in sharp contrast to the rude way I had poked John awake. Once, twice, a third little push. A fourth.
And then, quietly, she moaned and stirred.
I froze, suddenly startled. Before, she'd been like a breathing picture, pretty and shimmering, but not real. And now, she was awakening, about to open her blue eyes, and somehow, that amazed me.
Cold sweat filled the palms of my hands again. I pushed a fifth time.
Wake up, Wendy, I whispered. Hey ... please, wake up.
I shook her again, swallowing the hard lump that had returned to my throat. She moaned again, and her body twisted slightly. Another moan, and then, slowly, her eyes fluttered open.
Oh god, I thought, looking into them. They were still deep blue, still alive with the spark of life, the shimmering spark that only Wendy's eyes seemed to carry. I was suddenly frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe.
H-Hey Wendy, I whispered, feeling my body lift up unconsciously. I hovered over her bed, aligning my body so that it was parallel to hers, only my head was a foot or two back from hers. I couldn't bear to look directly down into those eyes.
Wendy blinked several times, still mostly asleep.
It's me, I continued to whisper. Peter Pan. You remember me ... don't you?
she questioned softly, her eyelashes still fluttering.
Oh god, that voice. I'd forgotten that voice so long ago ... it was sweet, and full, and resonating, even though it was so soft ... how could I have forgotten it at all?
I said in one quiet breath. It's me, Peter. Do you remember me, Wendy?
She blinked a final time, and then, her eyes stayed open. She stared into me, searching me. I froze, hovering above her body in midair. Those eyes swept through me, reaching parts of me that even I had to fight to find.
And then, as I felt my entire body stiffen with nervousness, her pretty lips curled into that same gentle smile.
Of course I remember you, she said with kind, distant eyes. Peter Pan.
I found myself saying, all other thoughts being wiped away in her stare. Heh, I ... I ... oh, Wendy. You still look ... like a fairy ... I don't think I ever told you that I thought that, but you're like ...
But Peter, Wendy mumbled suddenly, her eyes still intent on me. You ... you look so different tonight.
To ... tonight?, I asked. I realized suddenly how distant the look in her eyes was.
she said in response, and I found my body suddenly freezing once again as she raised her hand and sleepily pressed it half on my cheek, half in my hair. Yes, quite different ... if I ... didn't know better ... I would think that you had ... grown up.
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Did she want me to still look the same?, I asked myself, the cold sweat still flowing. What did she think of me ... now?
I found myself saying, shocked at the pleading tone of my own, usually so proud voice.
But we both know ... that is ... impossible, Wendy continued to mumble. Peter Pan is the boy who ... never ... grows up, not .. ever ...
Until you, Wendy, I whispered, hearing my voice tremble. Didn't she understand that all this was her doing? Did she realize what she had done to me?
Wendy moaned again, her eyelids fluttering open and closed. I thought for a moment that maybe, she hadn't heard me. Oh ... mmm. Peter.
I'm here, I said quietly. What was wrong with her? She seemed so ... completely ... out of it.
she whispered, slurring my name. Come ... here.
I froze as the hand she had half-tangled in my hair tightened and tugged. The twisting inside me tightened harder than ever as I breathed out, suddenly feeling more scared than I ever had in my life. I gave in ... I let her pull my floating body toward her.
And to my shock, she wrapped her warm arms around me, pulling my head so close to her that part of my cheek brushed against hers.
I found I could no longer breath, and panting, I waited ... waited for her to say something first. Moments passed ... but nothing. And then, right into my ear, she made a sound as though she were choking.
A moment later, I felt warm water dripping onto my face, half-hidden in her hair.
Oh no, no, I thought. The ache in my chest exploded, attacking my sore heart from every angle. My Wendy was crying, sobbing, into me.
I whispered, unsure of what to say but knowing that something must be said to comfort her. The ache would kill me if I didn't stop her tears from flowing ... it would eat me alive if I didn't see her smile again soon. P-Please .. don't .. cry ...
Oh, Peter, Wendy cried out, her voice slurred and faraway. I know you're never coming back ... never ... n-never ....
I whispered, the ache ripping away at my insides as the wet warmth on my cheek spread, dripping down onto my neck. No, Wendy. I'm here. I'm here, I came back ... to see you, because I ...
Oh ... silly Peter, she choked. Silly dream Peter, don't lie to me ... I know that you aren't real ... let me wake up and ... and ... Peter will never come back to me, dream Peter .... the ... the real ... Peter ... who ... I ... ah-ahhh ...
And with that, she let out a sound, a noise that was choking and crying and screaming all bundled into one. As her tears dripped down my neck, I felt myself dying inside. Everything had twisted so hard that it had broken, torn into a million bleeding pieces. Something deep in me had snapped, and now, it was screaming out in pain and guilt.
Don't cry, Wendy, I found myself repeating, over and over again. Don't cry ... don't cry ... I'm here, Wendy, I'm here ... it's me ... Peter ... I'm ... I'm real, I'm real, I'm not a dream ... please don't cry, please don't cry Wendy ...
Wendy couldn't hear me any longer. She thought I was just a meaningless dream, and so she cried on, and on, and I hadn't the strength to shake her hard and wake her from her terrible nightmare. I couldn't bear to- in horror, I watched and felt Wendy cry out the horrible dream she must have been living for so long.
I hated Peter Pan then. I hated the way that I had lied to myself and tricked myself, told myself that the ache would go away, that the ache had to and should go away. I wanted hurt myself so badly now, because I had realized that my ache ... was Wendy's ache. It was Wendy's dreams and all the tears that she had shed for me ... it was her calling to me to come back to her. And I had ignored it, and pushed it away ... and now it had finally burst, and Wendy ... the still so beautiful Wendy ... was crying in my arms, thinking me a dream.
I groaned as my entire body filled with the lead of sadness, and I sunk down, falling with a thud onto the Wendy's bed. I buried my face in her hair and, with no thoughts or comprehension, I too began to cry. I cried for Wendy, cried for the time I'd not used. In the same way that admitting your disbelief in fairies kills them, not accepting the ache was killing me. And for a very long time ... it had been killing Wendy.
I cried on for a long while. Wendy's soft, warm hair grew wet and cold under my face, and after a time, her sobbing stopped, replaced by mine. I couldn't remember the last time that I had cried.
Her arms grew limp around me, and her tears slowed as her breath again became steady and even. She had fallen asleep, and I, still wrapped in her warm body, felt its pull on me as well. My tears slowed long after hers ... and when they did, a strange stillness overtook me, a stillness in which all my thoughts seemed very clear.
In the morning, when Wendy was awake, she would see that I was real. And when she did ... I would show her, somehow ... that I had been feeling her ache. I would talk to her, and maybe ... maybe ...
I would make her forgive me for not hearing her all this time.
I sighed, resting my heavy body. Sleep began to overtake me, and as it did, I felt a little spark of warmth in me ... knowing that I was safe, better somehow, in the arms of my sad, still-beautiful Wendy.
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-- End Chapter Four --
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Ending Notes: I really didn't intend that to be so sad, but it just sort of turned out that way. The next chapter will be like a continuation of this ... Wendy will wake up with Peter Pan in her arms and bed, heh. And when she's awake, she'll say different things ... I'm not sure if she should be so honest, as in sleep ... well, we'll see.
I was so happy when I woke up this morning (I'd fallen asleep on the office floor), and went to check my email, and ... well, I was thinking, oh, maaaybe I got one or two reviews. But then ... woah! I had a dozen! I was amazed. A girl named Isabelle even emailed me to tell me she liked this story. ^_^
This story will take a happier twist at some point ... just not yet. The pain of five years can't just magically disappear, even with love. I really hope that you all keep reading ... you're so kind ... *tears of joy*. And yes, nice reviewer, after Peter and Wendy confront each other fully, there is a plot afterward. An interesting one, I think. ^^
