Changing Toward Love
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Notes of the Authoress Anthy: They're at the bottom. I'm sorry that I have not updated in so very long - I was and am very depressed, and as such could not bear to write of love.
Disclaimer: No, I don't own the book or the movie(s), but whoever does should be so proud (James M. Barrie, I mean you)! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!
And now the story!
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Wendy stood numbly in front of her closed bedroom door. Her palms were slick with cold sweat, and the tightness of her corset dug so deeply into her abdomen that she felt sure she would be sick. A small part of her was screaming for her to just leave Peter be. He would understand in time her choice to be married, her need to be married. Talking to him now, when he was furious and upset, would surely only make matters worse.
She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath to calm herself. This nervous panic in her mind shouted on, but a greater part of her spirit- her heart- was silently begging her to speak with him, to explain to him. Wendy always listened to her heart in the end, and so it was with this decision.
She reached out her hand, slowing turning the knob of her door and allowing it to slide quietly open.
As the door gently hit the wall, she froze.
Peter was sitting on the side of the bed that faced the door, his head in his hands. His legs were spread wide, his elbows resting on his knees as his body shook with the effort of crying. The palms of his hands were pressed hard over his eyes as if to stop it, but this could not slow his tears.
Wendy whispered, her lips quivering.
Immediately, his body froze. He swallowed hard, blinking in shock before he began to rub furiously at his eyes, rubbing away the tears that stained them.
he choked, and he prayed then that she would leave and return later, for he was ashamed to be seen by her in such a weak state.
Why are you crying? Wendy asked gently, though she knew the answer perfectly well. She walked forward, reaching behind herself to push the door closed.
Peter did not answer at first, his head still buried in his wet hands. Finally, he shook his head, his golden brown hair shifting slightly.
You won't tell me? Wendy whispered, and Peter pursed his lips, pushing his palms deep into his eye sockets, so that the darkness he saw began to burst with odd, shifting blurs of colored light.
I'm not crying, he said at last, swallowing hard down his tight throat.
Please, don't lie to me, Wendy commanded softly, and she closed the gap between them, standing just a few feet in front of him. She wanted to step forward, to kneel down and rest her head on his knee and cry herself, but she fought this urge and remained standing.
Why did you come? Peter mouthed slowly, sniffling despite himself. Just go away.
I won't, Wendy replied, standing firmly though these words sent a blow to her heart.
I want you to go, Peter hissed, his head still buried in his hands, for no matter how hard he rubbed away the tears, he knew his eyes were still bloodshot, his bronze skin still pale and damp.
Look at me, and then perhaps I will, said Wendy bravely. She bit the bottom of her lip; inside she was quite scared of staying, but she knew there was much yet to be said.
Go away, Peter repeated, his voice cold but trembling. He wanted her to leave, because as he cried for her, thought on her, even saw her, his heart tightened and stretched and clenched so badly he was sure it would shatter. Wendy gave him a terribly warm, melting sort of feeling, but at the same time she was a source of pain, of a pain that was tearing apart some essential part of him inside. In that, he could not bear to see her.
Look at me, Wendy asked again, her voice coaxing but too quiet to be confident.
Peter heard her voice, and inwardly he sighed miserably. She would not leave him so easily.
He released his head from his hands, lifting his chin upwards toward her.
Wendy felt her heart still as she looked down at him, stinging tears welling up in her eyes. His eyes were red and wet, the emerald green within them so dark and obscured that she barely recognized it, barely saw the light that was always supposed to shine in the eyes of Peter Pan. It was there, yes, but flickering and dying, not nearly as bright and strong as it had been years ago. Her jaw began to quiver as her tears slid down; she was killing his very soul.
Peter asked suddenly, his eyes and voice so distant and desperate that Wendy found herself wanting to run away, longing to not face what was happening to him and to herself so much that she nearly turned away.
Why what? she asked, and she knew immediately that this was a horrible question, a question to which she already knew the answer.
Why do you want to marry him? Peter whispered, his lips open and his eyelids drooping. What is it that makes you want to spend always with him?
I've told you this before, Wendy answered tensely, shaking her head slightly. I want to marry Caleb because ... I want to raise a family, and he'll be able to take care of me, and–
Peter said quietly. You already told me that part. I want to know why you love him.
Love him, Wendy repeated in a quiet gasp, and Peter clenched his teeth, waiting.
Peter affirmed in a detached voice. Tell me what it is about him.
began Wendy, staring at him. The world around her began to spin, blurring the entire room except for her heart's focus; Peter. He gazed back at her numbly, his rich green eyes, so often wide with eagerness and curiosity, now clouded and dull.
She could think of no answer, nothing that would inspire her to love her fiancée. Her thoughts belonged to the boy standing just in front of her, her heart throbbing with the pain of knowing that she, with her own words, was wiping the joy from his eyes. It was her fault, and hers alone, and the realization of this consumed her ... especially since she knew inside that it was all a lie.
Peter said quietly, urging her to speak.
I just, Wendy tried to begin again. I ... oh, why must you ask me this?
She immediately scorned herself for such a pathetic answer, clutching her face as she let her head fall into her hands, shaking it slowly. It was all a lie, a lie designed for Peter that was killing the most precious part of him, and in effect murdering her. She whimpered, crying; there was no choice.
She would have to continue to lie. She could not be with Peter; there was no option for the truth. Not in the real world of adulthood.
Because I don't understand why, Peter answered, long seconds too late. He waited, cringing as he watched Wendy cry from frustration. He longed to reach out to her, to touch and comfort her, but some force would not let him. He was frozen in his place.
You're keeping things from me, Wendy, he said instead. Move, his mind chanted, she's crying, move, move now touch her ... but instead he rambled his thoughts out.
You tell me that you love him, but you can't say why? You want to ... marry him, spend eternity with him and yet you can't answer my question? You're ... you're sad. You're ... crying and ... you should be happy to be getting married, if you love-
Be quiet, Peter, Wendy whispered, her face still hidden away behind her palms.
Peter froze, remaining frozen in place watching her. His lips trembled, now knowing what he was supposed to say. Wendy broke the cold, brief silence.
I'm sorry, she offered quickly, But I've heard that line so many times. You should be happy to marry such a fine man, Wendy.' I'm so tired of hearing it ... I'm just so tired ...
Don't be married with him, then, Peter offered gently, and for a moment, his heart jumped; this solution was so simple, it could be the one.
It's not like that, Wendy sighed. It's so much more than that ... it's ... you said that I was hiding things from you, did you not?
I did, Peter answered unsurely. He gazed at Wendy uncertainly as she removed her head from her hands, revealing a pale face that was calm and blank. He sensed in his mind that something was horribly wrong, a quality in the air that spoke of how wrongly they were communicating. They should not be talking, it whispered. This moment is not meant for mere words.
I have been, Wendy admitted firmly, swallowing hard to clear her throat.
Tell me, then, Peter asked again, the gnawing in the pit of his stomach still warning him of something amiss.
I have tried, she began hesitantly, So hard ... to protect you. I thought that it would be easier for you to accept that I was marrying Caleb if you knew that I loved him ... easier for you to accept that I was grown if you thought I was chasing some fantasy out of a storybook: true love. I wanted to make you think that this world still has bits and pieces of yours scattered about in it, but it doesn't. It never has.
What do you mean? Peter winced, feeling the urge the step back from Wendy's penetrating blue stare.
This world, she spoke gently, Has no fairy tale endings. I'm marrying Caleb because I'm a woman, Peter. The only chance I have at finding the life I want is to marry him. I want children, and I don't want to live forever in this house, with my parents, no matter how dear they are to me. I want to have my own life, and because I am a woman, this is the only way. My only choice is to marry a man.
Peter asked desperately. Why does it matter if you're a girl? You can do everything a boy can do, I've seen it! You can wield a sword, and build just as well ... and you can even do more, like cook and ... care for everyone. You're just as good, Wendy.
Wendy laughed sadly, her eyelids lowering slightly.
I wish that you were the world, Peter, she whispered, and smiled so terribly that Peter felt his insides were going to be pulled inside out and torn apart if he did not stop it, did not reach out and replace her smile with joy immediately.
But he couldn't stop it, and neither could she.
Answer me this, he whispered instead, swallowing hard and forcing his voice to be calm. Is a man ... a grown man ... a boy who accepts that all of this is true, and does it? Does what the world says a man should do?
I suppose that's truth enough, Wendy replied distantly, her smile fading.
And a woman, Peter asked, clenching his teeth. A woman is a girl who accepts that she cannot do all that she can?
Wendy pursed her lips, staring at him almost in pity. She nodded.
she repeated. I suppose that's the truth.
Then I would rather you stayed a girl!, Peter shouted, stepping harshly forward. Wendy gasped, stepping back away from him in shock. He shook his head roughly, gnashing his teeth in fury.
I understand now why I hate this world! he cried, pressing closed his eyes. I've known forever that I wanted to stay a boy but never understood exactly why I had to! Thank you, Wendy ... thank you for finally explaining it to me ... !
Wendy called softly. He continued to shake his head angrily, and then slower, until it was more out of sadness than rage.
He opened his green eyes weakly, keeping them locked upon her.
he whispered tiredly. Stay always as you were. You make a perfect girl, Wendy.
I wish that I could, Wendy sighed, turning away slightly.
You can, Peter insisted, taking a step forward.
I can't choose not to grow up, she explained miserably, quietly. I need to grow older, I need to change.
he whispered, taking another step toward her. The gap between them was closed, and he, for the first time, gave into the begging of his inner voice. He reached out his hand, delicately tracing his fingertips down her cheek.
Wendy's eyes widened and her face paled visibly from the shock, her lips falling open in a silent gasp.
There are things about you, he continued, tilting his face downward slowly toward hers, That are so beautiful ... they can never change. No matter how old you grow.
Wendy blinked, simply looking up at Peter in surprise. He began to smirk, then smile- a slow, warm smile that flickered with his familiar ease and joy. His rich emerald eyes lit with it as well, nervousness and anticipation burning brightly in them.
Shyly, he let his free hand brush her waist, first hovering and then touching her hip softly. He let his other hand drift from her cheek to her jaw, and leaving it resting just behind her slender neck.
Swallowing nervously, he closed his eyes and leaned very slightly forward, waiting as savored the feeling of Wendy's warm, steady breath on his cheek, the scent of her flowing hair.
He waited, his hand tightening around her waist when he felt her lips finally drift upward, her breath quicker now, warmer and closer.
he heard her whisper, and he opened his eyes halfway, looking down at her affectionately.
he gasped quickly, not asking, his heart pounding in his chest.
I can't, she gasped, and she whimpered aloud, turning her head suddenly away. Peter's mind jolted back into reality, and his face fell, the glimmer in his eyes snuffing out like black lightening.
In a last desperate, unconscious attempt, he pulled her closer with the hand he still rested on her waist, and she cried out in protest, pressing her hands into his chest and suddenly, firmly pushing him away, stepping back as she did so.
Please understand, she begged as he stumbled backward, his mind racing with confusion as his heart simultaneously began to surge with pain, with doubt and misery all merged into one sudden, tumultuous emotion. He gasped, looking up at her in shock as wetness began to flood his eyes.
Please understand, she repeated ragged, tears flooding her own eyes. There is no life for me as a girl, Peter. There is no reality in it, no future. I need more than a satisfying present, I need a future. I need a future--
You need him, Peter snapped, blinking and freeing a rush of warm, salty droplets. You want him! Is that really what you want forever? Him? Don't lie to me!
Wendy cried, her jaw trembling. I want a real life, a real future, not some storybook fantasy!
Peter growled, trying to swallowing the hard lump in his throat but failing miserably. Enjoy that life, you pathetic woman!
Wendy stared at him numbly for a second, then burst into tears, turning violently from him. Peter remained standing in front of her, immobile and miserable, but after a moment the pain of it all overwhelmed him. Frightening and tortured by an anger so great he was struggling not to destroy even himself for want of ridding himself of it, he closed his burning eyes to the sobbing girl in front of him.
He turned sharply, storming from the nursery in a fit of stinging tears and overwhelming emotion. He did not bother to close the door as he went, leaving it wide open as he ran heavily through it.
He did, however, slam the nursery door, sending a shower of thick splinters into the upstairs hall.
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End Chapter Seventeen
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Ending Notes: Sorry about that, but I ... I had to. I have plans for the future of this story, and that simply had to happen. I want to apologize for not updating in a long, long while, but I have been miserable and unable to write of love.
Please come back for the next chapter, which I hope to complete within a week. I love you, everyone, and thank you a thousand times over for the kind reviews, especially for those who reviewed while I was away and urged me to continue. May the Goddess bless all of you, and take care.
