Author's Note: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been very busy. I have been thinking about the story though, and I think I know some more of the details now. Oddly enough, though I planned on writing something entirely different, this is what came out. I guess that's what authors mean when they say the character controlls the story, not the author. Well, I hope you like it. Please review. And special thanks to my friend who won't stop bugging me til I write more.

Disclaimer: I don't own all the names and phrases.

Chapter Two

I sat in Wendy's living room, watching her sew together the huge tear in my tuxedo. One lone tear mingled on her cheek. On my own face I could feel the stiffness of the salt. The red blotches were starting to fade

"I'm so sorry, Peter," Wendy sympathized, her voice cracking.

I hated it when she saw me like this. I felt so weak. But I couldn't help the fact that my father was a drug addict. I rubbed the maroon stain on my arm, remembering the latest fight.

"Aren't you fancy?" he slurred. "All dressed up for your little party."

I continued combing my hair longer than necessary, stupidly wishing it would stop.

"You know she really doesn't care about you," he ventured.

My smooth expression faltered before I could help it. Too late, he found a weak spot now.

"Wendy, that's her name." I winced silently. "Yes. You say it every day in your sleep; 'Wendy, Wendy.' Too bad she doesn't love you, too. No one would love you."

That hurt. She did love me. I knew I shouldn't do what I was about to do … but I had no choice. "She does," I whispered.

"What?" Rage boiled in my father's eyes. "What did you just say?"

"She does." I said it a little louder, "She does love me."

My father shivered in anger. "What do you think gives you the right to talk to me like that? I am your father!"

After that he lost control. I don't remember what happened after that. I try to block it out as much as possible. All I knew was that my father punched me and grabbed my shirt. I managed to get away, ripping my tuxedo and running halfway down the street before stopping to call Wendy asking her to pick me up.

I unconsciously squeezed my arm a bit too hard, and I grimaced at the physical and emotional pain. I looked up to see Wendy staring at me. She was finished.

"Here," she said, handing me the jacket. "You probably should wash your face." As I slipped into the sleeves and began buttoning, I listened as she turned on the kitchen sink to wet a paper towel.

Just as I finished the last button, I looked up and Wendy began wiping my face. I closed my eyes, letting the cool soak into my skin and numb all the pain. She paused on my cheek and I opened my eyes to see her trembling lips. Looking into my eyes, she leaned in. Closer, closer. My heart skipped a beat as her lips rested on mine…

And that was it. She collapsed into a hug on me. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I… I love you."

I let go of her and stared her in the eyes. On the surface, I knew I wanted this. If you skimmed my soul, my love for Wendy was never-ending. But deep down it was different.

Deep down, I was terribly, uncompromisingly afraid.

Book Reference: This scene doesn't exactly correlate with the book, but in case you haven't noticed, Peter's father is Hook. The end of it is kinda like the thimble/kiss scene, but I couldn't fit that in without ruining the moment.