"What are you going to do, Mother," he asked, "Disown me? Maybe you'll beat me. Stop paying for my education?" He stared at her evenly, "Or maybe you'll call that doctor that you have wrapped around your finger and have me forcibly admitted?" He knew what was running through her head. Ever since she had decided that he was sick, any time he talked of Narnia or their adventures she slapped him. She told him to stop making Lucy think that it was real, to stop pushing Susan to admit that she had been part of something that never happened. And when he was too big for her to slap anymore without fearing he may slap her back, she controlled him in other ways; with threats to his place in the family, to his education. Threats to have him locked up.
"I'm considering it," she replied. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Why? Why him, why did she have to hate him so much? He didn't wish it on the others, he just didn't understand why he was the one who was punished the most for this.
"Why do you hate me?" he asked, looking at her with pain in his eyes, "What did I do to make you hate me?"
"You abused your sister!" she yelled, "You made Lucy mad with these Narnia tales, you- you changed. You stopped being my son when you came back from that summer trip to the country."
"It was the summer that we went to Narnia the first time," he said, looking at her, "Why won't you believe me? Why won't you believe Lucy?"
"What am I supposed to believe? You fell through a wardrobe into a magic land? Can't you understand how mad that is?" She began to cry, her voice raising in pitch, "Why couldn't you just stop?" Why couldn't he? Because it was real. Because Lucy needed someone to side with her. Because...he wouldn't turn his back on the best father he'd ever known.
He moved forward, inches away from her.
"What's wrong, Mother?" he sneered, "Angry that you and Dad couldn't slap the crazy out of me?" She looked completely scared out of her mind.
"Get back," she whispered.
"Why?" he demanded, "I'm not a monster! I'm just a person. Don't think you can stand there and judge me; you helped make us all the way we are. If you have to blame me so you can stand your own reflection, so be it. But you can't lie to them." He pointed towards her car, "You can't lie to Susan. You can try, but good fucking luck."
"You are sick," she said, her voice shaking, "You need help. More help." Peter let out a mad laugh, tearing his jumper off and showing her exactly how much her help was helping him. Let her think he was mad. But she would see.
"Look at me!" he yelled, "Look! Look at what those chemicals have done to me- look at what you and your help have done!" She stared at his emaciated form, biting her lip. She could count his ribs, the crook of his arm riddled with little bruises. His eyes had a deep, sunken look to them- it was unnerving her.
He touched the little bruises gently.
"They have to take blood weekly to check if my medication is too high or too low," he said quietly, "Sometimes the nurses aren't all that gentle," his hands wandered over to his chest, running his hands over his ribs, "I can't eat. I'm never hungry; and when I try to force myself...I just feel sick. Mum... why can't you see what this is doing?" he asked, his eyes filled with tears as he stepped closer, "I'm not mad. Mummy..please," he begged, reaching out to touch her, "I'm not mad."
Helen stared at him, her eyes wide and frightened as she wrenched the door open, taking the stairs two at a time away from him. He watched her run from him, some place inside him shattering into a million pieces. His own mother had run from him...in fear.
"God have mercy on you," she yelled, slamming her door shut. Peter fisted his hair, flying down the stairs and chasing the car as it drove away, screaming, "God doesn't want me anymore! He's banished me from Narnia!"