Hey, y'll! New chapter is finally up! TGIF! This has some tension, and beware the CLIFFHANGER! But I'll be updating again this weekend, I PROMISE! So stay tuned! Have a great weekend!
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Peace out from Crystal!

I lost, but I feel like I won.

-Jim

After his father left, the night seemed dark and starless. His mother went to bed, claiming a migraine.

Jim grabbed a piece of paper out of the printer and hastily wrote:

Gone to the supermarket to buy stuff.

He wasn't even going to the supermarket. He just wanted to walk around and try and think of what the heck he was going to do with his life right now.

Half of him wanted his father to stay and be his hero, like he always was, half of him wanted to murder his father and hide the body.

Jim walked down the street carefully under the stars, covered by a thin veil of gray clouds against the indigo sky, that seemed a gorgeous bruisy purple-black which couldn't compare to the horror Jim felt inside.

As he walked, he felt someone watching him from the graffitied brick walls. Hands in his jacket pockets, Jim whirled around to stare into Gaston Abinford's sky blue eyes.

Gaston laughed. "You're such a freaking scaredy cat, Hawkins. You nearly crapped your pants."
Jim sighed, relieved that it was Gaston, though his friend was a huge asshole. Jim forced a smile. "Why are you following me?"
"I saw you leave your house," Gaston explained. "Didn't know where you were going. Wanted to know if I could scare you…and the answer was yes."
Jim held up his hands. "You got me, Gaston."
Gaston smiled. "I thought so, Hawkins. Also, I wanted to know if maybe you wanted to have a little fun with the chicks near Bronson."
Jim raised his eyebrows. "The stripper bar?"
Gaston shrugged. "Yeah. Care to join me?"
Jim began to walk with Gaston under the dim streetlights of Joaquin Street, heading towards Bronson. "What's the actual reason you flirt in front of Bronson's?" Jim wanted to know. "Any special girl there?"
Gaston laughed. "Naw, man. You know all the girls are special to me. I love every single one I see."
"Yeah, that's a nice poem."
Gaston smiled. "Alright man. There's this one girl that's more special than the others. But she's mad young. But she's pretty. And it's gonna be totally stunning. You're actually gonna laugh, believe me."
Jim shook his head. "I won't laugh. I've dated some pretty crazy girls in my life."
Gaston scratched the back of head, staring up into the moth-covered streetlight. "I dunno, man."
Jim shoved his hands in his pockets. "You scared, man? You scared to talk to me? Tell me. I won't make fun of you."
Gaston didn't say a word. He finally looked at Jim. "I'm crazy about her, Hawkins. I am in love with her. Every inch of her. Every time I see her, I want to grab her and make out with her, and it's insane. But I just suck at expressing that. What I do to her—it's not regret."
Jim stared. "I don't understand, Gaston. What did you do to her?"
Gaston shook his head. "Tomorrow. When she walked home. I was gonna—bring her to my car. Kiss her. I just wanted to—"

"No, I mean, do we know her?" Jim was getting a horrible feeling in his stomach. He was feeling afraid.

Gaston cocked his head. "Why? What's it to you?"
"Who is it?" Jim demanded.

Gaston narrowed his eyes and brought his face close to Jim. "I wasn't supposed to tell you about kissing thing. I don't want you to freak out and call the cops, Hawkins."
"I'm not a snitch. I don't call the cops."

"You only get caught by them," Gaston snickered. "By the way, did you get in on Attina Triton's new dress? Ohhh, she was fine."
Jim cracked his knuckles. "Don't change the subject, Gaston. Who do you like?"
Gaston gave Jim a tiny laugh, but not a good one in any way. "I like Darling."
Jim felt like he was going blind. He pretended he didn't understand. "Who's that?"
"Ohhhh, holy mother of—" Gaston looked pretty pissed off now. "You seriously don't understand? I'm doing my best here, Hawkins, to give you hints. She's smart, hangs with that Dani girl."
"What Dani girl?"
Gaston leered back against the brick wall and let out a huff of air. "Why don't you just shut the hell up? I'm not telling you."
"Tell me her name."
Gaston was silent.

Jim sucked in air. "Please, Gaston."
"WHY?" he yelled. "Why are you so insistent on knowing? You going out with this girl or something?"
Jim didn't say anything.

Gaston stood up. "Wendy. Wendy Darling. Are you happy? I like her. And she's off-limits for you. She's mine."
Anger filled Jim like a wave. "She's nobody's. You can't control her; she belongs to herself. Gaston, keep your hands off her."
Gaston's eyes slitted and became narrow and upset. He shoved Jim, hard, into the wall. "Keep my hands off her? I just told you, she's mine, and I'll do whatever I like to her. You keep away from her, and you won't get hurt, understand?"
"No, Gaston, you don't understand," Jim snarled. "You don't know me like I know me. When I say something, I mean it. And I mean what I'm saying now: Keep your hands off Wendy. If you hurt her, I swear to God, you're finished."
"Your threats are empty, Jim Hawkins," Gaston laughed. "You can't do nothin.' You're too afraid of me. I'm your master. You take orders from me."
This was too much for Jim. He pushed Gaston, imagining his father in his place, and the power that surged through his hands was a huge overdose. Gaston fell against the brick wall, hard, and his wrist twisted. He cried out.

Jim began to run.

"Hawkins, wait!" he heard Gaston yelling. "Hawkins, my arm! It's broken! Come back! I need help!"

Jim shut his eyes and ran on. He knew where Wendy lived; he had driven her there. Beddington Lane or something. And the number: 23. He remembered it, remembered it, remembered it. Old and pretty and big with white shingles and dark blue shutters, and stone balconies outside three bedrooms on the top floor, with an attic with a triangular window outlined with brown wood.

Before anything could happen, quick as a flash, Gaston was on top of Jim.

Punching, kicking, scratching. Hitting hard. Jim felt blinding splashes ruin his line of vision.

Jim looked up and saw Gaston on top of him.

Jim reached out and did the one thing he could do. He grabbed Gaston's already twisted wrist and twisted it more, while bending his thick fingers back.

Gaston cried out, and Jim kicked him in the balls, knocking him off of his stomach, dislodging Gaston's knees from his ribcage.

Jim got up and began to run faster and faster. He was one with the wind.

He ran so fast he couldn't feel his feet hitting the ground.

He collapsed at last in front of Wendy Darling's house on Beddington Lane. In the smoothly cut front lawn he collapsed, feeling himself bruised, bloody, and broken.

A grotesque image of him popped into his own mind, and he tried to stave off the awful possibilities of his mom carrying a bottle of rubbing alcohol and swiping his cuts.

Stifling a cry of pain, Jim limped towards Wendy's house, not knowing where else to go, and to tell her to report Gaston and his car-then-kiss plan with Wendy.

He couldn't bring himself to knock on the door, looking like a tattered ruined hobo, so he limped around the back, seeing a tree blocking Wendy's window.

His one hope lost, Jim looked around for a ladder, but saw none.

As he continued to stare at the twisted willow tree, he figured out how he could use it to his advantage.

He was so stupid, gullible, rebellious and disobedient. He was everything that I was not, and I loved it too much to describe.

-Wendy

Wendy woke with the tapping on her window.

She first suspected the branches of the twisted willow tree; rapping the glass in the wind as it usually did. She had learned to ignore it.

But the tapping became more and more insistent, and annoyed, Wendy decided to snap that pesky branch off and let it drop to the ground where it couldn't trouble her anymore.

She climbed out of bed in a light blue spaghetti strap shirt and white cotton shorts.

She climbed onto her cushioned window seat and opened the window, walking out onto her stone balcony, yawning and barely seeing.

"Wendy," hissed a voice.

Wendy looked down—and saw a boy clinging to the willow branch. His face was unrecognizable in the dark. Wendy screamed and staggered back. Her dad was home, asleep; John and Michael were also asleep. Should she call the cops?
Wendy began to crawl on her hands and knees back inside her room.

"Wait! Wendy, it's me, Jim. Help me up!"
Wendy leaned over the edge. "Why are you here, Jim? Is everything okay?"
"I need to tell you something. Help me out of this tree!"
Wendy reached down and pulled Jim over the balcony. "Come inside," she invited formally.

As he obliged, she realized he was limping.

"Let me turn on the light," Wendy suggested, reaching for her lamp.

"No, don't!" Jim reached for her hands to pull them away, but Wendy had already switched the lamp on. And she gasped. "Oh, my God! Jim!"

She rushed to him, kneeling down in front of him.

He turned his head away. "Don't, Wendy."
"You're hurt!" Wendy leaned forward and ran her fingernails gently over small bruise on his left temple. Jim winced. "Okay, ow."
"Sorry!" Wendy bit her lip. "You need an ice pack. And some ointment. I'll go get it."

A few minutes later, Jim had begged Wendy to turn off the light as not to attract attention, and she had did so.

Jim was sitting on the windowseat, holding an ice pack to various bruises on his body, and Wendy was sitting in her royal purple swivel chair, shaking her head over and over again. "Who did this to you?"
Jim looked out the window. "I told you, you don't need to know."
Wendy narrowed her eyes. "Well, then tell me what you came to tell me."
"It's Gaston."
Wendy buried her face into her hands. "What about him?"
Grunting, Jim turned to face Wendy. "Tomorrow, when you walked home from school, he was going to force you into his car and make out with you. He's in love with you."
Wendy's mouth fell open. And suddenly, Jim saw tears sliding down her cheeks. "You're…you're lying!" she sputtered. "He doesn't love me, he—" She trailed off, her words tangled up in her snot and saliva and tears.

Jim sighed. "Wendy, stop crying."
Wendy leaned back, let the tears keep coming. "Like, hasn't he hurt me enough? Every day, through high school. He makes my life a living hell and then claims he's in love with me?" A fresh round of tears stained her pink cheeks.

"Oh, God." Jim looked at Wendy, frustrated. "Wendy, come on, shut up. I hate when girls cry. I have no idea what to do. I—" He ran a hand through his hair.

Wendy glared at him. "I'm going to bed. You can get the hell out of my room now."
Jim threw his arms in the air. "Don't tell me you're mad. At me?"
"Get out!" Wendy threw a framed photograph at him from her bedside table and dove into bed, covered herself up to her shoulders with a dotted blanket.

The photograph hit him in the shoulder. "Ouch." Jim grunted and bent down to pick it up. "This lady," he said softly. "She looks like you."

There was a long pause from Wendy, then finally, a whisper of a word: "Mother."
"Huh?"
"She's my mother."

Jim nodded. "Oh. She's pretty—like you."
No response from Wendy. Only a weak sniffle. Jim put the framed photograph on the bedside table and went to sit next to Wendy.

"Hey. Wendy."
"Go away."
"Could you just talk to me?"
Silence.

"Please?"
Wendy looked up, her face stained with tears. "Well, about what?" Her nose was stuffy.

Jim reached down and took her hands. "Sit up."
Wendy sat up.

Jim used the palms of his hands to dry her face. "Now smile."
"What the hell?!"
"Just trust me."
Wendy gave him a tiny smile. "Jim, I'm trying to be mad."

Jim laughed. "Well, too bad. I'm not letting you." His face became serious. "You don't belong to Gaston."
"No, I don't. I belong to myself."
Jim nodded. Suddenly, the most unbelievable thing happened. Something that made Jim turn red and made him feel wonderful all over.

Wendy sprang forward, and their lips touched.

The most unlikely pair; Jim Hawkins and Wendy Darling.

They were kissing.