I've made a revelation. Neverland is Hell.
The only thing that keeps me clinging to life is an angel: Thomas.
How does one describe an island ruled by an arrogant, abusive and tyrannical leader? Or how does one live with the tropic and temperate forests or the reeking of the decaying canopy with barely a happy squirrel in sight and patches of mortal poison called dreamshade? Let alone, how does one live happily there? I've spent a little time whilst trying to count my days here but it drives me crazy whenever I try. How does one get used to the monotonous cycles? And here, there's only one: day, then night. No years. No nothing but day, and night.
I should've found chalk or something and drew lines on the corner wall of the treehouse like prisoners do. But the thought of filling up a stretch of lanky wooden boards with the days that passed, scares me more than not knowing how many went by. Because the more lines I'd see, the more space inside of me will be taken up by a harrowing fear that I won't perpetually be escaping here.
How did I get here? I never saw the journey, only the limpid, glass moon whispering to the cricket songs Pan played and the alluring branches rustling while I danced in pure euphoria, and then I blinked on a zydrier soil and glimpsed the hopeful, golden sunsets of Neverland.
Why am I here to begin with? I should be dead.
And what does Pan want with me? I've always been unwanted.
Speaking of Pan, I sometimes think about him, and thoroughly think about the side different he spoke vaguely about. That child buried within the blaze that feared the same monsters I feared as a child. An adult. We both are the same; unloved, unbelonged and hopeless. Maybe that's why Peter gathers lost boys; to fill the dark and empty void of his loneliness. Peter said I would cling onto Marcus because I needed to feel cared for by caring for someone else. Maybe Peter clings onto the lost boys the same way I did to Marcus. Maybe we're not so different. Maybe he has a romantic novel stashed away in his tent and possibly flowers and succulents sprouting in that secret sanctuary he has.
I had just awoken and sat in the treehouse and gazed out my window, subconsciously peering into Pan's tent. I did this almost every morning. His was about three times the size of the rest of our treehouses. It was less like a tent and more like a cabin really. The wood darkened around and shielded curtains blocking the trail to whatever that sanctuary was. I'll be living there tomorrow... on my wedding night.
Now, I've never been the optimistic type, but this time, I think I'm hoping for flowers.
Although the truth is gut-wrenching, and though the very thought ignites like a scorching forestfire rather than softly smouldering embers, I find Peter strikingly fair. Although his egotistical personality can become brutally repulsive and rage inducing, he has all the features associated with perfection. The silken lush and hazel hair, skin faultless, eyes that light at night but swim vibrantly green in the afternoon. Unfortunately, he believes he's a heartless monster, and it seems demons like those can be squirming in the blood of attractive people. When you believe in something for long enough, it becomes true. However he doesn't realise it's all part of a huge façade that he has created to block out those who could hurt him. It was built with crystal bones but glued together with shadowy black mortar and polished with pellucid obliteration.
He is a wicked reality.
Maybe I could be his escapism?
Turning Lucifer back into the angel of purity he once was is most definitely an easier task than this one. Maybe I can't change him. Maybe he is a heartless monster after all. Maybe I'm wrong. The last time I tried to bring out the good in him; he almost killed me... no, that's a lie. The truth is far worse. He threatened to take advantage of me. Force himself on me. He is a monster. He must be. Scrap that: he's the devil himself.
It was made clear to both Thomas and I that we couldn't be seen together. Now that Peter already knows Tom has feelings for me. I find it disheartening, especially to have my only trustworthy friend here blocked off. Right when I felt sort of okay, despite the tyrannical rules and conditions, the carpet was ripped out from under my feet.
It's pitiful, how bedtime stories tales of Neverland as an enchanting place. You never grow up, I read. Which, indeed is true, but I'd trade my youth for happiness. The guarantee of merriment is a lie. It's such a lie...
Perhaps, maybe it's only half-true. The only one having fun here is Pan. And Adrik and his friends. Or maybe they're a walking mask, but about them I couldn't care less.
All I can conclude is Neverland is an altered replication of Hell. It's worse than my home. Because at home, I could at least settle with the idea that I'll never be happy, but still can play pretend. But here, it's everywhere. I live my nightmares. And one of them could possibly be living with Peter, I guess I'll have to find out that for myself. He's capable of doing whatever he wants to me and there's no escaping. I need to do what I can to survive, to survive long enough to get Rumplestiltkin's message and save these children from fighting a war I'm certain they won't survive. I'll have to let Peter think he has the upper hand. I'll have to do what he says whether I liked it or not...
Thomas and I didn't waste time hopping to our new regulation once he was let out of the cage, making good and well sure that we kept our distance in front of everyone. From first light, we were on our heels, it was obnoxious, but I didn't step out of line and test our limits, for Tom's sake. Our time together spent mostly at the treehouse. Outside, it was just intense eye contact and the heart-rending moments when our contact broke.
Today we were using the crossbows that Hook traded with us, the ones with automatic triggers instead of drawing back. I, unfortunately but to no surprise, had issues with mine. I sat in the lush green grass about ten feet from my target, getting frustrated and discouraged at the darn bow.
"How the hell do I use this thing," I muttered, repeatedly jabbing my gritty finger on the arrow point every time I attempted to fit it through the narrow notch. I gazed down at Thomas; he was already shooting. Shooting from three targets away, shooting with perfect form and still only impaling the outer rings. I wanted to help him, but I'm afraid even watching him for too long would get me seem suspicious.
My heart did pirouettes when I looked at him. And somehow, I got the hunch that his flickered a little too. But, of course, I couldn't have contentment here, so I stared defeated at my bow and arrow.
Finally, after several minutes, I got the arrow into the notch and I stood up to shoot. Backing away and listening to the grass rustle under my boots and the whiz of other arrows snapping into their corresponding targets. All that I ignored, of course.
I held the weapon up, immediately caught off guard by the fact it was so much heavier than the regular bows. I scrunched my nose and angled it up against my shoulder, looking through the little hole on top to see where it was lined. My finger wiggled atop the trigger, choosy on whether to push or not.
"It's backwards, my robin," Pan whispered against my ear.
My lungs froze as I jumped and faced him. He stood, with his head cocked slightly to the left, smirking like proving me wrong was the funniest thing.
"What's your problem?!" I shouted, completely flustered.
Pan smirked, "the arrow is backwards." He nodded toward the bow in my hand.
I looked down at the weapon I held so tightly, and realized he was right. The arrowhead was facing me, the fletching angled toward the target. How did I miss something so obvious?
"My name isn't 'robin'," I groused, snapping the arrow back correctly into the arrow rest, the distinct click snapping it into place.
He just smiled, "Where's your sense of humour?"
"Up your arse." I challenged, holding the arrow defensively against my side.
Pan's pursed his lips as the muscles in his upper chest tightened on themselves, "Careful little one," he warned, "get to shooting."
And so I did.
I put both quiver straps on my back so it'd be easy to grab more arrows when I needed. And from then on, it was just patterns.
Shoot, load, shoot, load...
Archery was my forte, it seemed. Unlike knife-throwing, that required precision, agility, and strength, archery just required precision. And that's all I needed. The bullseye was full after all 12 arrows pierces right into the center.
I walked up to the target to retrieve my arrows, tearing them from the board and shoving them into the quiver, when my eyes caught Thomas's, who was fixing the bow string that had snapped off. I smiled at him then eyed the shed, heading inside shortly after. He caught on and followed.
The second he closed the doors behind him, I wrapped my arms around him- which was fairly hard considering the darkness in the shed. I lifted myself up on my toes, and his face comes down at the same time. His lips are soft, softer that I could have imagined, but there is a hard desperation behind them, a need. The kiss speaks. It begs. Let me forget about the wedding. Let me forget, forget, forget.
His arms embrace me, feel me, and my body against his. His tongue traces my bottom lip begging the entry, which I oblige. He maps out my mouth with his tongue, the faint taste of strawberries lingering with him. He pulls me to his chest, his hands running down my back, clasping my thigh, drawing me closer. I involuntarily arch into him, reveling in his strength, his desire, the alchemy between us twisting and burning and melding until it feels like we're high on liquid gold.
Then he breaks away, his hands held out before him. "I'm so sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I know it was risky and I shouldn't have-'
"It's all right." My lips burned in desire. "I'm the one who...started it." We stare at each other, and he looks so confused, so angry at himself that I smile, sadness and embarrassment and desire coursing through me, "I'll leave first so they don't catch on."
I was about to leave when he grasped my arm. His face was pale, "I hate this."
"Me too." I whispered in defeat. We both dread my wedding night; the potential of it ending in ways we both can't dare to imagine. my wedding day was tomorrow and who knows how it with end.
He clearly couldn't accept defeat, "I don't want this to happen."
I think I can trust him with this now, "Do you think I want this to happen?" I took a deep breath, "I have a plan, and if it's successful, then all of us can leave Neverland, including the lost boys."
His eyes almost jumped out of his skull, "What?"
I told him everything; Including the deal with Rumplestiltkin and my plans to ask him for a magic bean. I told him in order for this plan to work, I'll have to do what Pan says and last long enough to get Rumple's message. I explained to him that the this war that Peter wants us to fight is will inevitably end with most of us dying. He finally understood why we all had to leave Neverland. Once I told him the truth, it felt like a heavy rock was torn off from my heart; my conscience was as clear as water. However, Thomas was clearly not happy about my news.
"No. I can't have Pan take advantage of you. Not before I could even...", He wouldn't stand it.
"I'm sorry-"
"It's not your fault, it's that bloody bastards fault!"
"Stop, someone could hear you."
"No. This is-"
I hugged him in an attempt to sooth him. It clearly worked as I could hear his heart beat lower while my head rested on his chest, "Thomas, I'll do anything to get these boys off the island. It would be selfish otherwise."
Thomas rested his chin on my shoulder and his breath was tingling my ear. I sighed, "Tonight is the last night we have together. I'll miss you."
He hugged me tighter, "We could make the most of it. Only if you want to, that is."
I lifted my head to look into his coral eyes and stayed silent, unsure what to say.
His gaze became shy, "I just wanted to do it with you before Pan does. If he does... it was stupid of me to ask." He scratches his head and backed away, "I didn't mean to ruin-"
Thomas is the only boy in my life who has earned my trust. I think I've fallen for for him, hard. I need him to understand that I want him. That he means more to me than Peter. That Peter had no possession of me, or even my heart.
I interrupted. "I want to do it with you." I owe him this much. "I want to... But I'm not too sure if we can with Frankie in the same room." I almost laughed.
He smiled at my response, but then realised I was right, "Oh yeah, I'm not too sure what to do about that either. Now go before they get suspicious, we can talk later."
I left the shed, slightly dumbstruck. I went back to shooting with the crossbow; everyone seemed to focused on their new toys to realise the time we spent in the shed.
After training, we spent the rest of the day setting traps and fortifications for animals. Afterwards, Thomas and I practiced my magic and seemed to be successful than last time. I can almost produce fire from my palm instantaneously, but we had to cut the little training session short because we feared Felix would grow suspicious. We both had noticed he kept a stern eye on us. I was so exhausted that once I got to the treehouse, I fell onto my bed and was out like a light.
This nightmare is more of a night terror, because it feels as if I might die from the pain in my brain, I am desperately trying to wake up, screaming for help, yet nobody comes. I look around, it's early morning, damp grass on my feet, I'm on a cliff. The sea below the cliff I stood upon stirred. I watch the horizon, a hybrid of crimsons, goldens and yellows. Distant screams can be heard, but my fixation is on the ocean below my feet. I could've sworn I heard my own voice. A feeling of hopelessness rushes through me as I tip over the edge. My limp body collided with the water below. I'm drowning. I scream for sweet air, but the coral blue surrounds me. I try to calm. I try so hard. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to imagine myself elsewhere.
My heart beat lowers. I indulge in the serenity of this situation. The fear of death no longer about. My body falls deeper into the ocean; my eyes still shut. The coral reef hits my feet, I open my lids and see branches of blood in the water. Streaks of crimson surrounding my unmoving body: I'm bleeding.
As the blood draws out of my body, I feel more and more empty. Like I'm fading from life. Dissolving until I'm nothing... the peaceful nothingness.
I awoke to my arm being shaken. Slowly opened my eyes as I heard a boy whispering "Aurora." while shaking my shoulder.
I could barely keep my eyes open, it was blurry for a moment before adjusting my tired eyes. A familiar dark shape of a boy was crouching beside me, I recognized his shape and his hair. Despite being too dark to see his face, I knew, "Thomas?"
"Come with me", he hushed and he stood up.
Confused, yet I was curious to see what he wants. I got up slow and carefully. I followed him out of the treehouse. Everyone else sounded asleep. I couldn't get that dream out of my head. I've had so many nightmares, but this one felt real. Too real.
It rained only a little, it was rather showering but in the woods we went, it wasn't raining much.
"Where are we going?" I tried to ask.
Instead Thomas shushed me. Who's going to hear us anyway? The Lost Boys are sleeping and Pan is who knows where. The woods were dark, it was almost too dark to see but Thomas had a light, only it was a oil lamp and I had to stay right behind him.
The walk was long, but then I began to notice where we were going and I even heard it. We were going to the Falls, next to the lagoon.
"Thomas, honestly, I'm not sure if I want to spend our night together next to the cold lagoon."
"Just... please be quiet until we get there?" Tom begged.
I sighed and decided to stay quiet until he starts to speak.
At the Falls, we arrived, I continued to follow Tom around the pool, toward the waterfalls, I followed him to the walls of cliffs and we were going behind the waterfalls. I did almost misstepped once, getting to behind the falls was a little difficult. That's where he stopped. "He won't know that we're here, or hear us" Thomas said as he put down the lamp down.
"Who?" I was confused. The waterfalls was a bit louder than their voices.
"Pan, closest we get to privacy." He smiled.
I looked around. There was a pile blankets in the miniature cave behind the waterfall. Some scrap papers written all over; drawings; an empty jar; a mirror; and a few empty bowls.
"Your secret hideaway?" I gasped.