She stopped falling. There was no violent jerk, no swing through the air. Once Peter touched her, she was weightless. The fall stopped. Wendy looked down as a gigantic wave rolled underneath her, the break of the water splashing her legs. Peter looked down at her, but this time he was the gargoyle perched atop a building, so devious his smile, so wicked the satisfaction that glowered down from his face.
Wendy was hollowed. She silently let Peter pull her back up to him, her body dangling limp in his arms as he flew them back toward Pan Island. She was numb as they flew over the lanterns that flickered in the early twilight, over the Lost Boys who waved happily as they passed overhead. She was a ragdoll, shocked to the point where she wasn’t sure whether she had died. Was this the beyond? Was this her way of escaping death? Was she floating lifelessly under the waves now, a bobbing piece of flesh as fish fed on her bones? Had he only saved her in her mind, the boy who she had once wanted so much? Wendy didn’t understand that it was real until Peter dropped her roughly onto the beach, both of her knees slamming hard into the gray pebbles that lined the shore. She finally took a breath, and then another, her hair falling into her face as she knelt on the sand, never so happy to feel land beneath her fingers, her nails curling into the damp earth.
Peter spat down in front of her. “Look at me.” Wendy weakly raised her head, tears streaming down her face. She hated herself for being so weak, so terrified of his power, but the fall . . . she couldn’t even breathe when she thought of it. She looked at him. The wicked Peter seemed to rescind into his face, and he curled his mouth empathetically. “I’m sorry I had to do that. I just had to teach you, I had to remind you, what you have to lose here. And I can do it anytime I want.” He landed softly beside her and reached out to stroke under her chin. “That must have been very scary. But you see, I was trying to help you. I’m trying to protect you, because I’m the only one who can keep you safe here in Neverland. You were meant to be with me, Wendy.” His voice choked up inside of him. “You have to love me. And if you do, I’ll take care of you, I won’t hurt you.”
He spun around to face out to the sea, which raged against the beach. “I shouldn’t have done that, I know I shouldn’t have!” Then with a disturbing calmness, he pulled his fist back and struck himself hard in the face with it, his knuckles leaving a short, jagged cut across his perfect cheek. He sank to his knees beside her, his face twisted up in pain. “Can you forgive me, Wendy, please?”
She looked into his eyes, unable to process anything, anything at all. Her hand clutched her heart, feeling each beat as it hammered inside of her. She was so grateful for her heartbeat, so thankful . . . “I need some time,” she whispered, staring into his red-rimmed eyes. It was all she could manage.
He hopped up to his feet. “Of course. Of course. Women need time. It’s called courting, I believe.”
Wendy bit her lip, drawing blood. She had never wanted anything so desperately as she wanted to be away from him, except maybe to have lived. Still, she considered flinging herself into the ocean, just to put distance between them. Peter took a step away from her. Then, leaning over her kneeling form, he drew a heart in the sand with his finger that stretched all the way around her. Wendy, trapped in Peter’s heart.
“I remember the way you kissed me.” He stood before her, whispering out to the sea. “I know you can love me. I know you can want me. You have your brothers to think about.” He bent over her and gently planted his lips on her forehead. Wendy whimpered, digging her hands into the sand, one hand closing around a rock, but then he was gone, up into the air, back into the deep folds of Pan Island.
Wendy lay down flat on the sand, sobbing loud enough that she was sure even the coming stars could hear her, great gasping sobs. She cried for herself, for her brothers, for her parents, for Booth. The sobs were violent, a ripping of herself, so cathartic and so cruel. She had no idea how long she cried, but she knew that it was a nightmare of reliving the fall, of clouds and water, of Peter’s face again and again.