“Ow!” Her eyes flew open.
He was studying her, head cocked, an expression of almost clinical interest on his face.
“Did that hurt?”
“Yes,” she said, struggling to stay calm, putting a hand to her neck to make sure she wasn’t bleeding. The fugue state she’d been moving through for what felt like months receded, leaving her completely and shockingly wide-awake. “Yes. It did hurt when you bit me. Very much.”
“Oh.” He reached out and she flinched, but he simply traced the mark on her neck with his finger. “Did you like it?”
“No,” she said firmly. “Not at all.” And then, as the thought occurred to her: “Did you?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. He kissed her again, but this time she kept her eyes open.
* * *
The third and final time Peter visited, Holly almost shut the window. She was bruised from the night before, which was how she knew it was not a dream. That and the startling clarity she had, as if she were awake for the first time in ages. He’d made it impossible for her to be anywhere but present. Each time she tried to slip off in her head to Robert, she’d found herself yanked back by a pinch, a too-hard squeeze, a kiss that took all her oxygen, and not in the good way. Nothing lasted more than a second, and nothing left a lasting scar. It was as if he was testing, pushing her limits, trying to see how far he could go.
It was disturbing, and at the same time oddly thrilling: To have a secret, something that was hers alone, that pulled her from the edge of the abyss she’d been teetering on and kept her centered here. To have something to think about besides the past, the painful present, the terrifying future. All the same, she’d made up her mind that if he visited this evening, there would be ground rules.
But he came through the window so suddenly there was no time to speak. He’d barely latched it closed before he was grabbing her and swinging her onto the bed, bending her over it. She tried to say something, to call his name, to tell him stop, but he pushed her face firmly into the pillow and held her there. He was so much stronger than she’d thought. Her bad leg wouldn’t bear her weight, was collapsing beneath her. She couldn’t push off enough to claw at him without falling deeper into the bed. He was biting her neck, as if to hold her in place while he finished. She couldn’t breathe. The blackness behind her eyelids was darker than the room, and tiny crackles of light shot across her vision.
And then the pressure was gone. She turned her head, took in a gasping breath. And another. A third. Pushed herself up.
He’d thrown himself next to her on the bed and was watching.
“We’ve been doing it wrong,” he said conversationally, as if nothing had happened. “I watched the animals today at the zoo. It’s not supposed to be face-to-face.”
“Get out,” Holly whispered. Even though she hadn’t screamed, her throat felt bruised. She tried to stand, but couldn’t get her leg to hold her. She moved as far away from him on the bed as she could. “Get out now.”
“We’re married now, aren’t we? That’s what all the married ones do. That’s what it takes. I’ve seen them, looking in the windows. Most of them did it wrong too.”
“Get out,” she said again, louder. She wanted to shout, to throw things at him, but she had no breath, no way to stand. And there was no one to hear her if she did. Her mother was not home. And Holly hadn’t told her about Peter. She hadn’t wanted to share him.
She had wanted him all to herself.
“We’re married now,” he repeated cheerfully. “You have to come with me.” His tone reminded her of the twins, before the car crash, when they’d done something wrong and were pretending they hadn’t. A determined, studied innocence. He looked at her leg, nudged it with his foot. She recoiled.
“I can fix that for you,” he said temptingly. “If you come with me. There’s no pain in Neverland. Nobody’s broken there.”
She looked around the room for a weapon. There was a silver frame on the bedside table, a charcoal sketch of Wendy, John, and Michael. She grabbed for it, afraid he’d stop her. And then thought: Jack.
I can fix that, he’d said. Could he fix Jack too? She took a deep breath, tried to steady her shaking hands. He was watching her carefully, those too-bright blue eyes taking in her every move.
“You could run again,” he said. “You could even fly.”
“How?” Her voice came but was wobbly, and she cleared her throat, tried again. “How could you fix my leg?”