VOLATILE (I) : peter pan ouat

When a Shower Happened

I consider it a success that I pinned Harry to the ground once. He claims he's no good with a dagger, as if. Twenty times out of twenty-one he managed to pin me to the ground-he's incredible. Especially for a boy his size; I'm a full head taller than the kid.

I'm sweaty now, sweaty and disgusting. I've always been sweaty and disgusting. It's been two solid weeks since I've bathed. I await the sweet release of death.

I walk into the forest, heading for Pan's house. I don't know exactly where it is, but I have some sort of vague recollection.

"Pan!" I shout through the forest.

"You could've shouted earlier." The voice comes from behind me.

"I want to take a shower." I tell him.

He smirks. "You do?"

"I haven't showered in weeks, it's disgusting." I tell him.

He genuinely laughs. I take a step back. He seems actually amused, like this is sincerely funny. He's not laughing creepily. Somehow this makes me more frightened.

"We have showers here, you know that?" He chuckles. "We've had them this whole time."

I'm shocked. "You're kidding, right?"

He laughs again. "I wish I was. You haven't showered in two weeks?"

I cross my arms. "No one told me."

"Have you even cleaned your teeth?" He asks, reaching forward to grab my chin. I swipe his hand away.

This is way worse than his sadistic laugh. That is just eerie, this is belittling. I prefer his inhumane side. This makes me upset.

"Alright shut up, I get it," I shove him backwards. "Would you tell me where the fucking showers are?"

"Swearing is unbecoming of you," he laughs. "You're Mr. Uptight-no-Violence-no-Nonsense."

"Exactly, this is nonsense." I shout. "Where are the showers?"

He rolls his eyes, with a goofy grin on his face. He grabs my arm, I hear a popping, and a sort of ripping around me. I'm in front of a waterfall.

"This," I tell him, "this is not a shower."

He hands me a bar of soap. "It's where everyone showers."

"Where did this come from?" I ask, looking from the soap in my hands up to his face.

Great, he's gone.

I immediately strip down and shower. I've missed this more than anything. More than a bed, more than air conditioning, even more than I've begun to miss washing machines.

The water feels cold, like the shiver I get every time I see Pan's face. What I mean by this is the water is not even remotely pleasant to be underneath. I am soaking and freezing, but I feel fresh. There are very few things I got to keep when I came to this place. I may have lost my friendship with Johnny, my morals, and even my sanity, but at least I have regained sanitation. Sanity and sanitation are close enough to each other, right?

I scrub the soap deep into my skin. I can see the line between where the soap has and hasn't touched. How has anybody managed to be within thirty feet of me? I imagine everyone has gone nose blind over the years; it's the only logical explanation.

I don't imagine I'll ever be able to scrub Neverland completely out of my skin. My fingers trail along the scar in my shoulder from stabbing myself with a knife. It's deep red, healing over, but I doubt it will ever be gone completely. I imagine beneath my hair is a few dozen scars from all the times I've been knocked unconscious. My scalp is sore to scrub. I'm lucky I don't have brain damage.