VICIOUS (II) : peter pan ouat

How to Conquer

"What do you want from me?" He's almost laughing.

I can't even kiss him, because then I will admit to feeling this. We aren't ready for that. I'm not ready for that.

"I want nothing." I tell him. "Nothing that you can give me."

He almost looks shocked, and I don't wait for his shock to turn to aggression. There is only one place I can go, and that place is out of here.

No one is up at the camp when I reach it. I didn't tell Jared I found the girls, but when I peak in the med tent, I notice him sleeping in a wicker chair in the corner. His hand rests on the cot, only a few inches from Elizabeth's sleeping figure. She sleeps peacefully, and so does he.

Sleeping so softly can only get them killed.

When I spin around, I fall to the ground. Peter is scowling down at me, angry. Until his anger turns to laughter. I dash around him and out of the tent. Darting through the maze of tents, I try to outrun his glee.

I can't look at him. I can't care about him. This can't be happening.

"You think you can run away from me?" He asks from in front of me.

I shake my head. "I thought you might let me run."

"Now Charlie, where is the fun in that?" I flinch at the name. My mind had managed to become accustomed to Charlotte popping out his mouth, so now that he says Charlie it almost feels like an insult.

Like I mean nothing to him.

Why am I upset? That's how it should be. I should mean nothing to him. I must mean nothing to him. I have to.

"It's not about fun," I'm about to say Peter, but then I'm about to say Pan and the words get trapped in my mouth, fighting each other.

The only thing I can do is push past him and run towards the beach. The beach is far away, and I know I won't make it there, but at least I've got to try.

I can run, but I can't hide. So I might as well run until I die.

"Oh Charlie." He jumps out from behind a tree, and I feel the breath hitch in my throat.

"Why are you following me?" I demand. "Just leave me alone."

He laughs, and it comes straight from his stomach. "But it's so easy to make fun of you. I'd be doing myself a disservice if I didn't do it. You're suffering is entertaining."

"I'm not suffering." I shout at him.

He raises his eyebrows, a straight expression on his face. "Sure you aren't."

"I'm not."

"You're in love with me, but I'll never love you back." His voice is calm. "It's actually quite funny. Pitiful, but funny."

That isn't what's happening. I'm not afraid of how he doesn't feel about me. I'm afraid of how he does. The sweet look in his eyes whenever we meet can only be of something. It's easier to say something than what I'm worried about saying. I can't say it. This is happening.

"No, you're more pitiful than that." He leans forward, running his hands through my hair. "You are just afraid to love me in general. Is that it?"

I don't love him, and I'm not lying about it. "No. You're wrong."

"You're afraid of caring about me for the day I let you go. We're both to selfish to fall in love, aren't we?"

We're going to get each other killed one day. That's the only way this can end, with one or both of us dying. Unless I'm more powerful than I think I am. Maybe everyone else will die because of this.