"What's wrong?" he asks, expectantly waiting for the kiss he views owed to him.
I look up at him; the man I'd come to hate. Each night he touches me, I feel so violated, like I'm losing a piece of innocence. It'd come to my attention some time back that the supply wasn't infinite. And now when I take inventory, it seems the pieces are depleting quickly.
I smile innocently, oh the irony. "Nothing, babe," and peck him on the lips. I duck out quickly, and he grabs hold of my wrist.
"Where to?" Pulling me closer, his eyes flicker to that jade green colour I'd never seen so vivid, and I shiver. I'm sure his sick mind has warped it to believe it a shiver of pleasure, but it's far from that. If only once I could tell him the truth before he pulls me in. So I repeat the words in my head, my mantra of sorts, to make the time pass quicker. To make the shame less sharp.
We used to joke about how I was your Tink. You didn't think the story ever ended right. You always thought Peter ended up with the wrong girl, so you were going to fix it.
Me and you would stay in Never Never Land, never growing old, living out our childhood dreams. We'd be the innocence the world was lacking. And it wouldn't be Wendy rocking in the house, darning socks for the lost boys, it'd be me, taking care. But most importantly, it wouldn't be me and you. It'd be us.
But you grew up. You corrupted the innocence you promised. You made me dirty, in the eyes of everyone. You didn't even give me a chance to choose otherwise...
And then it's over. Then he's lying asleep next to me, out cold for an hour or two, resting in a bliss that I haven't felt in so long.
I crawl out of bed; slowly, quietly, stealthily. I grab the clothes he tore off in lust; can we even call it love anymore? I slip into them, feeling the fabric against my skin, wishing it had never left for those...No.
Tiptoeing away, I trip on the nightstand located directly next to your head. I curse quietly, but my eyes are fixated on a picture standing upright on it. It's our wedding. A smile flashes across my face as I tell myself that this doesn't change anything. The happiness captured there doesn't make up for the terror playing out now.
I pull off the necklace he gave me on that day, I lay it next to the photograph, next to the smile that I can't recall ever meaning whole-heatedly.
As the thimble spins silently in place, I give him his kiss back, the one he views owed to him.
I make my way to the door, closing it slowly, whispering silently, "Oh Peter, what's happened to you?"
But there's some questions I don't want to wait around for the answer to.
