Caged • Robbie Kay/Peter Pan •

Chapter Seventeen

The worst pain one can feel, is not inflicted upon the skin. It isn't a head-grasping migraine that makes you beg for death, just so the anguish will end.

They invented pain killers and medicine for the outward pain, but unfortunately a pain killer for broken hearts has yet to be invented.

As I lie curled up in my bed, the thin blanket covering my head left me breathless and hot, the tears rolling up to my temples and plastering my knotted hair to my cheeks, only breaking from my quiet sobs to pull the smothering blanket from my head to get a breath of cool night air. I just lie there without any intention of trying to calm myself. It felt good to cry. It felt good to be broken-hearted. The feeling was savory and reminded me that I was really and truly alive, despite the impossible reality of Neverland that I had been forced to accept.

I needed to move on, but I wanted to keep the lingering feeling. I had been in that stage of being completely infatuated with him, the feeling of being brave enough to conquer anything under the circumstances and the newly found butterflies dancing in your stomach at the thought of him. That was the worst time to end it. The fairy tale stage.

I lay in my bed for a moment, just staring at one of the canvas walls before decided to rid of the stuffy comforter and leave my tent.

The air was chilling, almost too cold, but the feeling was irreplaceable and painfully refreshing.

A craving struck my tongue and I walked across the clearing to Peter's tent. He had played his nightly pipe song long ago, so I knew he was asleep.

I crept slowly behind the wooden door, the light of the moon draping over the wooden table and black wood burning stove. Above the stove was a shelf, the honey and spices set on its surface from the meals earlier that day.

There also rested the bottle of brandy, half empty and tempting me to pop off the cork and release the strong scent of alcohol. This was my craving.

By no means did I intend to get drunk, or even make a dent in the bottle's bearings, but I knew that it would send a buzz strong enough to keep my mind off of him and allow me to sleep peacefully.

I reached for the bottle, not bothering to rummage around in attempts to find a glass.

I sat down at the head of table, in Peter's chair and held the brandy to my lips, inhaling deeply to fill my nose with the fermented smell it emitted.

The taste was like bitter fireworks, fizzling out on my tongue and dying to an unpleasant taste that was hard to swallow and left a phantom of burning remnants in my throat.

One long swig, swallowed quickly and then repeated until I felt my cheeks flush and a numbing feeling in my mind and the back of my throat.

"What are you doing?"

The voice made me jump and I set the bottle on the table, turning to make out Peter's face in the dark. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" I asked, half whispering.

"I wasn't asleep." he replied, stepping quietly over to the table and staring deeply into my eyes before glancing at the bottle. "You're drinking?" he questioned.

"The evidence is right there, isn't it?" I said, the numbing sensation calming my frazzled nerves and leaving me content.

"Let me rephrase, why are you drinking?" he pressed, taking the bottle off of the table.

"To take my mind off of him long enough for me to sleep." I responded lazily, retrieving the brandy from Peter's grasp. "I thought Peter Pan knew everything." I added.

"You're still thinking about him?" Peter scoffed, unceremoniously falling back into the chair next to me. "You two had your silly little affair of sneaking blush-filled glances and giggling kisses. He took it too far. You forgave him. Move on."