Page 58 of Darling

Wendy didn’t want to test the theory, but it seemed to be holding fast. “I want her here,” she said, thinking quickly. “If you’re both taking me home, I want my parents to see Tinkerbelle with me at the door, not you. Be practical.”

Peter let go of Tinkerbelle and brushed his hands down the side of her arms as if in apology. “You can’t be impulsive,” he said to Wendy, even though he was looking at Tinkerbelle. “I admire your enthusiasm, but fucking hell. You can’t just go out swinging or you’ll never last long enough to get good at this. You have to plan and be graceful about it.”

He paused to pluck a few pieces of glass out of Tinkerbelle’s hair, then brushed the finer pieces away with the side of his sleeve. Then he cupped Tinkerbelle’s face in his hands and thumbed the tears off her cheeks.

Tinkerbelle sniffled and leaned up into his gentle grip, away from Wendy like Tinkerbelle was scared of her.

“Say you’re sorry,” Peter demanded of Wendy. “You can’t scold me for scaring her if you’re just going to turn around and scare her, too.”

“I’m sorry, Tinkerbelle,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes.

“You have to be nice to people, too,” Peter said, already in teacher mode. “The world won’t give you things easily if you have a bad attitude.”

“Look, I don’t even know if you’re retired yet or not,” Wendy said with just as much attitude as before.

Peter looked at her sharply. “I’m not retired.”

“Prove it.”

Peter scowled. “Why would I do that? We literally just fucking met.”

“Fyodor has an opinion about what happened to James tonight,” Wendy said boldly. “I think you might be able to guess what.”

Tinkerbelle made a noise of pain and despair, selling the illusion of her ignorance.

“If you did get rid of James,” Wendy continued, “he should be nearby. If you don’t take me to him, I’ll still walk away knowing it happened and approximately where to find him. Which would make me, in your own words, a liability. Then, well, you could get rid of me, too … but then you’ll have sullied your streak and done something I’m beginning to understand you don’t ever want to do. Alternatively…”

She ran a finger up the side of Tinkerbelle’s arm, and grinned when Tinkerbelle flinched. “You could bring me with you and give me a lesson in etiquette. We could come to some kind of arrangement.”

“Why are you doing this?” Peter asked.

Wendy smiled. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to be when I grew up. Surely you had dreams of what you wanted to be when you grew up.”

Peter frowned softly. “No. I didn’t. The only dream I had was … I just wanted—”

Wendy interrupted him. “I know.”

Peter glanced out of the alley into the street. A single car drove down the road, passing them and flooding the alley with bright light for a split second. Peter put his hands on his hips and matched Wendy’s gaze for a long and excruciating moment. He rolled one shoulder, the shoulder that wore the jacket sleeve that she had been sewn earlier in the night. Wendy heard an echo of his words: I’ve had this jacket for a very long time. It used to belong to a friend of mine—the very first friend I ever had.

Peter took a deep breath and let it out in a long, shaky sigh. “You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it,” he said into the quiet of the night. He raked his hand through his auburn hair, then stretched his arms up and behind his head to crack his back. Then Peter smirked. He reached inside his jacket and took out a switchblade comb and began putting himself to rights.

“The first time was an accident,” he said, and Wendy didn’t believe him for a second. “But it gets easier after that.”

Wendy swallowed and kept herself from looking at Tinkerbelle. After a night of gazing at the other girl for reassurance, it was harder than she thought. “Do you do it for fun?” she asked, leaning casually against the brick. “I’d do it for fun.”

“No.” Peter’s response was quick and agonized. The wind blew hard into the alley, and the light of another passing car illuminated his silhouette as he blocked the only way out of the alley. “I forget them afterward.” He clenched his hands into fists. “When you grow up, you become not yourself in so many ways. I couldn’t bear it if I passed one of them on the street completely grown and completely unlike himself. No interest in anything but work, incapable of having adventures, tired, like all the light has been sucked out of him. This is easier in many ways.”

That was an unexpected response. Wendy didn’t quite know what to say to that. She’d have to switch tactics. “You told us James left without saying goodbye,” she said. “If he’d already left, then what was the problem?”

Peter laughed mirthlessly and rubbed his eyes with both hands. Wendy took this second of relief from being pinned under Peter’s surveillance to quickly shoot a reassuring expression at Tinkerbelle.

Tinkerbelle’s shoulders dropped a fraction.

“James left a year early,” Peter said, letting his arms fall to his sides so hard in exasperation that they hit the sides of his thighs. “He robbed us of a full 391 days of being with him, 390 mornings of being together to make breakfast, 391 nights of listening to him read out loud. Everyone who leaves gets a chance to say goodbye—even the ones who don’t leave voluntarily. But James fled in the middle of the night and he … he broke Curly’s heart.”

Tinkerbelle sprang to action and took control of the direction that this was going. She rubbed the sides of Peter’s arms as his eyes got red again.

“What is it with you?” he said to Wendy, choked up. “You’ve made me cry three times tonight.”