Page 153 of Losing Wendy

The memory floods back to me of stitching Peter’s wound, while all the while, he didn’t tremble or shake. Not once did he cry out, not even when my hands quivered as they pierced his skin with a makeshift needle.

I have an abnormally high pain tolerance.

Even when the Sister drew blood from his cheek with a scratch, he didn’t flinch.

The Sister had offered him a gift. To do what’s necessary. That’s what she’d said. What his journals had said.

At the time, I’d thought it was Peter’s shadow powers she was referring to. Lethal weapons that would make killing easier.

Except that was never going to make killing easier for Peter. For Peter, who loved the Lost Boys like his own. Peter, who bargained his own life away to protect them.

I’m not the kind of Mate you want.

There’s something in me that’s missing.

When I asked him if he was referring to his shadow form, he’d said it amplified his worst qualities. I hadn’t realized the nuance in his words at the time, but what if he was saying that the Sister’s curse remained with him all the time? That his shadow form only made it worse?

“Get up,” says the captain, but I’m laughing now, laughing so hard it hurts my ribs.

“Great,” he says. “You’re as crazy as you are weak-minded.”

“He can’t feel pain,” I gasp.

The captain stills, staring down at me.

“He can’t feel pain. That’s the gift she granted him. She wanted him to be able to kill the Lost Boys if he needed to, even though he loves them. I can…I can take away your pain…” I cry, tears pouring out. “She took away his pain. That’s why he didn’t tell me I was his Mate. Because he can’t feel it like I can. He can only feel the high bits, not the agony. He knew I’d end up hurt.”

“I fail to comprehend why you find this funny.”

I just smile at the captain, the stabbing feeling in my chest finally numbing. Above us, the wistful clouds reflect the vibranthues of a new day in a realm that might as well go back to sleep for all I care.

For a moment, I think the captain will kick me, but in the end, he just walks away, leaving me wallowing on the deck in a cold sweat.

Peter’s not gifted; he’s cursed. It’s not that he chooses not to love me, it’s that he can’t. Because when the Sister took away his pain, she inadvertently took part of what it is to love.

But that’s the thing about curses.

It’s in their nature to be broken.