Page 13 of Protector

The first one was when King found me in the woods when I was five years old. Apparently, everyone, and by everyone, I mean King, Dax, and Maria, were worried sick because they couldn’t find me. Considering I was never allowed to go anywhere, I was never far away. But they looked and looked, and I wasn’t anywhere they searched.

King, who was only six at the time, was convinced I’d run away, so he explored the woods to find me. Which he did. But my knees and palms were covered in mud, my hair was a tangled mess, and I had grass stains on my white socks.

I had never ventured far into the wooded area of the grounds before, but I knew once I’d found it, I never wanted to leave.

And instead of taking me back to my room, where I’d surely get in trouble, King played with me, until he, too, was covered in mud and grass stains.

That was one of the only strong memories of a childhood I could remember that seemed normal.

Once Daddy found out, though, he told us both off for getting so dirty. Told off is a bit of an understatement. Daddy shouted at me until I ran to my room, crying. But as I was running, I heard a loud whack, like the sound of a hand hitting a cheek. And he never admitted it, but I think Daddy hit King that night. And I hate how King got the blame for something I made him do.

But even though it ended badly, it will never quite take away the immense joy I felt spending all day with my brother outside.

The second memory was when Dax moved in. I can’t even remember how old I was, because it’s always just felt like forever. But when Dax’s daddy died when he was really little, and his mum was struggling to raise him on her own, he came to live with us.

He still saw his mum lots whilst she was still alive, but he was ours. And he’s always been like a big brother to me. He plaits my hair because he knows I’m rubbish at doing it myself, and he makes me laugh when King is being grumpy.

The third moment was standing against the hallway window, watching the new boy walk up the driveway and smiling up at me as he entered our house.

And the fourth and final special moment, Puck choosing me over anybody else. Listening to me.

Playing with me.

Giving me a flower.

I’ve finally found a Peter Pan.

I can’t even hide my crush on him anymore. Every waking hour is filled with thoughts of him.

The past year, each day, my feelings get stronger, and even though I know he isn’t in love with me, like I am with him, I can definitely feel a shift between us.

I don’t know what love is. I’ve never seen it in real life, and I don’t have any proof that it truly exists. But the way it’s described in my books and the way Wendy gazes at Peter Pan, like he’s the most incredible person to ever walk the planet, like there’re love hearts in her eyes, like nobody in the whole world would ever compare to him...

That’s how I feel. So I can only imagine it’s what love must feel like.

But who am I to talk? He’s fifteen, and I’m only thirteen. What would he want with a kid like me?

I know King and Dax see girls at school. They talk about them a lot behind closed doors, but they forget I listen to everything. They’re only fourteen, but they have always had the freedom to go out.

Outside of these walls that I am still trapped in.

They talk about girls' bodies, that from the way they describe, is the way mine seems to be changing. They talk about wanting to kiss them, holding their hands or hugging them.

If King and Dax want these things, Puck will too.

And that terrifies me.

What if I can’t be that for Puck? He won’t want me like that.

I shut the book gently, putting it back onto my shelf and making my way over to the window.

There’re no bars or a padlock, but there might as well be.

A teenager, trapped in her room, in her mind, and the world doesn’t even know she exists.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I don’t bother to wipe it away.

With each new day, week, month, year, I’m growing up, but in the world I’m in, I’m going nowhere. I’m growing for nothing.

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