Page 12 of Protector

My heart always has this weird crushing pain when I see her cry. It sounds pathetic, and I’d never tell anyone, but I hate seeing her upset more than anything.

Watching her come down the stairs in that pretty blue dress made me feel warm. It’s a weird feeling to describe, but she’s like a breath of fresh air.

I never hung out with girls back home before moving here. I was never really interested.

Sure, I get lots of attention, but I think that’s more to do with the fact I’m friends with King and Dax. I’d rather prat about than talk to the girls who are just trying to get noticed by the District leader's son.

Every girl is the same.

But Bonnie isn't like your average girl.

She loves to play with the boys and get stuck in whatever we’re doing. She loves to run around the woods, explore the outdoors, and isn’t afraid to get messy.

But she also loves her stories and purple flowers and admires her big brother.

She’s funny, clever, and brave. But she’s vulnerable and lonely and desperate for attention from those who shun her. And by those, I mean her father.

Since I stepped foot in this mansion, and every day up until now, my hate grows for the man who created her.

But there’s fuck all I can do but be there for her because I live in his house.

My fierce need to protect her hasn’t faltered, and as she’s gotten older, the desire has only become stronger to make sure she knows I’m still here for her.

She’s come a long way, but she’s still that eight-year-old girl I saw sitting on the bench all those years ago.

I feel content watching her leaning against the tree, reading Peter Pan out loud, something she does often.

I know she feels guilty that I am sitting with her instead of hanging out with King and Dax, but I genuinely mean it when I say I’m okay staying. I like her just as much as the boys, and I never want her to be sitting alone sad.

I pull my journal out of my pocket and flip it to a fresh blank page.

I look at her soft features, her cheeks dried with tears, the purple flower resting behind her ear, and I start to write.

Bon,

You say this home isn’t made for a girl. But home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling. And you belong with King, Dax, and me. We are your home.

And until you fly away, we always will be.

Second star on the right…

Till Neverland,

Puck

Age 13

Iflip the book open, stopping where the purple petals, now discoloured and crinkled, lie pressed between the pages.

After Puck tucked the purple flower behind my ear all those months ago, we stayed out in the woods until the sky darkened and the breeze grew cold.

My blue dress had grass stains and my skin felt damp from the air, but if he hadn’t suggested we leave, I would’ve stayed out there forever.

But once we came inside, I ran to my room, took my oldest copy of Peter Pan out of my bag that we’d been reading and placed the clematis inside, closing the book gently to help preserve the flower.

I never wanted to part with it.

There aren’t very many special moments in my life. In fact, I can name them all on one hand.

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