Chapter Seven

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

Being blissfully unaware of her surroundings was probably a state in which Metanoia found gratitude in. However, she did not particularly appeal to the darkness that entirely surrounded her. She could not feel, nor see a thing, although she did hear voices of males yelling, raising their voices near her and overwhelming her ears. She could hardly comprehend the contents of their verbal exchange, however, she heard the severity of their tones - cutting through her peaceful state like sharp knives.

Suddenly, her sense of feeling was restored as she felt the rough fingertips of a boy ever so gently brush her hair away from her face. Her eyebrows twitched upon the sensation, and she heard a voice murmur near her, "I think she's waking up."

Slowly yet surely, Metanoia's eyes fought to flutter open, and when they finally did, she was blinded by an overwhelming brightness, engulfing her sight entirely, and so she involuntarily squinted her blue eyes.

"Metanoia." A voice breathed beside her softly.

As soon as she finally adjusted to the brightness surrounding her, Metanoia noticed she was laying on an uncomfortable bed. She shifted her head to the side and found Theodore sat right beside her, his face within close proximity to hers, and she involuntarily blushed. She pursed her lips as she mentally shot words of resentment towards herself for having little to no control over what happens to her face. Metanoia grudgingly chose to rip her sight away from Theodore, who was gazing at her with an overwhelming intensity laced with palpable concern. Instead, her eyes landed on Sam, who had one leg propped up against a wall, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He was staring at her with a gentle look and a soft smile. A few feet away from him on an ancient looking chair sat Nate, his face scrunched up into a distressed frown, and his intense brown eyes boring onto her small figure on the bed.

"Hey, guys." She uttered the words, which left her lips hoarsely, her throat burning like wildfire, and her face twisted in pain.

"You sound like shit." Sam observed, stating the obvious, and causing both Theodore and Nate to scowl at him, but Sam simply shrugged as a response, hardly fazed by their irritation.

Metanoia found it funny, and she huffed out a small laugh, her lips etching into a lazy smile, but she felt her lip split as she did so, and she winced in pain.

"How're you feeling?" Theodore whispered in concern, and Metanoia finally looked at his face once again.

Blinking slowly, she replied, "Like shit."

"Told you." Sam deadpanned.

"Dude, not the time." Nate scolded him.

"You should have some water. You must be dehydrated by now." Theodore advised, reaching behind him for a wooden cup, before he handed it to Metanoia. She struggled to sit upright on her own, so Sam shuffled his feet over towards the bed and gently helped her up while Theodore held the cup in his hand.

"Thank you." She murmured to them both as she slowly took the cup from his hand and took a small sip. She sighed in pure ecstasy as she felt the cold liquid run down her throat, smoothening the rough feeling she'd been suffering from, and she licked her lips to dull the ache in her split lip.

"What happened?" She wondered softly, her eyes trained on the cup held in both her hands, the sight of the natural element within bringing some form of peculiar comfort to Metanoia.

"Daft Denzel cheated, that's what happened." Sam uttered, vexed as his mind recalled the events of their hand-to-hand combat battle.

"The guy's absolutely vindictive." Theodore commented sourly, a menacing scowl invading his facial features, and Nate sighed angrily.

"He used a weapon on you, if you can't recall, Metanoia." Nate spoke, turning his head to look at her. "He stabbed your spleen, and you passed out for losing a lot of blood."

Metanoia's eyes widened as she spluttered, "What?!"

"Yeah, thankfully Theo noticed the weapon and called him out on his bullshit." Sam ushered to Theodore, who gazed at Metanoia sheepishly.

"I wasn't fast enough to spot it before he could harm you." He argued guiltily, clenching his jaw in self-loathing.

Metanoia's hand automatically reached out to hold his, causing Theodore to shoot her a bewildered look. Metanoia smiled at him softly, before whispering, "you did everything you could."

Turning her head back to focus on Nate after retracting her hand away from Theodore's, she asked, "Where's Denzel now then?"

A sense of evil satisfaction washed over Nate's face, as he unashamedly stated, "Pan is having him handled. Not to worry Metanoia."

She furrowed her eyebrows when she noticed Sam smirk sadistically at Nate, biting his lip to avoid cackling like a supervillain.

"What does that mean?" She pressed.

"Well, Denzel broke Pan's rule. He specifically demanded that no weapons are to be used, and Denzel defied him." Sam responded casually, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. "So Pan sent him to the cages three nights ago and we haven't seen Denzel since."

Metanoia felt herself shudder in trepidation and discomfort, before she hesitantly queried, "Is ... is he okay?"

"Seriously?" Theodore asked in disbelief. "Denzel bled you out, and you're asking if he's okay?"

Metanoia pouted her lips as she stared at the blanket overing her body, before replying slowly, "he doesn't deserve to die no matter what he's done to me."

Nate shook his head slowly at her, in awe of her kindness. "Well he certainly isn't dead. Pan has a killing ritual, so it he were to murder him, we would've all seen it."

Metanoia scrunched up her face in disgust. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't just hear that extremely vile and twisted piece of information."

The three boys laughed at her softly, and she slowly lifted the blanket off her body to inspect her stomach. She frowned perplexedly, seeing her smooth non-scarred skin, and she looked back up at them and asked, "Where'd my injury go?"

"You were bleeding so much to the point where you wouldn't have made it if we tried treating you medically ... so, Pan healed you himself with magic." Theodore explained.

She raised her eyebrows uncomprehendingly. "Pan healed me? I thought he hated me."

"Oh, come on. Pan doesn't hate you. He just ..." Theodore trailed off, intently gazing at her, and having no idea what to say next.

"Hates you." Sam bluntly responded on his behalf, causing Nate to snort in amusement.

"So why'd he save me if he hates me?" Metanoia frowned.

"Don't mistake him saving your life as an act of kindness. He was simply maintaining order in Neverland." Nate clarified. "Denzel cheated, so Pan fixed it."

Metanoia sighed, and fiddled with the fabric of the blanket draped over her, and she mumbled self consciously, "for a moment there I was foolish enough to think he cared a little about me."

The boys remained silent, feeling uncomfortable with her words, and their eyes darted between each other awkwardly. Finally, Theodore squeezed her shoulder affectionately, causing her to look up at him inquisitively.

"We care about you." He spoke softly, his lips formed into an encouraging smile, and her vision wandered over to Nate and Sam, who grinned at her and nodded in agreement.

She finally smiled too, and whispered, "thank you."

~•~

Metanoia stirred the contents of the stew in the massive pot, sighing softly to herself as she sniffed the delicious aroma of the food she and her team were preparing; it was their turn. It has been two nights since she had awoken from the sleep the injury had put her in, and Metanoia found it to be quite the surprise when Pan had allowed her to stay behind during training sessions to simply observe, and allowed her to do so for another two coming days.

Not once has she seen Denzel around, and every time her eyes accidentally fell on his two friends, David and James, she could tell their initial predatory flirtation morphed into a guarded hostility. She didn't mind it, but she was a little wary as to whether they'd seek vengeance on her for their friend. Despite being on a resting streak, Theodore and Nate agreed to resume her extra training sessions, unlike Pan. As much as she wanted to whine about it, she knew better; her trials were creeping closer by the second, and she didn't have time to sit back and rest. Not if she wanted to live.

"So um, I heard about someone a while back from the boys." Metanoia started, glancing at Jeremy from the corner of her eye discreetly.

Jeremy and Jacob worked silently; they weren't known to speak excessively anyway, but Metanoia knew now that it was due to their well justified grief over the loss of a dear friend.

Jeremy huffed in response, not finding it necessary to respond with words, but Metanoia didn't let that discourage her from what she wanted to say.

"He was a lost boy, apparently a great warrior in his time." Metanoia trailed on, eyeing the two boys cautiously, and she noticed Jacob stiffen while chopping the onions, halting his movement for a second, while Jeremy snapped his head towards him.

"Based on your reactions, you must know who I'm referring to, then." She gently spoke.

Jeremy clenched his jaw and wordlessly went back to work, avoiding Metanoia's inquisitive gaze.

"Put the subject to rest, Metanoia. Some things are not to be spoken of." Jacob demanded as politely as he could, for he didn't wish to hurt the girl's feelings, but he also didn't wish to hurt his or Jeremy's either.

"But I was two you were both closest to him. He was in your group and -"

"I said put it to rest, Metanoia." Jacob stipulated, his eyes wild with an urge to protect Jeremy and himself, especially Jeremy because he knew very well how fragile the matter of speaking about Tucker was to him. "We don't want to speak about it."

Metanoia blinked, her eyes wide in realisation of the fact that she'd caused them evident discomfort, but she stood her ground firmly. "But you have to talk about him to move on from what happened!"

"You do NOT tell us what we should move on from!" Jeremy spun around furiously to face her, seething, and leaving her stunned by his outburst.

"I'm sorry ... I just wanted to help." She mumbled, still in shock.

"Well take your help and give it to someone that actually wants it." Jeremy quipped, before turning back to his task and getting busy again.

"Metanoia!" Theodore's voice rang behind her, and she turned to face him.

"You ready for your training?"

~•~

Theodore and Nate split their training responsibilities for Metanoia; Theodore would be training her in archery and hand to hand combat, and Nate was in charge of delivering training sessions regarding swordplay, swimming and climbing. She was stood in front of Theodore, listening to him instruct her on how to hold her stance, and general tricks she needs to pick up to have a fair fight.

"You should always have at least a general idea of how your opponent thinks." Theodore began. "For example, when you're fighting me, how would you use my way of thinking against me?"

Metanoia pouted as her mind whirred busily, trying to assess him, before she lunged at him. Theodore easily blocked her punch, but Metanoia swiftly kicked the back of his knee as she spun, causing him to falter, though he still stood high and tall.

He smiled at her brightly as she shot him a cheeky grin.

"I used the fact that you're exceptionally tall against you. You wobbled." She laughed.

"Not bad, Em." He mused, causing her cheeks to tint a light shade of pink at the nickname. "But you didn't have enough strength to make me fall, so we should probably work on that too."

Metanoia nodded her head in agreement. "Alright."

"Let's try again, okay?"

Theodore and Metanoia took their positions, before he nodded her way, and she attempted to slide trip him as she quickly moved forward, but Theodore was quick to react, wrapping his arm around her small frame and trapping her against him. It took a good few seconds for Metanoia to notice just how closely she was pressed against his clothed chest.

"And if I were an actual opponent, I would've punched you in the side, kneed you in the gut, and shoved you to the floor." Theodore teased, his tone laced with humor as Metanoia attempted to wriggle out of his grip.

"Right. We get it. You're unstoppable." She rolled her eyes playfully, causing him to laugh and sending his vibrations across her body as well.

His grip on her loosened slightly, allowing her to place her hands on his chest and look up at him. Her breath hitched in her throat when she noticed the way his eyes examined every inch of her face with intrigue, and her eyes lingered on his pink lips for an extra second. Had they not been interrupted a second later, Metanoia had a hunch it might've led to something she wasn't sure she was ready for.

"Theodore." His voice was icy, so cold it could cause a frostbite to who its directed to, and it was lethal enough to steer them off each other and stare directly at Peter Pan.

There he stood, in all his glory and air of thick arrogance and power. His eyebrow was raised in suspicion, vividly displeased with what he just witnessed, but he said nothing to indicate so.

Metanoia figured he doesn't really need to say anything, because his facial expression said it all.

"Pan," Theodore breathed, dropping his arms to his sides and giving the King of Neverland his undivided attention. "What can I do for you?"

"You have that task I assigned you to." Pan responded very vaguely, but Theodore immediately understood what was asked of him.

His head snapped up to gaze at the sky as he exclaimed, "Wow, it's sunset already?" Lowering his head to face Pan again, Theodore stated, "I'll be on my way then."

Pan nodded astutely and watched as Theodore slowly walked away, but not before smiling apologetically to Metanoia for cutting their training session short. Metanoia finally tore her gaze away from Theodore and instead shifted them on Pan, who was already looking at her, but with such fierce fury that Metanoia actually winced in pain.

She waited for him to speak, but he never opened his mouth. Instead, they stood there staring at one another silently, Pan as angry as ever and Metanoia as uncomfortable as they get.

Finally, Metanoia swallowed whatever fear she had of Pan, and confidently asked, "What did you do to Denzel?"

Pan stayed immaculately still, observing her and wishing he could uncover her role in this big game, and so he finally responded, "I punished him."

"How?" Metanoia pressed.

"He's caged." He replied simply.

Metanoia's eyes narrowed. "For this long?"

Pan mirrored her look, though his narrowed eyes weren't a result of suspicion, but rather a growing annoyance towards the girl.

"Denzel broke the rules that I set. And no one defies me, not without facing consequences if they're foolish enough to anger me." His voice was tranquilly calm, but his clenched jaw gave him away in the eyes of Metanoia.

She pursed her lips as she observed him cautiously, trying to figure him out, but he wasn't really giving much away for her to work with. Pan was an astounding mystery to her, and it vexed her for not being able to understand just why he hates her so much.

"For a second when I woke up and I was told Denzel was punished, I thought it was because you cared a little." She admitted, swallowing her pride for a moment.

Pan scoffed at her evident idiocy, and Metanoia held her breath, reminding herself that she saw this ridicule coming, but she had to endure it if it meant she might get any form of understanding behind his hatred towards her.

"I don't believe I can be any more obvious about how meaningless you are to me. So the fact that you had so much as an inkling that I care about you, only proves how pathetically stupid you are." Pan allowed the hurtful words of insult slip easily out of his mouth, his eyes darkening the longer he mulled over her childish claim.

How could she, for one moment, think that he cared?

Metanoia gulped harshly, before straightening her back and jutting her chin out in the air, feigning confidence, which she painfully lacked.

"You allowed me to rest too. What does that make you?" She challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.

At this, Pan couldn't help but laugh in disbelief, eyeing her in his utmost fascination with how daft she was being.

"It makes me a fair leader, you airhead." He replied swiftly and smoothly, and took a step forward towards her, before remarking tauntingly, "I keep in mind the health of Neverland's inhabitants - the people I'm in charge of. And for the time being, that includes you."

He stopped, and looked around him at the abundance of trees surrounding the two of them, before he looked back at her and smirked cruelly. "Do enjoy this heaven while it lasts, Metanoia, because I assure you, you will fail your trials, and by the laws created by me to sustain Neverland, I will end your life."

Pan turned to leave, and he only managed to take a few steps away, before Metanoia's enraged voice thundered, "And what if I do pass my trials?"

Pan stopped in his tracks, and didn't turn to look at her just yet.

"Highly unlikely." He responded drily.

Metanoia stepped forward. "When I pass my trials, you will have no reason to hate me anymore. You will accept me as one of your Lost Boys."

Pan finally faced her again, a humorous smirk toying his lips. "When? You're that certain you will pass?"

Metanoia clenched her fists. "Absolutely."

Pan laughed condescendingly. "If you say so, little one. Just remember that I will make sure I humiliate you right before slaughtering you after you fail the trials."

He then walked away from her, giving her his back and paying her no mind as Metanoia's blood boiled dangerously. Her mind had completely shut down, and before she knew it, she was reaching for the bow and arrows discarded on the floor by Theodore. In a fit of rage, she aligned the arrow to the quiver, before she aimed it at Pan's back and released.

It all happened so fast.

Metanoia could hardly decipher that fact that her aim was actually impeccable, for it whizzed through the air straight for Pan's back, but he was quick to react. She didn't know how he'd detected it, but somehow, Pan saw the arrow coming from the back of his head, and turned around just in time to expertly clutch the arrow in his grip.

It was just an inch away from striking him. Metanoia's adrenaline died down the moment she saw what he'd done, and the look on his face practically screamed at her to run for her life.

He was livid.

Within a second, Pan had flicked his wrist and flung Metanoia aggressively against a tree using his magic, and she was locked in place. She gasped both in shock and in pain, for she hadn't seen Pan use his magic before, and her back ached from the rough impact against the bark of the tree. He took fast and big strides towards her, before placing a firm hand against her neck, choking her.

"Did you really think you could manage to strike me?" His voice was low but deadly. Metanoia struggled against his grip, squirming as she tried to catch her breath, but Pan's hand against

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net