The Mermaids arrived not long after us, dressed in their finest. I hid in the bathroom, shit-sick with nerves. It’s not that I couldn’t stay; I knew I could choose to never leave and be like Pan. Perhaps that was the hardest part, knowing that I was choosing to grow up. This was something I wanted, and yet I was fiercely disappointed in myself that my decision hadn’t been a more difficult one, that it was so easy to leave my Sir. Of course, it wasn’t that I wanted to leave Pan, but I wanted to keep my earlier promise to myself, and saving bois based on Pan’s whims and attractions wasn’t feeling big enough for me anymore.
I avoided Siren as she entered the party. I wasn’t ready to tell her, to say goodbye. It’s not like I was physically going far away—just down the tracks, across the Interstate, and up from the river—and it’s not that we couldn’t still see each other, but even then I knew that we wouldn’t. I knew the choice to leave Pan was a choice to leave everything about the life I knew. Siren eventually found me, though; I couldn’t hide from her forever. She looked beautiful, her blue hair knotted into a bun with a plastic shark tangled into the centre. I stared at its cheap plastic jaws instead of meeting her eyes. I think Siren knew what was going to happen even before I told her. My voice cracked as I whispered that, if she had time, I needed to talk. She left Kelpie and followed me to a quiet corner where I lost my nerve and leaned in to kiss her. Siren made a move that looked like she was about to step away from me when suddenly I found myself pinned against the wall, her hand wrapped around my jaw, forcing me to meet her eyes.
“What was it you needed to tell me, boi?” she hissed mockingly. I was red and near tears.
I hesitated a moment too long, and then said, “Mommy and I and all the bois are leaving. We’re going home with her. I might go to college and get a job and figure out how to save all the lost kids everywhere.”
Siren slapped me. She wasn’t playing, she was angry. The worst part was that, after the slap, she walked away. I knew better than to follow her, but my eyes couldn’t pull away from the seam of her tattered stockings. Leaving hurts. I had never before been the one to abandon someone. It’s not as easy as you think.
There was nothing to say to anyone. I felt high—everything was far away and blurry, as though my body was separate from me. I remember walking away, my face stinging. I think I was having a panic attack, so not my style, especially in the middle of a goddamn play party. Hook found me clinging to a banister, sweating and shivering. At first he thought I was being chased by the Crocodile, and I think he was preparing to throw me out of the Jolly Roger. Hook had no patience for the Crocodile. He was terrified of it, knowing all too well how strong it bites, the way it can rip everything from you.
Somewhere between pulling me off the mahogany banister and nearly throwing me out the front door, Hook realized I wasn’t swimming with the Crocodile. He steered me into his formal living room and slid the wooden pocket door closed. The red curtains were pulled tightly over the windows, and the room was lit with softly glowing lamps. If I hadn’t been panicked, if I hadn’t been running away, I would have thought it romantic. Hook laid me down on the plush red velvet couch, propping my boots onto a black pillow before sitting down in a wingback chair. He studied me as I lay in the throes of a huge panic attack. It was embarrassing. Only Pan had seen me in this state before. When I get this far, when the panic winds through me, there’s nothing I can do but tremble and cry and let it run its course. I used to think I was going to die when my breathing quickened and my eyes rolled back. It feels like all the lost bois have piled onto my chest and are sitting there, beating on my ribcage.
I’d never been alone with Hook, and I shivered harder. It was obvious what Pan saw in him. I wondered how many evenings they had spent together in this very room, or perhaps they went somewhere more private? How rude and insubordinate I had become to flatter myself so, to think that Hook might look at me with the same starving hunger that crossed his face whenever he was close to Pan.
We sat for a long time as my breathing steadied. Hook said nothing, just watched me, and after a while, I wasn’t panicked anymore. Well, I was freaking out, but in a totally different way. I thought of everything Pan had ever told me about Hook, who was the closest thing he had to a Sir, but not really, because they were so evenly matched, because Hook could never own Pan, no one could. I didn’t know what Hook had planned for me tonight. I was so tired. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, Hook was coiling a beautiful purple rope. He looped it around his hands. My mind was still foggy, and I struggled to piece together his words as he uttered a barrage of questions.
“I think you should fly with me tonight, don’t you? Where’s Pan? Little boi, what’s this crying about? Where’s that Mommy of yours?”
These questions weren’t really meant to be answered. It was a cruel, seductive interrogation, where we both knew that I would lose and that I didn’t want it to go any other way.
Hook stood and walked a couple of steps across the plush carpeting. He took me into his rope, and I let him. I wanted to lose. I wanted to lose control more than I wanted Hook. It wasn’t about hurting Pan. I know how stupid that sounds, given the circumstances. I trusted Hook because he was Pan’s best fight, because Pan had lost to him, because Pan wasn’t here to take me down, because I knew then that I’d never again find myself under Pan’s boots. Hook, true to his reputation for good form, was fast and skilled. I don’t entirely remember how it happened, but soon the purple rope was around my chest and hips, and he had me suspended from a point in the ceiling. I laughed at the thought of myself flying over this formal living room. Hook didn’t like laughter and punched me hard in the chest. No words, just a look that meant I needed to behave, that I shouldn’t anger him. Pan was all about fun; Hook took it all seriously. I was caught in his riptide, and I wasn’t fighting against the pull.
I flew that night under the hands of Hook. I knew he was an expert rigger; it’s why all the conferences wanted him, why Pan flew under him too. I thought we were going to fuck. Hook had me suspended wearing nothing but my boots and briefs—so different from Pan, who prefers bois to be clothed. I wasn’t sure how I felt about being fucked by Hook and what it would be like for him to slip into one of my holes. I’d never thought about it before, and in that moment, I realized that I wasn’t even sure of Hook’s preferences, though I was certain I would soon find out.
I felt his palm run the length of my back but stop before he reached the curve of my ass. He left his hand on the small of my back, leaned toward me, and whispered in my ear.
“Why are you really here without Pan?”
I gasped and pulled against Hook’s ropes. This wasn’t any of Hook’s business, and certainly wasn’t my place to tell him, but I didn’t know how to stop myself.
“I’m leaving Neverland. I’m going home with my Mommy, we all are,” I whispered, and then I broke, my tears falling silently to the carpet.
13
Saved by a Fairy
Hook untied me and brought me down to the carpet without speaking a word. What could he have said? I wasn’t his boi to praise for answering a hard question or to scold for making the selfish choice to leave. I was a tool, and not a particularly valuable one. I had given Hook what he needed, and he was through with me. He left me on the carpet, crumpled next to my clothes.
I later found out that, after walking away from me, Hook left his own party. It’s not far to Neverland. Pan was still there sleeping when Hook pried open one of the big front windows, the one with the broken glass that Wendi had crawled through. Pan slept restlessly in Wendi’s big bed, tangled in the sheets, straining against the stained and cigarette-burned cotton. To Hook, he looked like he was fighting sleep, fighting something.
Pan is haunted by his past, by pieces of his life that none of us know and maybe even he doesn’t remember anymore, at least when he’s awake. In his sleep, Pan fights the memories of everyone who’s ever hurt him. Sometimes I would wake up and, from my hammock, see We
ndi comfort him. Before Mommy came, none of us knew what to do. My first night with Pan, I’d made the mistake of trying to wake him from a dream and sported a shiner the following week. After that, none of us bois ever tried to wake him. We would roll over in our hammocks, turn on our Discmans, or just plug our ears and dissociate as our Sir whimpered, fought, and lost against something, someone, we couldn’t see. We never spoke about it.
Once Mommy came, everything changed. She saw Pan’s dark dreams and would take him into her arms, holding and rocking him until he woke. Pan never struck Mommy the way he had me. It was a Mommy’s magic. When she chased away his nightmares, Wendi learned that she could be a Mommy not only to Pan but to all us bois. In saving Pan from his nightmares, Wendi realized that she could find a piece of a boi, a shiny, glittery part that no one had touched or ruined, and tuck it into her apron pocket. She learned that she could keep us safe and polish us until we shone. But now, the apron had been untied and left upon the bed. In his sleep, Pan clenched it in his little fist. He was alone.
Hook stood in the doorway, watching as Pan slept. His jeans tightened uncomfortably and he rolled his eyes at himself. This wasn’t about sex, and he knew it. Hook wasn’t interested in fucking Pan. He watched as the little boi fought sleep. It wasn’t the tangle of sheets that kept Pan’s body prisoner, it was the tears that carved rivers on his cheeks. Hook watched Pan, thinking of all the battles they’d had, of all the times he’d been so close to slipping, to letting himself go somewhere he wasn’t allowed, where his honour code wouldn’t let him go. Hook’s eyes travelled down Pan’s body to the scuffed and scarred boots of his biggest rival, his deepest love. This was deeper than he’d realized. Hook steadied his breath and focused on the smallness of the boi, the scars on his shoulders visible as the A-shirt he wore was pushed to the side. Pan’s back was a starry sky of scars, both those that were cut by bois’ knives and the scarred dotting of Hook’s own hooks, the ones he’d pierced Pan with and flown him from in the rigging of the Jolly Roger.
Hook walked across the floor, picking his way across the pigeon shit so as not to tarnish his boots. Pan heard the click of those boots on the concrete and sat up in the bed, blinking hard, trying to make sense of what was happening, of who he was, and where he was, and why Hook was in Neverland.
“She’s left you, hasn’t she? What good is a boi without his Mommy? You finally figured out that you wanted one, brought her here to be with you, and then couldn’t keep her,” Hook taunted. He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a silver chain and padlock with a skull and crossbones, surrounded by the words “Property of Hook,” etched into the metal.
Pan’s eyes travelled from the chain to Hook’s face, but stopped before meeting his eyes. Pan was exhausted and confused; everything was falling apart. Neverland couldn’t exist without him, and who was he without bois? He looked away from Hook and down to his knuckles at the faded ink. The word “LOST” on his right hand seemed darker and less aged than the ink on his left hand.
He looked around the empty warehouse. Neverland looked dull and tired, as tired as he felt—old, even, though he hated that word. What would it mean to be Hook’s boi? They had always been rivals, evenly matched in battle. Could he surrender to such a pretentious prick? Could he submit himself to Hook’s old-fashioned protocols? What was left for him if he didn’t?
Pan seldom thinks about anything for too long. His world is impulse, passion, and chance. We were gone, and even I had left him. We’d gone away with his Mommy. Pan extended his hand for the collar, not meeting Hook’s eyes. Hook pulled the chain away with a laugh and a slap that left Pan’s cheek stinging. Of course, protocol. He would not be permitted to touch that which was not his. Instead, Pan lowered his head. He felt the cold metal land on his chest and watched as Hook’s boots moved behind him, sensed his hands hovering above his neck, heard the padlock unbolt. At that moment, Tink soared through the window and landed at the nape of Pan’s neck where Hook was preparing to lock the collar. Hook tried to shoo her away, but Tink pecked at his hands, and he backed away.
Tink hopped to the floor and caught Pan’s gaze before flying up and landing on his head, pecking again and again to wake him up in the only way that she knew how. Hook reached in again with the collar, but Pan shook himself away from Hook’s hands.
Hook crossed Neverland without a word. The short-lived fantasy was over. Pan would never surrender to him—Hook didn’t need to process the failed collaring to know that. Pan was incorrigible, filthy, and he let a fucking bird call the shots in his life. Despite this, there was still a small part of Hook that wanted Pan, wanted him badly. Wanted those filthy little hands and leather cuff.
Satisfied that Pan was not going to chase after Hook, Tink stopped pecking at her master. His neck was bloody in the spot where the collar would have come together. She’d saved him, and he knew it.
But Pan hadn’t forgotten the way the Pirate captain looked longingly at him when one of the lost bois was under his boot, when he had someone quivering and sobbing at the end of a long scene. Pan knew that there was something the Pirate wanted, something he could give, if only Hook could let himself have it. Perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps, Pan realized, he was not entirely alone.
14
The Jolly Roger
I don’t know how long I stayed in Hook’s living room. Probably longer than I should have, but I felt so alone and didn’t know where I was supposed to go. Part of me wanted to run back to Neverland, to break my commitment to Wendi, to take back my word and my plans, but I knew that it was too late.
If I walked back into Neverland, Pan would want to take me in. I was his good boi, his best boi. He would remind me of who I was, of everything that we were to each other and all that we’d been through and then he would tell me that it was over. Pan forgives no one. Leaving is the worst offense.
I’d watched it happen before with bois who left, who decided to grow up. They would come crawling back. Sometimes he wouldn’t see them, wouldn’t even let them in. Other times, he’d grant them permission to spend the night, maybe even give them a hammock. The boi would think that they had won, that they could come back to our world. Then, at breakfast, Pan would break them. Either he would act like they were nothing but an empty chair that he couldn’t see, or he’d be confused and vacant when the boi would talk about what his life at Neverland had been like. These bois would walk out the door, dazed and alone, unsure if everything they had experienced here had been real or nothing but a dream. Then there were the bois who fought Pan, who tried to force their way back into his world; they had to be physically thrown out of Neverland. I’ll never forget their bewildered faces. I couldn’t be one of those bois. I had too much pride. Pride is a weakness. I deserved to have Pan look through me without recognition.
Eventually, I made myself pull on my clothes and rejoin the Pirate party. There was nothing to do but keep my word to Mommy. The party was loud when I hit the play space. I saw bois, Pirates, and Mermaids fucking and battling against the walls and on all the equipment. I didn’t see Wendi and figured that she was busy with something—someone, more likely. I didn’t go looking. Siren was being fucked by Smee, which pissed me off. What did I care, I told myself; I was the one leaving.
Jealousy aside, I was surprised to see them together, since Smee had always seemed like a gold-star faggot. Shows what I knew. But Smee was a tricky one: he was Hook’s right-hand man, his primary partner, and his first mate. They were as inseparable as Pan and I had been. I turned away from their scene. John Michael was kneeling before a raised chair, blacking the boots of Hook’s man Jukes. Without really trying, I caught a piece of their conversation, details of an upcoming title-and-sash pageant. John Michael’s eyes shone. It was obvious that she was already plotting her next moves, that she would move on just fine without Pan.
I dozed for a while on a leather love seat, then woke with a start and looked around the dungeon. All the bois were tied up with Pirates standing
over them. Normally, our battles are more evenly matched, with more switching than one side totally dominating, but the bois knew that this would be their last lost boi/Pirate battle. Smee, who must have finished with Siren, walked toward me. I cocked my head invitingly, not sure what I was up for, but beating on a Pirate seemed like it might feel good, might be an effective way to let myself forget about leaving.
Smee was a good boy—better than me, evidently. Maybe the Pirates had it right all along. They aren’t grownups, not really, since they live in a fantasy that adjoins ours, but they aren’t as frantic as we are. They have guides, protocols, honour codes, and Hook’s lessons about good form, not to mention jobs that mean they can afford new boots and dinner.
Smee was waiting, smiling, watching. I lunged. His reflexes were good and fast and he met me. It felt so good to let our bodies crash into each other, to feel the weight of him smashing into me. We hit hard. This was not for show. The air was knocked out of me when we collided, and we tumbled to the floor on top of one another. The bois and I are all expert wrestlers. Normally it isn’t even my kink, but tonight it felt good to struggle with, not against, this Pirate. Smee is a dandy. He works at the vintage hardware shop in the fancy arts district a few streets over. He’s a nelly, but tough too. We like each other as much as any lost boi and Hook crew-man could. When it’s bois versus Pirates, Smee and I usually battle each other. Tonight, he pinned and hogtied me. It had been a fair fight.
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