Lost Boi (18 page)

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 Wendi 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.

All us bois were tied and beaten by the Pirates. I panicked, wanting Pan. It was embarrassing how much I wanted to call out for my Sir, how much I wanted to cry. Thankfully, Smee had stuffed his black handkerchief with the silver skull and crossbones into my mouth. I bit down hard on the cloth, willing the tears not to come and tried to meet the eyes of the other bois. Curly was coming loudly under Cecco; he was not the slightest bit alarmed. Perhaps I was wrong to let panic get the best of me again. Perhaps this was just a friendly ambush.

I saw her first. Mommy Wendi, with her skirt and petticoats around her hips, her arms laced above her head, tangled in a spider web of pink rope. The mascara had run down her round cheeks in dark winding rivers, and I wanted to lick them away, but of course I couldn't move toward her. Hook's left hand was in, to the wrist, and his right one rested almost tenderly on her stomach. I think Smee was trying to get my jeans down, but I wasn't paying attention to him—not resisting but not cooperating either. My attention was on my Mommy, and on Hook. Staring was rude, but I couldn't will
myself to look away, couldn't bring myself to ignore what was happening.

“Looks like you've lost your two stars to the right. How are you going to find your way back to Neverland?” Hook laughed and gestured toward the two stones missing in Wendi's birthstone ring. “You could stay with me and my men,” Hook said as he twisted his wrist and pushed deeper into her. Wendi moaned, which wasn't an answer, but Hook was encouraged. “You could be my Pirate Bride. I could be everything to you that Pan can't be. Wendi, I am a man of Leather. Who do you think you are, going out into the world? Do you really think you can keep all your bois clean? You're going to lose them, Wendi. You know what can happen to bois who don't listen to their Mommy, and it's so much harder to make them listen out in the real world. You'll be visiting them in cemeteries and prisons. Stay here, Wendi. I can love you, and you can be our Mommy. Look around, do you see this crew? They have never had a Mommy, no one has ever tucked them in, never told them stories.”

Hook's husky voice trailed off. Wendi seemed to be drowning under the weight of his words. Could she stay? Could she build a life here among the pirates? What did Hook know about what Pan had never been able to give her, anyway?

I strained against Smee's grip. I wanted to tell her to say no, but the handkerchief was deep in my mouth. She couldn't belong to Hook, couldn't allow herself to be taken by Pan's greatest battle partner. To do that would be worse
than leaving, worse than all of us growing up. Wendi studied Hook's well-built frame, and her eyes came to reset on the intricate tattoo on his left forearm: a skull, a suspension hook, and roses wrapped around the words “Death Before Dishonor.”

“Never!” she shouted and strained against her ropes, and then yelled the word “
Red!
” The scene was over. Hook had lost her. His right hand grabbed the ornate handle of a knife from his belt and sliced her ropes, bringing her down to sit on a nearby stool. Wendi rubbed the rope marks on her arms.

Pan had slipped down the stairs without any of the Pirates noticing his arrival. When I saw him, I almost called out, but of course I couldn't, both by training and because of the handkerchief in my mouth. If I had been able to move, I would have to run to him, but his eyes were only on Hook and Wendi. Hook ran his hands through Wendi's hair.