Forever Neverland(3)

Wendy felt her heartbeat in her eardrums. It was growing louder, a swoosh-swoosh of dizziness. It made her feel sick. But, it wasn’t loud enough to block out Dr. Coffer’s next words.

“Your little brother Michael, however, adores your writings, Wendy. He has attached himself to you in a most dangerous way. He believes, fully, that what you write is not the fiction that it truly is. But that it is real.”

Again, he waited, and Wendy felt her entire head heat up. It was a strange sensation. It was as if all of the blood in her body decided to ride an elevator to its highest point and then hang out there. It made her brain feel full and made her vision red. It also hurt.

“As for you, Wendy, I believe that your writing is hurting you as well. You won’t admit it to me. You’re a smart girl,” he told her. “But I think that you believe what you write to be true, just as Michael does.”

The rush and roar of blood was nearly deafening in her ears now. She barely heard Dr. Coffer’s next words.

“You have to stop, Wendy. Whatever it was that happened to you that night, five years ago – it will never present itself to you and you will never be able to work through it if you continue to hide in your stories. If you continue to escape into Neverland.”

“Stop,” Wendy said. But she said it too softly. She must have only whispered it, for Dr. Coffer went on, regardless.

“You can’t be selfish in this, Wendy. Allowing yourself to indulge in the fantasies you write is one thing. But you’re hurting Michael, too.”

“Stop,” she said again. She was sure she’d gotten some volume behind it this time, but she had to admit that it wasn’t nearly as loud as the storm brewing in her head.

“Please consider giving your writing a rest. For the sake of –”

“I said stop!” Wendy bellowed, coming out of her chair as if the act of standing would lend some amount of strength to her words. She desperately needed that strength right now. She desperately needed him to hear her.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she went on, the storm that had been building finally breaking inside of her. She was unable to stop herself. It was like watching a movie; she saw Wendy Darling standing there, her fists clenched at her sides, her face red, her teeth bared as she screamed at her doctor.

And she could do nothing to prevent it.

“Wendy, calm down –”

“Shut up!” Wendy went on, relentlessly. “How can you possibly know? How can you be so sure that Neverland is any less real than this world?” She gestured wildly to the office around them. As she did, she caught sight of his various degrees and certificates in frames lining the walls.

“You think you’re so smart because someone said so – on a piece of paper!” She hissed. “You believe them well enough, don’t you, Dr. Coffer!” She reached down and grabbed her once-folded pages of story and waved them in front of his face. As she did, there was a very large part of her that could not believe what she was doing.

This wasn’t like her. This wasn’t like Wendy Darling at all.

“But you can’t bring yourself to believe me!” She concluded. Then, in a show of utter defiance, she hastily refolded the pages and crammed them into the front pocket of her jeans. “I guess we each believe what we want to believe, Dr. Coffer,” she barked at him, her teeth still gritted tight.

“I’ll take this,” she said, patting her pocket, “over that,” she pointed at the frames on the walls, “any day!”

After a few tense moments of silence, the psychiatrist steepled his fingers before his face and peered at her long and hard.

Wendy stood there, a quietly raging statue of a teenage girl, and wondered what she should do next. Should she sit back down? Storm out of the office?

Her parents were going to hear about this, for sure.

I’m done for, she thought.

Dr. Coffer closed his legal pad and pocketed his pen. Then he slowly stood up and gestured to the door. “Wendy, why don’t we save the remainder of the time in today’s session and add it to next week’s slot? You’re under a lot of stress and I think you need sometime to calm down.” He seemed to study her face, then, as if searching for something. All she could do was glare at him.

“And I think you need more sleep, perhaps. I imagine you’re dreaming of him again.”

At that, Wendy blinked. Him? She thought. And then … Captain Hook.

“Yes. I believe his name was Hook?” Dr. Coffer clarified. “A captain, if I’m not mistaken.” He sighed heavily once more. He did that a lot. To Wendy, every time he did, it sounded as if he were saying the word, “helpless.”