Dystopia

⌘ Past

I begin to breath heavily at the realisation of how close he actually is. How very close. His body is pressed against my side, I can feel his muscles tense as he leans against me.

I dare to turn my face to the right and find his nose brush against mine. Our eyes are inches apart, or more importantly our lips. I drop my gaze. His mouth is curved in a devilish smile.

There's something about him that draws me closer. He brings about danger and mystery that I feel I must solve. I know little of him, apart from the fact that he has a girlfriend, which only makes me want him more.

He's like forbidden fruit, I just want to taste...

He brings his hand to my face and gently caresses my cheek. His hand is incredibly soft with beautifully slender fingers. He pulls his hand back and clears his throat bringing us both back to reality.

"You had an eyelash." He looks away. "Oh, right thanks." I say averting my eyes from his pale face.

"Dean, why do you call me Luna?" I ask. A question that I have been wanting to know the answer to for a long time.

A small smile forms on his lips, while his eyebrows bunch together, almost as if his mouth and thoughts were not quiet connected.

"You remind me of the moon," he says gently.

Great. So I remind him of the moon? A big grey planet with craters all over it.

"The moon?" I say under my breath.

"If you touch the sun you'll get burnt, if you chase the stars you'll only be left in the dust, but if you meet the moon treasure it as it dimly gleams throughout the darkness" he says looking into my eyes.

It's rather sweet but he didn't even know me when he first called ms that. "I remind you of the saying? But you called me Luna before I'd even spoken to you."

"Not the saying, the girl. Her name was Emilia. She looked like you, she..." he trailed off and shut is eyes hard with a pained look on his face.

"What?" I ask confused.

"She's dead." he whispers finally opening his closed eyes. I notice that they are watery.

Should I comfort him?

I take my hand to embrace him in a hug but pull back remembering the time I tried to comfort Cristina, that didn't go to well. He doesn't seem to notice my movements.

I need to change the subject although the boiling question of how she died is on the tip of my tongue.

"Why are you in here Lun- Lena?" He says. I kind of like Luna it's like a nickname that only he has for me.

"You can still call me Luna if you like," I reassure him.

"Answer the question," he says with a cold expression. His lips are pressed into a line.

"I- I stabbed someone." I struggle to say the words aloud.

"Why?" He almost demands.

"Because he tried to take..." I can't muster the words. Dean nods his head knowingly.

"That's self defence. I don't understand how he's not behind bars," he says, his palms forming into tight fists.

"Not a how but a who. My mother. She said I'd gone insane, she set me up," I say gritting my teeth in anger and Dean seemed to reflect my angered emotion. He clenched his defined jaw.

"I never knew my mother." He stares at the opposite walls of cell.

"She died giving birth to me. I was the cause of her death," he says emotionless. I feel a sharp pain in my heart, that's a horrible thing to think, even though I couldn't care less if my Mother was here or not I cannot help but feel sadness towards the subject.

"Dean you can't blame yourself for something that wasn't your fault," I say.

"He told me it was my fault. She loved music. She wanted to become a musician. I took that away from her," he says squeezing his eyes shut, as if the escape reality.

"Who?"
Who could tell him such a thing. To blame an innocent baby for his mother's death.

"My father. He said I looked like her, I ruined her." What a sick thing to do, blame him all his life for the death of his mother.

"When I was in first grade I'd become anxious when it was home time. We had a volunteer helper, she travelled to America and was studying English. Emilia, who noticed the bruises on me..." he trailed off for a moment but then continued.

"When it was home time she'd sing me this song;
Ninna nanna, ninna oh,
questo bimbo a chi lo do?
Lo darò alla Befana
Che lo tiene una settimana
Lo darò all'Uomo Nero
Che lo tiene un anno intero
Lo darò all'Uomo Bianco
Che le tiene finché è stanco
Lo darò al Saggio Folletto
Che lo renda Uomo perfetto."

Dean says the words off by heart in a rhythmic way. It sounds lovely although I don't understands what it means.

"What's it about?" I ask.

"The song's about who she would give the child to," he says tiredly.

"What happened to her." I whisper knowing that it resulted in death.

"She- she just wanted to help" he begins but anger crosses his eyes, "I don't want to talk about it! What's it to you anyway? Why do you care?" He asks, standing up. "Come on, we're leaving".

His sudden outburst leaves me dumbfounded. It just doesn't add up, the amount of marks on the wall, representing the time he's been in here, the girl, the poem, his father. I don't understand.

But I keep my mouth shut. As that's the smartest thing I can do.

............................................................
Update finally.

Got 3 Science tests next week yay. Idk when I'll update but I'll try.

Thank you to me beta jasminemelissa x

Please vote/comment if you can be asked.

Francesca xxx