'I don't trust it, Luna. There's something going on that you're not telling me.'
'Maybe...'
'Don't 'maybe' me! What is it?'
'Oh well, there's school. Gotta go!'
Luna Oakley's whole life is quite abnormal. She's just a normal teenager with constant...
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‘Luna? You’re home early. What...why are you here?’
I kept my head low and walked past my stepmother, my shoulder bumping against hers for a moment. A short chill ran through my body, and I brought my arms together.
‘Hey, are you feeling alright?’
‘Yeah, I...I'm fine.’ I made my way towards the stairs. Living in a small, terraced house, they were right next to the door.
However, she grabbed my wrist and gave me a short look that told me yeah, sure.
‘Are you sick or something? You did dismiss yourself, right?’
Sick. An innocent person died right on the pavement a few kilometres away from here, and she’s worried about me being sick? She really has no idea, does she? She doesn’t...she doesn’t know about...
Joelle’s limp corpse on the floor.
The immense pain embedded in her face.
Thick blood gushing out of her wound like a crimson river, its smell poisoning the air and infecting my very fibres-
‘Luna, are you...?’ She started, studying my face. ‘Oh sweetie, you’ve caught the flu, haven’t you? Come on, let’s get you some nice, hot soup and a warm blanket. You need some rest.’
‘N-No, I’m okay,’ I forced a weak smile. ‘I’m really feeling...’
‘Don’t worry, honey. I’m your mother, so you don’t have to be strong all the time around me. It’s okay to feel ill.’
‘I...’
‘Now get over here. You’re drinking that soup.’ She declared.
My stepmother took my arm and led me towards the sofa. I was too tired and too overwhelmed to resist, so I snuck under the snuggly blanket that she gave me. The soup was...not the tastiest, but its calming warmth eased some of my nerves.
After a while, I felt...safe.
I must have dozed off sometime after that.
*
I woke up on the sofa, feeling groggy. The long, grey curtains had already been drawn, but fine streaks of starlight seeped through the spaces between them. There were lights on in the family workplace, and some voices could be heard. I think they belonged to my stepparents.
‘Darren, we have to get her a psychologist! She needs help and we’re going to give it to her!’ I heard my stepmother argue. So, she got the email from the headmistress.
‘Clara, listen to me. We’re barely getting by as it is. We don’t have money for that!’ My stepfather replied.
‘This isn’t about money! This is about helping our child!’
