❝I'm overwhelmingly human. Sorry to disappoint.❞
Luna Flores hasn't had an easy life. And after moving to Beacon Hills, it isn't about to get any easier.
Forced to uproot her family's life in Arizona, Luna hopes to find respite in the unknown, quie...
TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, OR SKIP THE PART ENTIRELY. THIS EVENT IS NOT MEANT TO BE ROMANTICIZED, JOKED ABOUT, OR TAKEN FOR ANYTHING BUT SERIOUSLY. (If you are uncomfortable, skip the flashback — that starts once Dr. Richards is introduced — and scroll until you see the word Lulu.)
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THE LAPTOP WAS open again, along with Luna's journal, splayed out on her bed. Her journal consisted of printed out diagrams, ripped up newspaper articles, and drawings. To anyone else, it wouldn't have made sense — or at the very least, they'd assume she was just an obsessed fanatic with the supernatural. Which, she was, as an imaginative teenager, watching horror movies for the thrill of it and thinking that there was more to this world than more people were willing to believe. Now, however, it was much more than that. This journal was a workspace, it was evidence, it was a living part of who she became after Beckett Hathaway.
Her mother couldn't find it. Neither could her dad. She certainly didn't go around telling people about it. She let her family assume that she had moved on, that she had let go of what she had thought she saw.
"Hallucinations," Dr. Richards had said during one of her sessions at St. Margaret's, "are very common. Or, maybe not hallucinations, but our brain has a strange way of making trauma acceptable for us. It lets us believe things, let's our fear manifest itself in order for us to digest what happened to us. Or what we might not yet be ready to face."
"But I've never had a history with that before," Luna sighed. Then, her hair was a different color, and shorter too. Ever since the case and the trial, she had a habit of dyeing her hair frequently, feeling as if somehow that would hide her. Make her more invisible. "I have ADHD and depression, but never that."
Dr. Richards nodded for a moment, then stopped. "Do you sincerely believe you saw a werewolf kill Beckett Hathaway?"
Luna's mind had flashed with images of the attack. Beckett Hathaway approaching her on her bike after the football game, in the middle of the pathway where the woods met the main road. The only light had been the streetlamp and the full moon. A queasy feeling grew in her stomach. She had always found Beckett cute — a stupid, school girl crush that she knew would never be reciprocated seeing as he had a girlfriend, and at most, Luna had only ever spoken to him in between classes. She remembered how he walked alongside her as she slowed down for him, congratulating him on the touchdown he had made. He complimented her. He called her pretty. Luna shrugged it off, then brought up his girlfriend. He ignored it. Then, everything happened so fast. Beckett grabbing her, her dropping off her bike and shoving him off, his whispering that he had seen the way she looked at him in class, his hands reaching for the buttons of her jeans, her screams clawing their way out of her throat raw —
Until Beckett was ripped off of her. Her mind had gone numb at that point, forcing herself to zone out, and she laid there motionless as she heard Beckett gurgle on his own blood. There was the awful, terrible sound of tearing, and a gnashing of teeth. Blood splashed onto her face, her clothes, her hands. There was so much of it, just splattering onto her. Frozen with fear, it took everything in her to glance to her left, chest rising and falling at an alarming speed, a wheeze forming in her lungs as she struggled to take in enough oxygen.
