The Moon Shines when the Sun Isn't Around

49+50

As fall break neared its end, King's depression became an all-consuming force. The isolation he had once sought now felt suffocating, like a thick fog that clouded his mind and dulled his senses. He spent hours lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every hurtful word, every betrayal. The weight of his thoughts dragged him deeper, and the sharp sting of Oreo's actions cut him every time he tried to pull himself out.

King no longer felt like himself. The anger that once burned brightly had dimmed, leaving only a hollow ache in its place. He couldn't understand how everything had changed so quickly—how someone who had once been a bright spot in his life had turned into the source of his deepest pain. His hatred for Oreo grew with each passing day, not just for what she had done, but for what she represented: the betrayal, the cruelty, the reminder that he was never truly safe from being hurt.

He barely spoke to anyone. Raina's attempts to draw him out were met with silence or half-hearted replies, and his mother's concern weighed on him like an anchor. But he couldn't bring himself to care. It was easier to withdraw, easier to avoid the questions, the sympathy, and the well-meaning advice that all felt like empty words to him.

One evening, as King lay on his bed in the dark, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioner, Raina knocked softly on his door before entering. She hadn't been inside his room much since break started, giving him space after he'd pushed her away several times. But this time, she seemed more determined.

"King?" Her voice was quiet, tentative. She sat down at the foot of his bed, folding her legs beneath her. "I know you don't want to talk, but I can't keep pretending like everything's okay."

He didn't respond at first, his eyes fixed on the shadowed ceiling, but Raina continued.

"Mom's really worried about you," she said, her tone soft but insistent. "I am too. You haven't been yourself, and I get that you're going through a lot, but shutting everyone out isn't helping."

King clenched his jaw, the familiar irritation rising in his chest. He didn't want this—didn't want the pity, the forced concern. "I'm fine," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

"You're not fine," Raina pressed, her voice firm but kind. "You've been holed up in here for days, barely eating, barely talking. You're shutting down, and it's scaring us."

King exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle over him like a suffocating blanket. But the truth was, he didn't know how to explain what he was feeling. He didn't even fully understand it himself. The anger, the pain, the sadness—it all blurred together into a numbness that left him feeling disconnected from everything and everyone.

"I don't know what you want me to say," King finally replied, his voice low and rough from disuse. "I'm tired, Raina. I'm tired of feeling like this. Tired of everything."

Raina's expression softened, and she shifted closer to him on the bed. "Then let us help you. Let me help you."

King turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze. For a moment, he saw the concern in her eyes—the fear she was trying to hide behind her determined expression. But he also saw the love, the unshakeable bond they had shared since birth. He knew she wouldn't give up on him, no matter how much he tried to push her away.

"I don't know how to fix it," King admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I hate her, Raina. I hate Oreo for what she did, and I hate that I let it happen. I hate that I trusted her."

Raina's eyes filled with empathy, and she reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay to feel that way. It's okay to be angry. But you can't let that hatred consume you, King. You're better than that. You're stronger than that."