The Child of the Moon

Chapter Four

4.

I manage to walk home by myself. The distance isn't that far from Phoebus's house actually. Only about ten minutes for a walking distance, but then again, he could have left just to avoid the conversation.
When I enter the door, my father is standing there with John. Dad is tapping his foot on the ground repeatedly. John has his hand on Dad's shoulder, calming him down.
When I close the door shut, I bit my lip, preparing for an argument.
"Cynthia!" My father shouts, dashing up to me and wrapping his arms around me. "Where were you? You've been gone forever. It's 6:00 pm!" He scans my body and hold my left hand. "Are you hurt?"
"No, dad," I roll my eyes, "I'm fine. I was on Main Street and made a few friends. I was at their house. Calm down."
I'm surprised the words came out of my mouth that easily. On the way here, I was constructing ways up in my head for an excuse to tell Dad and John. It's not easy lying to your own family members.
"Cynthia having friends?" Aiden calls out from our room, stifling a laugh. "That's hilarious. Have another joke to tell?"
"I'm serious!" I argue back, with anger running through me. He's right though. I've always been that one loner kid in class that nobody bothers to talk to. During Summer, all I do is draw.
"Wow," my brother shouts out once more, "you'd be a really good standup comedian." He trails out of the room and into sight. He leans on the hallway wall.
"Aiden," Dad sighs, crossing his arms. He glares at him.
"What?" Aiden raises his hands up like he's being arrested. "It's true." He turns his hands sideways, into a shrug.
"Aiden, this is the only time Cynthia has ever made friends. Let's enjoy it while we can." John says softly, and gives Aiden a kind smile.
My face twists into a disgusted expression. "I'm right here." I scoff, raising my eyebrow.
"I'm just happy you're okay." Dad says, embracing me into a hug, which he has to bend down to reach me for. When he pulls out, he asks, "So what are your friends' names? What are they like? Are they nice?"
I jump back. "Relax!" I yell, looking down at myself. I inhale deeply, and let it out. "I can't answer those questions all at once. Besides, I met them today. They could of been using me to do something I don't know about."
John lifts his hand off of my father's shoulder and places it on mine. He also has to lean down to reach me. "Cynthia, not everyone you meet is mean. I'm sure they're really nice people that will want to hang out with you more."
I nod, ignoring the fact that I've been lying to them about who the people I met even were. The guilt is a heavy dumbbell, weighing down of my stomach.
"Can I please go to my room now?" I beg, twiddling my thumbs together. I'm already prepared to take off.
Dad chuckles, "Alright, alright." He moves his hand back and forth two times, as if he's shooing me away, playfully.  John lifts his hand off my shoulder and gives my father a tiny smirk.
I dash off into my room, and disregard Aiden right next to the door. He follows in behind me and closes the door.
He scrutinizes me. "Why didn't you want to tell Dad and Papa about your friends?"
I stay silent, and then peep out, "Why do you want to know anyway? It's none of your business."
Aiden stands there for a couple of moments, and then his face lights up. "Wait," he grins, "do you have a boyfriend?" And before I can even respond, he starts chanting in a sing-song voice. "Cynthia has a boyfriend! Cynthia has a boyfriend!"
He isn't stopping, so my only option is to shout back. "I do not!"
"Do too!"
"Do not!"
"Do too!"
And so on.
I groan and attempt to dismiss the topics, while moving over to my art. I clutch the canvas I'm working on, and frown at it.
It's awful. It's suppose to be a girl with her back to the canvas, awed by the sight of the starry night and moon, but (since the blending is horrendous) it looks like blobs of color and white on top of it with more dark blobs where the girl is. A kindergartner would do better than me.
But then I remind myself, it's not even finished yet. Maybe that's why it looks like complete garbage.
I lay the canvas on the easel, and search for my acrylics and water. Once I find them, I lay them both on a paper towel. Then I begin to squirt paint onto the canvas and hope for the best.
After five minutes of painting, Aiden finally shuts up. And then after another five minutes of being bored, he pops up behind me.
"Why do you like art so much?" He whispers, peeking out right behind me.
I scream, and my hand shoves over the water, and it spreads all over, including the acrylics. I begin to panic, and yank out more paper towels from the rolls, hoping it can adsorb the water quickly.
By the time the water has either evaporated or be sucked up by the towels, Aiden is on his bed, and the acrylic paint that was out has now been washed away.
"Seriously, Aiden?" I yell, pounding my fist on the easel. "Why did you do that? Now my paint is dead!"
"Hey, it's not my fault!" He defends himself. "You were the one to knock over the paint!"
"You're so annoying!"
"Ugh," He sighs, climbing out of his bed to get to his school bag, "I'm doing homework. Don't bother me. I want to be the top of the fifth grade class next year."
I say nothing, but my thoughts are thinking. Homework? My mind laughs, In the Summer? He must be insane to do it this early. Summer break began a week ago and he's already doing homework.
I manage to clean up my workspace, get new paint ready, and even finish the drawing completely by the time I'm called down for dinner with Aiden.
My father makes us talk at the dinner table about what we did and crap like that. I ignore it and am relieved when I get to my room.
But when I go to sleep, it's not what I expect.
—-
The cliff I am standing on is grassy and green. The sunrise shifts to all different colors from red, to orange, and even purple. The sun could blind someone if you stared too long and deep into it. The air is crusty and cool, and it feels more like Autumn, then it does Summer. Near the cliff's edge, lays only one male. He has a white fleece over his tan skin and under his short blond hair. I don't think anything of it until the teen turns around.
"Phoebus," I gasp.
"C-Cynthia?" Phoebus falls back and almost off the cliff. Then, he leans closer to me, completely bewildered. "Are you at the house right now, contacting me through my dreams?"
"What?" I stutter, layering my thumbs against one another. "No. Why.. why would I be doing that? I need rest, too."
"I don't understand. Then how are you in my dream?" Phoebus raises an eyebrow and gives me his anxious face. He holds both of my shoulders and looks me dead in the eyes. "Please tell me you're not pranking me."
"I'm not! I swear!" I gulp. "I'm not sure how I got here myself, either."
"Strange." Phoebus thinks out loud. "Why would the planets send you into my dreams?"
"I don't know." I say, shrugging. I take a look around once more. "So this is what you dream about? Sunsets and a glorious view from a cliff?"
"Well," Phoebus replies, letting go of me, and raising his hand to show me the view, "yes. Who wouldn't want to have dreams like this?"
I glance out to the distance, which is filled up by mountains that could overpower the tallest building in the world with ease. Snow piles up on the tip of all of the mountains. It's so silent and still, you can hear bison raging on plains in the distance. The sun is peeking out to rise. No wonder Phoebus likes it here.
"It's the only place where I can be free and let my thoughts roam." Phoebus smirks at me. He tilts his head back towards the sky.
My stomach gains butterflies and my palms get sweaty. Is this indigestion from all the food I ate last night?
There is a moment of silence where we seem to be staring into the sunrise forever, until I decide to break it by saying, "I know what you mean. My dads think I'm lonely or depressed all the time because I don't have any friends, and my younger brother makes fun of me, so art is my only escape." I glance to Phoebus and we're staring deep into each other's eyes.
"Speaking of your art," He rubs the back of his head, and the fleece flops over his shoulder a little, "You should bring some in tomorrow. I want to see it. And I'm sure Astra would like it, but a warning, Jove is critical of everything."
"It's not even that good," I sigh, crouching down to pick at the grass, "I doubt anyone would ever like it. It's just something I like to do, you know?"
"Yes, I know," he whispers, getting down on my level.
Then I realize something. He still hasn't told me what he likes to do. "What do you even like to do? Now that we have time to discuss it."
By the time he speaks, we are both on the ground, laying down next to each other.
"How about this," he smirks again, "if you bring in one of you art pieces, I may show you what I like to do. Nobody has ever seen it before, so you'd be the first."
"May," I repeat, tittering.
"Hey, that's better than not at all." He glints at me and then reaches his hand towards the sky. "So is it a deal, Miss- wait what's your last name?"
I giggle, "Imprie."
"Well, Miss Cynthia Imprie, do we have a deal?" He keeps his hand out but turns it towards me.
I shake it. "Deal."
And then I wake up.