Luna's Ghost

1- BEFORE

It all started when I was twelve, only a few days away from turning thirteen.

I huddled up in my room, my earplugs jammed in my ears as I listened to the heavy metal music blast from my iPod, desperately trying to block out the sounds of fighting downstairs. My parents had been at it again. This had been the third time today they'd gotten into an argument that'd led to a screaming match.

I sat up straighter and glanced outside and saw a few neighbors that were out mowing their grass look over at my house. I felt my face grow hot. My parents were so loud the neighbors could hear. I felt a huge rush of shame and embarrassment. Isn't it ironic? That the kid is the one embarrassed of their parents, that the kid is the most mature one in the whole situation?

I stayed up there for another hour, listening to my music on my iPod until it died. I'd been so engrossed in the music I'd been listening to that I hadn't realized the battery was getting low. With a sigh, I hooked it up to its charger and placed it on my desk.

A glance at my digital clock showed it was a quarter 'till six. I looked over at the sheets of homework that were scattered all over my desk, almost ten pages due tomorrow and I hadn't even started and honestly didn't even plan on doing. Normally, I would've had it done by now, but lately I'd been so unmotivated that I kept brushing my schoolwork off to the side. Why should I care about math, science and English when things at my house were absolute hell? I was aware that my grades were slipping, but at the moment, I didn't care. I just wanted my parents to stop fighting.

I pursed my lips and looked over the homework. I'd actually been brought into the guidance counselor's office to discuss why I was getting so far behind. The woman tried to get me to tell her if there was anything going on at home that was causing me to lose focus on my work, but I lied, saying I'd just been tired and stressed lately but promised I'd do better.

I bit my lip before sitting down at the desk, thinking of how behind I was in all my classes. I guess I should at least attempt to try. Just because my parents were going through a difficult patch didn't mean it should reflect on me.

I started doing the work. By the time I'd gotten done with the final worksheet, it was eleven forty. I realized the shouting downstairs had stopped.

A dry, tickling sensation formed in the back of my throat. I reached for my water bottle only to find it was bone dry. I quietly got up, opened my door, and silently crept down the hallway. I didn't want my parents waking up and asking why I was up so late. However, they might not notice. They'd been so consumed in their divorce that they hadn't noticed my grades had been slipping and I know the topic would spark another fight between them. My guidance counselor had talked about calling my parents about my grades but I'd managed to sweet talk her by promising I would do better. She'd reluctantly agreed, since I'd been a straight A honor roll student in the past but did say she would call my parents if I didn't get my grades back up.

So I would work on that. Even if I was feeling unmotivated, I still had to do my work and raise my grades. I didn't want to be the one that would be held back a grade.

I crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. The lights were off though the full moon that was shining bright outside made it easy to navigate. I walked over to the fridge, opened it, and pulled out a cold water bottle. I gently shut the door and was about to walk back to my room when I felt a horrible stabbing pain pierce my side, causing all the oxygen to leave my lungs.

I gasped, dropping the water bottle, letting it fall to the floor and roll out of view. I clutched at my side as the piercing intensified. I stumbled backwards into the kitchen table, knocking over a chair, falling against the table, causing it to move a foot. I felt my knees buckle underneath me. I tried grasping onto the table for support but my hands slipped and I fell hard onto the tile floor, the pain intensifying. It felt like someone was taking a knife and twisting it inside me.