Page 27 of The Freedom in Captivity

A name bathed in light but buried amongst dead memories.

Mom believes I’ve stayed behind after school to work on a group project, but based on the look she gave me, I think she knows I’m lying. Nonetheless, she agreed not to send a driver until later, which means, my excuse did exactly as it was meant to and gave me more time with Flynn.

It’s November, and the ground is cold. Soon, snow will fall and winter will be upon us, so while we’re still able to enjoy the outdoors, we are. Lying in the middle of the field behind the school, right in the centre of the race track.

Flynn is on his back, and I’m curled into his side, clutching his hoodie to ensure he doesn’t go anywhere. His arm is around me, his hand cupping my hip while his other combs through my hair. It’s downright relaxing, and despite the nip in the air, I’m able to focus only on his touch.

In theory, Flynn and I shouldn’t work. Hell, when he introduced himself to me three months ago, I genuinely didn’t believe we’d become friends, and then very quickly more, officially getting together on Halloween. It wasn’t in the plan, and every single day when I arrive, I want to admit the truth of who I am and why he can never visit my house. The guilt of lying is hefty, then I see him, and knowing Dad, I can’t risk Flynn’s reaction. And a part of me fears what it’ll be. What if he hates me for lying, or simply because of my family?

Like he’s read my mind, he suddenly says, “You know, if you told me where you live, I’d visit. I’m sure I can climb into your house or something.”

I’d love that. To have him there with me, to see him lying in my bed, to have him hold me, but Dad’s an angry person, and seeing me with the very reason he didn’t want me attending a public school, would set him off. It’d be Flynn at the most risk then.

There’s a fresh bruise on my upper arm, the one his hand is nearby, but my thin jacket thankfully covers it. Dad was drunk last night, mumbling about something regarding the number seven that made no sense to me.

“You know why that’s a bad idea.”

“Actually, I don’t.” He’s right; he doesn’t because I refuse to tell him any details regarding my home life.

He drops the subject, ending the conversation with a kiss to my forehead that makes my toes curl. I love his kisses. They bring a warmth to my body that even the bright afternoon sun overhead doesn’t.

When he lowers his head again, instead of stroking my hair, he arches his arm over his eyes, mumbling, “It’s bright. Clouds shifted, I think.”

“Still nice to have sun while we can before the winter hell comes and takes over.” A slight joke. The sun still comes out in winter, but it certainly doesn’t feel warm at all. “I enjoy staring at the sun. It provides a feeling of life and reminds us that amongst the shadows of reality, there’s still some good that emerges every day.”

Flynn doesn’t respond. His arm slowly lowers though and he turns his head to look at me. After a beat, he reaches for me, dragging my body over his. My legs go around his hips, my hands to the ground by his shoulders to keep me upright.

Light brown eyes flick over my face, my lips, my hair, studying everything. “Like you,” he murmurs suddenly. “You’re my sun, Rozelyn. Vivid, energizing, warm. You make me want to come to school each day, and I have no fuckin’ idea how I’ve made it three years without you by my side. Your kindness is so bright. Your heart so fucking warm, like the sun.Mon soleil.”

My throat is tight. No one’s ever called me something so meaningful. Something that has the guilt gnawing at me again because I do not deserve such a kind nickname.

He does. Flynn, who’s become my entire life. He might not be around at nighttime, but he’s out there, waiting for me. And during the day, he’s right here with me.

My moon to the sun.

“I might be your sun, but you’re my moon, Flynn. Encompassing, serene, unfailing. Full, waning, or crescent, it represents change and that’s exactly what you’ve been for me. You changed my life in all the best ways possible. My moon, Flynn.Ma lune.”

Every emotion passing through his eyes promises forever, rather than a high school relationship. It says eternity. Lifetimes of the sun and moon orbiting one another.

How do I end this in a few months? When I graduate and Dad drags me back home and back into the organization’s lifestyle. When Hawke Corsetti ran away from his family, he thankfully broke off our impending engagement, which means I’m free, but at what point will Dad search for a replacement?

Flynn grabs the back of my head and yanks me toward him, his kiss so consuming, I’d be fine if my life ended in this second, as long as his touch is the last sensation my body feels.

It’s not our first kiss, but this one is packed with a new emotion, driven by our need for one another. The safety and love we find in each other’s arms, away from our shitty lives.

When a door slams shut, I wake from the dream. One so vivid, I could recall the sun’s warmth as clearly as I felt it then. I’d never smiled so much as I did that day and it was a struggle to hide my constant grin when my driver came for me, in fear he’d mention it to Dad.

The overhead light snaps on at the same time Flynn appears in front of me, glaring down like a god of death, so opposite from the love etched on his teenage face from my memories. The differences are striking, but are a reminder that my reality isn’t pleasant.

“Ma lune.”

I don’t know why I say it. When he slipped up yesterday and called me his sun, it gave me the opening to use his old nickname, but I hadn’t. It doesn’t change that as surreal as having him in my life again is, years have passed. We’ve orbited the sun eleven times; the moon’s orbited over one-hundred-thirty times in the time we’ve been apart.

We’re no longer each other’s sun and moon.

I’m not giving him life, and he’s no longer encompassing mine.

Flynn’s jaw tightens and his body goes still. I could swear he stops breathing entirely until a burst of anger buried amidst his hatred comes free and storms forward, dropping to his knees in front of me. He grasps my chin roughly between two fingers and forces me to look at him.

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