Page 65 of Lavender Moon

“I want you to sleep in one of my shirts tonight, alright?”

“I will.”

“Lu…” I falter, as I know I’m not good at this. “You know how much I love you, right? I know I don’t say it out loud a whole lot, but I do. So much.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I know it because you show it. And when you do say it, it’s extra special.”

I drop my head back against the wall, closing my eyes at the relief and the peace that came with that. The warmth they just brought to my soul washes over me and I’m grateful. I’m so grateful that she knows how much I love her and understands the way I show it. And while I would never ever wish any kind of pain on Luna, I can’t deny that having a purpose in someone else's life; to fulfill a deep need within them, means more to me than I can say. I’ve never been that to anyone before her.

“We’re almost halfway done with this baby,” I tell her, unable to think of anything else to say. And because it feels so right in this moment, I add, “Then I come home to you.”

“Where you belong,” she tacks on, her voice steadier now.

How about that… I belong to someone. “Damn right.”

* * *

Luna

For the firsttime in my life, I lied to Kaleb. Maybe I didn’t tell him a made-up story, but I gave him an explanation full of half-truths and omissions, and I hate myself for it. I as good as lied.

And I lie to him still when we video chat, by keeping my splinted right hand out of sight and trying not to show I’m in pain or have trouble breathing because of my broken ribs. I lie simply by smiling at him through my phone screen and keeping my text light-hearted in my emails.

As much as it cuts at my heart, what he told me on the phone when I was in the hospital really got to me. That having his mind on personal issues, or worrying about loved ones, can get him killed. If he’s not one hundred and ten percent focused and vigilant while out on patrol, a one second delay in response can cause epic destruction and cost lives – including his.

The way he blew up when I told him about the flowers Carter sent to my parent’s house also flashed back to my mind. If he knew what he did… he’d go mad.

I’m going to tell him when he comes back, and I’ve made my peace with the fact that he’s going to be multiple levels of furious – not just about what happened, but at me for keeping it from him. He’ll be livid… but he’ll be alive, which is the only outcome I can live with.

The last three weeks have been a spiral of shame, fear, and anger, to say the least. My conversation with my parents about how Kaleb and I hadn’t seen each other in three years and then got married after three days went about as well as you’d expect. Combine that with the terror of what happened to me, and I’m frankly surprised it didn’t send my mother over the edge. Actually, I’m not surprised. She’s held it together and been more solid than an oak against her addiction the last fifteen years, but I’m still glad it didn’t send her running for the pills.

Her shock and disappointment at the marriage made me feel like I’d failed her and my dad. Combine that with my trauma and injuries, and I suddenly felt like a burden, no matter how much they preached and professed how much they love me and this wasn’t my fault.

The hindering feelings only got worse, of course, when Carter was found and taken in for questioning, but later released by his lovely lawyer cousin, who’s basically his blood brother. He was able to argue that Carter didn’t lay a finger on me. He couldn’t deny he was there, and breaking his court order, but that only worked in his favor. By pleading guilty to that, he was given credibility that I was just trying to get away from him in a haste and clumsily tripped down the stairs. He just wanted to talk and I lost my shit, screamed at him to get away, and tried to call the police while fleeing down the stairs, and oops… that's his story, and it’s his word against mine.

So while Carter is forbidden to leave the city of Detroit, he’s not in jail either. He, so far, seems to be taking his cousin’s advice to have no contact with me seriously, but I’m terrified, as it’s the one part of my life it seems he wasn’t able to find anything out about. He doesn’t know I’m married, as the idea of me being with anyone but him has never entered his puny brain, and so to him, Kaleb, our house, this town – they don’t exist.

Coyote Creek is the only place I feel safe. My parents agreed, despite their misgivings about my hasty marriage, and though they wanted me to come and stay with them, I was able to talk them out of it. As much as they could argue that who could I be safer with than with my parents whose purpose in life is to do just that, I could argue that I didn’t want to be in the same city as Carter. His whole restriction on not being able to leave the vicinity is a lot less effective when I’m in it with him, not to mention I just plain don’t want to be on the same planet, let alone the same state.

It took a lot of debating and convincing, but I wouldn’t allow either of them to come stay with me either, and I know how miraculous it is that I won out. For the first time in I don’t know when, I actually got a little agitated with them both and I think that might have sent some kind of message not to push the issue. I told them that feeling like a hindrance was making my healing process worse, and that it would be better for my recovery to have some peace. What I didn’t come right out with is that I’m in a weird paradox of wanting to be alone yet close to Kaleb in some way.

The ending compromise was that I have to check in twice a day, and not just by phone or text, but FaceTime so that my parents aren’t wondering if Carter found me and is messaging them from my phone. Given the circumstances, I forgive them for being neurotically overprotective, and even if it does make me feel like I’m back in middle school, I’ll take it. Having them around while I recoup would be a true blessing, but it would also make me feel compelled at some point to talk about things I’m not ready to talk about, and my mental bandwidth has diminished significantly to where staying strong for Kaleb is all I have enough for.

I sit here now, at my easel, a blank canvas in front of me, and no music now. What used to inspire me and get me flowing is now too much stimuli. My mind just can’t handle any noise right now, and I revel in the quiet as I nibble on my left thumbnail, trying to get something – anything – to materialize in my head.

Painting used to clear my head, and I mentally beg for it to do that now. With everything that’s fallen apart and gone to shit, my head is so noisy and full. While I took the first week off classes, I’m now playing catch up, and when I do go into the city, it’s for school only, and I carry my keys at my side, constantly looking over my shoulder when I’m not in the safety of a classroom. I’ve since ordered a can of pepper spray to hang on my keyring and a taser to keep in my purse, and once my injuries have fully healed, I intend to sign up for a self-defense class. If I’m truly going to press on with giving Kaleb nothing to worry about, I have to work on it.

God, why won’t my head clear? Why is there not a drop of paint on my canvas? I look down to my variety of paints in their case – every shade of every color of the rainbow… and none of them are speaking to me. No scene or design is calling to me to be put into a beautiful visual.

As the anxiety and stress twist and tangle together with the anger and fear inside me, I reach for the black. Holding it up, I wonder if there’s a color darker, one that would represent the torment that’s happening inside me right now. The shade I hold in my hand is pitch, and I hate feeling this way, like it’s just not dark enough to express how I feel.

I’ve never been one to give into feelings like these… and I can’t now. I give in, and then I’m lost down that rabbit hole forever, useless to Kaleb.

Black is for mixing, Luna, I lecture myself. You don’t use the color on its own, it’s not your style.

Placing the black paint back down in the bin I take in a restless breath, and just as I’m letting it out is when my phone goes off with a video chat request. Grabbing it up, I swipe the screen to accept, and it populates with my handsome soldier, looking ragged and tired, but otherwise happy to see me.

“Hey, silly girl,” he smiles with hooded eyes, and he looks relieved, like it’s been a hell of a day, and this is the only good thing about it. This… this is what I’m fighting for. This is what keeps me pressing on.

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