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The moon is so bright tonight that it feels like I can almost touch it underneath my fingertips and bathe in its magic.

I use my free hand to play shadows casting from its light. My fingers move slowly, a small stupid dance, as if pressing keys on an invisible piano, searching for the perfect melody. The shapes change, disappearing and forming again before I can even hold onto them.

You’ve always loved the moon.

My sleeve has slightly moved down, and I can see my scars peeking through. The cold air wraps around my wrist as if it were an invisible bandage to soak up all my pain.

It feels soothing on my scars, they look less visible when it’s covered underneath the moonlight. Invisible almost.

I alternate between the flask and the cigarette, the music loud in my ears, and then the wind picks up. I feel my hands getting colder so I shove them in my pocket.

Something sticks out, and I wrestle to remove it from there.

A small-sized paper sits between my fingers, and I place the tip of my cigarette in my mouth as I use both hands to unfold it.

Tomorrow, 6pm at your favorite place by the cliffs. I will be waiting for you.

-D

Damien.

A small laugh escapes past my lips as I fold the paper back into its little tiny square shape it came in. Then, I place it back into my pocket, shoving it into the deeper part of the fabric.

My eyes stare directly up at the stars as my mind begins to wander.

How did he manage to slip this into my pocket without me noticing? I never allow anyone to get close to me like that.

Tomorrow.

That sounds good.

30

Mireya

Play - No Care by Daughter

Brave heart

“Mireya, you’re allowing your emotions to bubble to the surface,” Mister Jensen, our training coach says as he walks by me.

I dodge one of the attack moves that my opponent sends my way.

My head throbs with every step I take across the training mats. The taste of this morning’s vodka still lingers at the back of my throat and no amount of coffee has managed to wash it away.

“You’re like an open book Vitelli, stop anticipating your opponent’s next move,” the professor tells me as I’m continuing to defend myself from this fuckers blows.

Will, the guy who spends every class looking at Hayzel like she hung the moon, offers me an awkward smile as we go back to our position.

“I’ll try not to hit you too hard again, Mireya,” he says, breathless

A small tired laugh slips out. “I’ll try not to fall asleep halfway through."

He narrowly ducks the uppercut I throw his way, blinking at me. “...Should I be concerned?"

“Probably?”

His movements falter for a second. “Wait.” His brows knit together. “Are you actually okay?”