Chapter 22
This couldn't have been real. It had to have been a dream, and the thought of waking up terrified me. I wished I could have stayed in that moment. If that was a dream, it was the most exquisite one I had ever experienced. But if that was real… my very essence seemed to merge with his.
I couldn't feel the ground beneath me; my legs trembled as if I had just completed a marathon, my blood pulsed with heat—no, with lava—and my heart…
my heart beat like a war drum, so fiercely it was almost painful.
I had fantasized about that moment countless times, yet it was nothing like I had ever imagined.
His left hand gripped my waist with a gentle rhythm, sliding up and down my back.
His right hand rested on my neck, while his thumb caressed my jawline.
And his lips… oh, there were no words to capture that.
His soft, coral lips eagerly claimed mine, and I felt like a child discovering the alphabet for the first time.
I was unsure where to place my hands; all I wanted was to feel his bare skin against mine. I cradled his head with my right hand, pulling him closer, as if I could meld our beings into one.
His tongue explored in a way I had never experienced before, a new dance that I had to learn on the fly. With Marco, the steps had been familiar and practiced, but this was an entirely fresh choreography. It flowed effortlessly and tenderly, and the taste of him drove me to the brink of insanity.
I feared I wouldn't be able to hold on much longer.
I felt like I was about to explode. It felt like waves crashing over me, again and again, but not from the outside, but from inside me.
I no longer felt solid; my body seemed to dissolve beneath his touch.
A soft moan escaped my lips, involuntarily, again and again. And again.
I felt as if I had been suspended in a timeless void, devoid of air and gravity.
The heat within me ignited, and I willingly surrendered to it.
I didn't want that to end—not then, not ever.
I wished to freeze that moment, that powerful and consuming union of our lips and souls.
The thought that it could have become even more intense was beyond my comprehension.
I could hardly catch my breath; my feelings had engulfed me, and I was overwhelmed by my own longing. No, please, not then. Someone was approaching the stairs.
“Luna!” My mom’s voice echoed, growing louder as she neared. She was headed to my room. Zane pulled away, and the loss felt like a part of me being torn away, a part that had already taken root deep within.
Please, I needed him.
Zane hurried to the terrace, leaving me gasping for air. The door swung open.
“Luna, what's the matter? Are you alright? You look… awful.” My mom stood at the threshold, concern etched on her face as she scanned me.
I couldn't find the words; my thoughts were tangled with Zane.
“Why did you open the terrace door? It's freezing,” she remarked, glancing towards the open door as if ready to shut it.
“I'll take care of it. Don't worry.” I dashed to the door, peering outside, but Zane was gone.
“Are you sure you're okay? You're all flushed and hot,” she said, stepping forward to check my forehead with her hand, but I recoiled. Would she sense his presence? Would she notice my swollen lips?
“I'm fine, really. Just a little warm,” I replied, turning my back to her as I pretended to tidy my room.
“You don't look fine to me…” she insisted, her worry apparent. I was at a loss for words, unable to think clearly with my mind consumed by thoughts of the kiss. “I was actually thinking we could go out for pizza, but now I'm not so sure,” my mom suggested.
“Actually, I'd love to! I'm fine, really. I was just lost in a book… just feeling a bit emotional.” I attempted to reassure her.
“Well, if you're sure about that, I'll get ready, and we can leave in about an hour if that works for you.”
“Sounds perfect, Mom!” I smiled, finally feeling a bit more grounded. She nodded and left, closing the door behind her. I rushed to the terrace, but there was no sign of Zane. He was gone…
I gazed into the mirror, and a surge of memories washed over me, forcing me to grip the sink for support.
His presence lingered; I could still taste him and feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine.
The fluttering in my stomach intensified, teetering on the edge of nausea.
I had no desire to cleanse my face or hands—I could still catch his scent on my skin.
I retreated to my room, swapping my outfit for a pair of blue jeans and a pink long-sleeved top. I slipped on white sneakers and opted for a lighter beige wool coat.
Once I made my way downstairs, I found my mom sitting at the kitchen counter, dressed but looking troubled. I studied her, trying to decipher if her mood was related to me, but she remained silent.
“Mom? Is everything alright?” I asked. She didn't answer, her chin quivering as if she might cry. “Mom, please tell me. What's wrong?” I urged, stepping closer. Suddenly, she burst into laughter, catching me off guard. My eyes widened, confused.
“I don't have a car,” she said, and it dawned on me. Of course, the car had been wrecked in the accident, and she hadn't mentioned getting a new one. She'd been using Dad’s car whenever she needed to go out.
“Oh, right,” I replied, “What about Dad’s car?”
“Well, he's working late. A patient had an emergency, which is why I thought we could go out, just the two of us,” she explained, shaking her head.
“We can always order pizza; I'm fine with that,” I suggested, meeting her gaze in an attempt to reassure her.
“I'm sorry, Luna. I just… for a moment, I thought the accident never happened,” she admitted, her eyes dropping to the floor.
I stayed quiet, taking out my phone to ask her where she'd like to order from.
A smile returned to her face as she mentioned our favorite spot—the same one from that day Zane was here.
Forty minutes later, the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of our pizza. The table was already set with two plates, glasses, and a bottle of wine and coke waiting for us.
As we enjoyed our meal, we shared laughter over the absence of a car.
In fact, she was contemplating buying one this weekend since she was heading back to work and needed a way to get around.
Our conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through various topics and memories; my mom recalled certain things vividly that I couldn't quite grasp.
It struck me as the perfect moment to delve into my childhood, as there were gaps in my memory that had been nagging at me. I felt an urge to uncover what had happened during those lost years, as if some pieces of my past had been wiped clean.
“Mom?” I began, catching her attention.
“Yes, Luna?” she replied.
“Could you tell me more about my childhood? I feel like there's so much I don't remember,” I asked, gauging her response.
“What would you like to know?” she inquired.
I hesitated, unsure of where to start. I had fond memories of summers spent outdoors, vacations with my parents, my first day of school, and building snowmen with my dad in winter.
I remembered my little wooden bed and the pink and white walls of my room.
But beyond that, everything faded to black.
I couldn't recall when my room had been painted purple or when I got a new bed.
“When did you get me the new bed? And why purple walls? Did I ask for that?” I was eager for her explanation. Her expression shifted slightly, and she seemed to search for the right words, the silence stretching between us.
“We painted it for your tenth birthday,” she said, watching me closely for a reaction. I had no memory of that; I thought it had been done earlier.
She noticed my silence and continued, “We also got you a new bed around that time, the one you still have. I chose the color. You… you weren't very talkative back then,” she added, her gaze drifting.
“What do you mean I wasn't talking?” I asked, bewildered, struggling to recall any memories from that time.
“You really don't remember?” Her tone rose, a hint of disbelief in her voice.
“I'm sorry, Mom. I genuinely don't. I can't explain why, but there's nothing in my mind during that period of time. I remember building a snowman with Dad when I was little and some other memories, family trips, but after that, there's a void,” I confessed, trying to dig deeper but finding nothing.
“I think it was my fault. I worked a lot and often traveled, leaving you alone.
Then one day… you just stopped talking. It was as if your mind disconnected from your little body.
I didn't know what to do. We even consulted doctors and even a psychiatrist, but nothing seemed to help.
Are you sure you don't remember? Maybe you were just upset with me…” she said, her expression filled with distress.
“I really can't recall any of it. Can you tell me more?” I urged, hoping for some clues.
“You didn't speak for four months, not a single word.
Not to me, Dad, or at school. Not even to Marco.
You refused to play or go outside, preferring to sit at the kitchen table doing homework or spend hours on the couch in the living room.
Your dad thought it was just a phase. I decided to change your room, get you a bigger bed and a new desk with shelves, and I
picked purple because it was the color you liked most when you were coloring.” She breathed out, looking at me with a mix of hope and concern, as if expecting me to remember something, but I shook my head, confused.
“And then what happened?” I asked, intrigued.
“Then you finally said 'thank you,' and I just burst into tears. It took you another month, but slowly you began to speak more each day. I don't know what was going on, but I was relieved when everything returned to normal. You petrified me back then,” she said, reaching for my hand.
“I'm so sorry. I wish I could remember. I truly don't know what happened,” I replied, genuinely perplexed. Just then, my dad unlocked the door.
“Good evening, everyone! Is there any pizza left for me?” he called out, a smile on his face as he walked toward us. We had saved him a few pieces, and Mom warmed them up as we continued our conversation at the table for another hour.
Feeling exhausted after saying our goodbyes, I headed to my room. It was dark and chilly, and my phone lay on the bed. I moved closer and picked it up, and found a single message. My heart raced as I opened it, hoping it was from Zane. Instead, it was from Jessica:
“My grandma died.”