Bottled Moonlight: Part Eight

Note: This is the final piece of the story. Make sure to read the rest of the story here first.

Bottled Moonlight

I only last a month after Theo’s death. A month before I yearn to leave again. The night Theo died, I roamed the streets walking in circles. Or, at least, I believed them to be circles until I showed up at the entrance to The Mansion again. Marcus’ assistant showed me to his office while talking my ear off. My brain didn’t register a single consonant of the lecture about running away. I simply went into neutral mode, as if the emotions I injected into my body went away with the gunshots in Theo’s cold body.

The two weeks after Theo’s death, I don’t allow any injection into my body. My addiction led to Theo’s death, a little voice shouts at me every second of the day. It doesn’t take a breath. Myaddictionledto… Theo’s. Death. Theo. Is. Dead. Because. Of. You. No one’s words broke through the ever winding wall in my brain. I didn’t feel anything. The girls around me notice, but don’t ask if I am okay. Each night, after Marcus falls asleep, I crawl back up to the roof of the Star Room and cry myself to sleep despite no emotions from the bottles being inside my veins. Callista joins me some nights. Other nights I tell myself stories about the constellations, of star-crossed lovers. Wherefore art thou, Romeo? At least in that story, my heart whispers, they both end up together.

It is one of those early mornings of me crawling back to the bedroom when I stop at Theo’s bed in the Star Room. I run my hands over the comforter, and my feet crinkle the blue and purple fabric around the legs of his bed. Turning away, I trip over those stupid white lights and land on the stone path. My hands cut open, but no blood pours out. I wish they did.

When I look towards the white lights, I notice boxes sitting underneath Theo’s bed. Before I can stop myself, I grab the nearest one and a piece of paper falls off the top of it. My hands work before my heart can tell myself to stop, before the pain resurfaces. Because despite it all, my emotions still run crazy when Theo’s name runs through my head. Scribbles and lines press themselves into the paper. Quickly, I realize it’s a drawing. I laugh. Theo drew a picture of me with four simple words around the outside: Stay Wild, Moon Child.  Then, I cry and realize I need to leave.

    I run to the dresser Theo kept with a few spare pieces of clothes for his “late days”, as he called them. A duffel bag sits on top, waiting for me. Thinking of nothing else except our plan, I shove Theo’s clothes into the bag and zip it shut. Without a final glance to the Star Room, I run up the spiral staircase to the roof. The sun is barely rising over the horizon when I stop at the edge of the rooftop. Four words repeat themselves as my mantra as I take a few steps back and begin to sprint over the rooftops: STAY WILD, MOON CHILD.

Well… that’s all there is folks! What do you think of the story? What about the ending? It’s bittersweet… like Nicholas Sparks. Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Much love, XOXO,

~A Writer Named Charley~



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