The moon calls

The morning light barely filtered through the heavy curtains of my bedroom, casting faint shadows that stretched like quiet fingers across the floor. I lay still beneath the weight of the blankets, my eyes tracing the uneven patterns of light and dark on the ceiling. For a long moment, I didn’t move, just listening—to the soft hum of the house, the distant sounds of cars starting their day, and the faint flutter of my own heartbeat, slow and deliberate in the quiet.

There was a restlessness gnawing at me, subtle but persistent. It wasn’t just the bruises that throbbed beneath my skin or the ache in my ribs from the fractured bones that still hadn’t quite settled. It was something deeper, an unease that pulled at the edges of my thoughts like the tide pulling at sand.

I thought of Jaxon, though why he came to mind so early this morning, I didn’t know. His absence from school was already noted by the whispering currents that rippled through the hallways, but it felt bigger than just a missing chair or a quiet lunch table. There was an energy I couldn’t explain—something raw and ancient that stirred inside me, a hunger I didn’t yet understand.

When I finally peeled myself from the warmth of the bed, every movement was slow and deliberate. My body protested—the muscles tight, the skin tender where it had been cut and bruised. But I pushed myself forward, each step measured as I moved toward the mirror. The reflection that greeted me was familiar and strange all at once: pale skin marred with fading bruises, dark circles beneath my eyes that hadn’t been there before, and lips set in a line of quiet determination.

The day stretched out before me like a long, winding road—uncertain and uneasy.

At school, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Hallways buzzed with muted conversations, eyes darted away when I looked their way, and whispers followed me like shadows. I caught snippets of words—“accident,” “embarrassment,” and “danger.” They weren’t subtle anymore. Savannah’s name was still a curse whispered behind closed doors, her influence lingering even behind the bars of the jail cell she’d been locked behind for the pool incident.

But the bullying hadn’t stopped. It had just become quieter, more insidious. The subtle sabotage of my locker, the cruel glances, the empty seats in the cafeteria where friends once sat—each was a reminder that nothing had really changed.

Jaxon was still absent. His empty chair at the lunch table felt like a hollow ache, the silence where his laugh once rang sharp and clear, like a knife’s edge in the air. Lucas was there, pacing with restless energy, his eyes flickering to the door every few moments as if he expected someone—or something—to burst in at any second.

I wanted to reach out to Lucas, but the fear of dragging him into the chaos held me back. I had asked him more than once to keep his distance, to stay safe. But his presence was a lifeline, a fragile thread tethering me to a world that often felt like it was slipping away.

As the day bled into evening, I found myself alone again, the house a silent prison that swallowed me whole. The bruises on my skin felt less raw now, the fractures slowly knitting themselves together beneath the surface, but inside I was still breaking.

I paced the room, restless and raw, my thoughts circling around Jaxon and Lucas, around the walls that confined me, and the invisible scars that no one seemed to notice.

The night crept in quietly, shadows pooling in the corners, and the moon rose high—a glowing orb casting silver light through my window. I felt it then, that pull, a deep, aching yearning that made my skin tingle and my heart pound with an intensity that was almost unbearable.

I lay on my bed, the cool sheets a small comfort against the fire rising in my veins, and closed my eyes. My thoughts drifted to Jaxon again, imagining him beneath the same moon, wrestling with whatever wild, ancient power stirred within him. I pictured the wolf, a shadowed, fierce presence just beneath his skin, straining for release but held back by duty, by the weight of the future pressing down on his broad shoulders.

The scent of him lingered in my mind—earthy and raw, a wild promise that both frightened and captivated me. It wrapped around me, drawing me closer, stirring something I wasn’t ready to name.

Sleep finally claimed me, but the dreams were vivid, almost too real. His hands were on me—gentle and fierce at once—tracing paths that left fire in their wake. His breath was warm against my neck, and his lips claimed mine in a kiss that was soft, questioning, and then desperate.

I woke with my heart racing, my skin flushed and my breath shallow. The room was dark except for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, and I lay there trembling, caught between the ache of desire and the fear of what it meant.

The night wore on, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—between me, between us—and that the full moon was more than just a passing phase. It was a summons, a call to something deeper, wilder, and more dangerous than I could understand.

As dawn approached, I knew nothing would be the same. The world I thought I knew was unraveling, thread by thread, and I was standing at the edge, looking down into the darkness, unsure if I’d fall or fly.