The Unforgiving Moon

16.

Night had fallen, and our Moon illuminating the sky didn't bring me any solace. Every time I looked up at Her, I could barely keep myself from apologizing, begging for forgiveness, and demanding retribution for all the wrongs she had done to me.

All the jokes she had made my life to be.

I didn't have much time to gaze up, as Lotta pulled me into another alleyway, as we clinched to the wall and hid in the darkest parts of the town.

Every time a wolf walked by, we'd hide. We couldn't take the risk that Kima's shadow would be recognized, and so our path to Benjamin's house was a long and quiet one.

I sucked in my breath as two animalistic reeking men passed us, and I could hardly believe they did not see us, hear us, smell us, or touch us when they were so close to us. So incredibly close, I could nearly discern the color of their eyes in the low light of our Moon.

And every time my heart began speeding up, Lotta gently squeezed my hand–reminding me she was still here, and I was, too.

We are shadows they cannot see, I reminded myself, but the words were foul and unconvincing.

As soon as the men were out of sight, we were on the move again. We stuck close to the walls, and skipped over any puddles that lay in our road, as we kept creeping around the shy streets of Spitta.

I hated being here, and every moment I was at war with myself–I did not want to run, but I did not want to stay, either. And I couldn't decipher what part of me was gaining the upper hand, but as Lotta kept dragging me behind her, I didn't think it mattered much.

I nodded my head to the left when we reached the end of the street, and instantly Lotta and I disappeared in another street, as Benjamin's home came closer and closer.

The town around me was nearly unrecognizable. Houses were ransacked, as if the slums had gotten contagious and spread throughout the city. Fewer people were out on the streets–but I supposed that worked in our favour.

Everything felt... wrong. There was no other way to put it. Some streets seemed abandoned entirely, though I smelled the people hiding behind the safety of their house walls, through the broken windows that allowed the wind to carry its song inside. I felt their unease, the restlessness with which they lived in their houses, and I noticed the lack of movement as if everyone was stoic, statues in their own homes.

The air was cold when I inhaled it, and deadly when it left my lungs again. It cut me deep and left me feeling vulnerable. A primal part of me warned me I could not stay here, and as Lotta kept walking, I wondered if she felt that, too. And I wondered how she ignored it so easily.

Another nod to the left lead us into another smaller street, and now we were much closer to his house. But first we passed his bar–the closest thing so safety I'd had growing up here, and my heart sank to my feet as we passed it.

The windows were smashed in, the sign had been ripped off and the only remainder of the once lively place, was the metal bar that used to hold the wooden name. The hooks still lightly dangled in the wind, and they seemed lonely.

A quick glance inside told me all I needed to know–no table was left standing, and the chairs had been rearranged, thrown around and smashed into each other. The bar had no more stools–not even mine, and a brief look at the counter showed that even that part of The Dancing Wolf had not been left untouched.

The front door stood slightly ajar, but when we passed it, there was no sign of any recent visits. The place had been ravaged and declared unholy–no one would dare walk in here and risk Beckett's wrath.

People didn't seem to dare to walk anywhere anymore. The streets were so empty, I didn't know why Lotta was so set on keeping close to the walls. We'd crossed more wolves in the forest than we'd had in the town, as if the town didn't need guarding or protecting.