Luna(tic) (Marauders Era)

31. String, Scotch Tape and Hope

The next morning, when Luna woke to silence and an empty space on the bed next to her, it was, for the first time in a long while, not even close to a happy thing. There was no relief in the emptiness today. No comfort in the knowledge that for the next twenty four hours she had to pretend a little less. No calm to be found in the reality that today, she would have no shadow. No ghost. Because today, the space next to her on the bed made her want to cry. Today, she wanted nothing more than Sam's arms around her and the promise that he would stay. That he would always always stay. That leaving had never even crossed his mind.

Today, she wanted him there if only so he could erase yesterday.

But he wasn't there. The side of the bed Luna always kept free for him was empty and after a few long minutes of staring at it, she rolled over, unable to bear looking at it anymore, unable to silence the memories, repeating his voice like the empty space on the pillow beside her was whispering them all over again.

I can't exist like this, he had said. But like this was how it had to be. How it would always be, him stuck in a bubble between her in the world, hanging in some perpetual limbo, tied to the world by Luna and Luna alone. Stuck pulling her one way while the normal life she so longed for dragged in the other.

I'm so sick of pretending I'm fine, he had told her. But pretending was what they did. Every day. Pretending kept them safe. Or rather, it kept Luna safe. Sam could hardly be hurt anymore, not in the ways Luna could. Not with bruises and pulled hair and scraped knees. He was safe from such things. But Luna wasn't. So Luna was careful. Luna pretended. And, in turn, Sam had always pretended for her. It had been his part to play, that silence on the matter, those smiles when he didn't feel it. The quiet lessening of the burden Luna had never had any choice but to bear.

And she knew that wasn't fair. Sam shouldn't have to pretend. In an ideal world, neither of them would ever have had to pretend. But the ideal world didn't exist. Luna would never be able to walk away. But Sam could. His part was his choice and any day he felt like it, he could simply... stop pretending. He could be openly, honestly, not fine.

And where did that leave Luna? Torn between the unhappiness of a boy she had known as her best and only friend for as long as she could remember and the life she dreamed she could have in the future. That was where it left her. Not just balancing two worlds, but yanked between them. Stretched until she let go. Or until she broke.

And she knew she'd let go. She might let herself be stretched first, might wait for the cracks to start spider webbing across every inch of her porcelain self, but when it came down to it she would let go. She was convinced of it. The problem was that Sam didn't seem to be. And a part of her wondered if, when - if - the time came, just when she was ready to let go of everyone and everything else, Sam would let go for her, if only to save himself from the pain of an abandonment he thought he knew was coming. Because he thought she would let go of him.

Afterall, enjoy your free day, had been his version of goodbye last night. Like every other day was by definition not free simply because he was present in it. Like he was a weight. A problem. Like he had to be removed, fixed, for her to have a happy day. A happy life.

These were not, of course, sentiments that were foreign to Luna. She had heard them from plenty of well meaning people throughout her life. From the school counselor. From the psychologists they had insisted she go to. From the teachers and the principles and the doctors. She had even thought them herself before she remembered what everyone else always forget. What they never understood: that Sam's existence might have been proof of her madness, but it wasn't the source of it. And there were days when Sam was her sanity. When her world was made of tangles and cliffs and fragile, fragmented things and Sam was the one who reminded her to breathe.