by Erica M Kim
The moon starts to trail across the sky, and I pick up my pace to keep up with it, never losing sight. My legs grow longer, taking graceful strides that seem humanly impossible. It’s curious, and it’s also enthralling.
Dawn starts to seep into the skies, and the moon begins to dwindle into the distance. Fear and desperation launch my gait into a sprint. I can’t lose sight of the moon, it’s calling me forward, but my legs cannot keep up no matter how hard I push into the ground. As the sliver of the moon fades, I realize that the sun is behind me, rising on the horizon, and sheer panic settles in—I am who I am, and I accept it. The rays of dawn begin to creep toward my running legs; I fear the burn will cause. My strides turn to leaps, and the leaps turn to . . . flutters. It feels like I’m flying.
Before I can look down to see if I’m afloat, the first rays of the morning sun’s brilliance reach the back of my legs. Bracing myself to burn and combust into flames, I sink down and curl instinctively into a ball. Then the most unexpected thing happens. Instead of an inferno, an inexplicable pleasure spreads as the sun thaws my skin. After a moment or two, the icy core of my soul dissolves in the toasty, glowing rays. The birds in the forest begin to sing to me. It’s a song about relinquishing fears. I take in a deep, satisfied breath and stretch my body out on the moss-covered floor, greedily soaking up the sun’s glory. I have nothing to fear.
34
Waxing Gibbous
I wake up from the dream to find that it had been partially real. The sun shines brilliantly through the window onto the bed, spilling onto my legs. I allow myself a few minutes to relive the dream and the fantastical world I discovered. It is an unexpected soft whine that shatters my half-dream state of mind, as Shepard, now on the floor, looks like he badly needs to go outside.
“Oh, all right.” As I slip on a robe, my mind flashes back to last night’s events—Lio’s mouth all over my body, his tongue against me. I know my face is redder than a beet, and I have a silly smile plastered on, making me look like a foolish clown. Still, I feel giddy.
After walking Shepard and pouring some kibbles for the canine, I indulge in sugary cereal while opening the morning paper. It’s already Sunday. A deep sense of dread fills me, knowing that the full moon is approaching.
My appetite disappears without a trace, and I look out the window, wishing I knew what to do. Gray clouds begin to fill the once sunlit sky, looking heavy with rain. Moving toward the couch, I let out a big sigh and curl up comfortably on it.
I’m suddenly awoken by Shepard’s docked tail squirming back and forth in front of my face. Rain is splattering outside, and the window is streaked by the storm. Rainy days always remind me of my parents, and the longing memories I have of them. They are truly the only bright moments in between dark periods of my life. Despite everything I did, the horrible monster I became, my parents loved me unconditionally. And when they were alive, even though it felt like I didn’t deserve to live in this world, their love carried me through, like an invisible shield that protected me. They were the only semblance of normalcy in my universe. And once they left, there was nothing.
I will never forget that rainy day in October. I came home for the weekend during my freshman year at UCLA. My parents were both immensely proud that their daughter not only was accepted to the prestigious university where they taught, but also on a full-ride scholarship. It was never difficult for me to study in high school. I had little friends, especially after Damien, which meant I had little distractions. Studying was a welcomed reason for me to be alone and isolated, and my excellence in academics made my parents proud, which made me happy.
I had come home specifically that weekend because it was a full moon, and I felt that being around rowdy, immature college students was likely not a good idea. Though I tried to socialize with other students, attending club meetings, even pledging for a sorority, these attempts were futile. I was never very successful in actually making friends even in a new setting, and the trauma of Damien left me forever guarded.
Many students in my dormitory already considered me an anathema. I hadn’t done anything specifically to evoke this response, but people intrinsically sensed that I was just different. Most people feared me irrationally; their animal instincts instilled an aversion to my nearness. After initially trying to dispel the rumors and reputation, I finally decided to embrace it. By October, I was a full-fledged rebel without a cause, wearing only black, a concealed butterfly knife strapped to my belt, and wearing steel-toed combat boots. I suppose not much has changed since then . . . at least in terms of my personal style.
My roommate, Joyce, was the only person who accepted me for normal, and we had an easy-going, surface-level friendship, which I appreciated. Retrospectively, I think Joyce always knew I was different, but despite that, she appreciated me for my good parts. I mostly kept to myself as an assiduous student and held myself in higher regard than the folly and foolishness of college students—though secretly, I wished I could be a part of it. It all looked like reckless, crazy fun.
During the full moon, I visited my parents’ home in Pasadena. That particular day, I had been in an exceptionally foul mood. Blame it on the hormones and the curse. Generally speaking, my parents knew better than to get in my way during these times, but they weren’t aware of the potential degree of ferocity that overtook me.
They had no idea that I was the culprit behind Damien and Crystal’s demise. The local news blamed it on a serial killer on the loose. My parents watched me wither into despondency and thought it was due to losing my best and only friend. They never knew it was self-hatred and guilt that actually haunted me. After Damien was gone, they noticed a marked change in my temperament, and they treated me differently.
An acknowledgment of a darker side. An awareness of the possible grim reality. An acceptance that I would never be the normal daughter that they wished for. They handled me delicately, but honestly, never faced the bone-chilling truth that their daughter could be a cold-blooded murderer. In some sense, I’m glad they lived in ignorance. In another way, it’s also what killed them.
The stress of the tumbling economy led to salary cuts at the university, which lent itself to a tense home. My mother nagged me as soon as I stepped through the front door.
“Lunis, just because you’re home this weekend doesn’t mean I’m your personal maid,” she said in a hostile voice. Her hair, dark like mine, was cut into a short angled bob.
She then proceeded to get on my case about needing to declare a major, discovering the right career path, and of course, finding myself some friends, and ultimately, a boyfriend.
“I know it’s just your freshman year, but I’m concerned that you aren’t trying hard enough to find a major. Your courses are all over the place, and if you don’t declare one soon, you won’t have enough units to graduate on time. And you need a haircut,” she added as a side note. “Have you had a chance to explore any of the student clubs on campus? I see so many nice young women there. It would be a great place for you to start socializing again, Lunis. I want to see you out there and happy,” she said the last part emphatically as her brown eyes softened, and she stepped toward me, but I took one step backward.
“Mom, you’re laying this all on me as soon as I get home. How about a, ‘Hi, honey, it’s good to see you at home’?” Sarcasm cut edges into my tone.
Irked, I stormed to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me before giving my mom a chance to respond. Hours later, I awoke in a dark room, the bright, hauntingly clear full moon shining through my window. Then I heard the hushed voices arguing. The full moon had heightened my senses, and I could clearly hear the conversation even with my door closed.
“You need to cut her some slack, Claire,” my dad said in a defensive, raised voice. “She’s a teenager who’s trying to discover her place in the world, and you know it’s been difficult for her to do that. She finally has a chance to start new, a clean slate. Just let her be.”
“She needs to control herse
lf. She needs to be aware of what she’s doing to herself. Have you heard the other professors talking about her? They know something is off about her. Most people do. She’s a pariah already. She needs to try harder to fit in with the world, or no one is going to accept her. Even Damien was scared of her.”
It was the last sentence that cut the deepest. Even Damien was scared of me. And rightly so. Look what I did to him.
The realization that even my own mother couldn’t accept me caused a maelstrom to start brewing inside. In retrospect, I understand what my mother said was out of love. Love and desperation for her daughter to be loved by the world as she loved her. And this is my greatest regret, the fact that I could not even recognize love, in its truest form.
Under normal circumstances, this would have made sense. I would have heard the desperation in my mother’s voice, but on that night of the full moon, all I heard was condemnation and reproach, and all I felt was rancor that turned into icy rage.
At first, it was a quiet fire that burned deep inside, but it didn’t take long to grow into incendiary flames, consuming my heart and soul completely, uncontrollably. Before I heard anything else, I busted the door open and came out into the living room, burning like an inferno.
“Lunis, what’s wrong?” my father asked me immediately. His face showed a fear that I had never seen before—and it only stoked my predatory urges. “Claire, her eyes. It’s a full moon tonight.” I glanced at the mirror that lined the wall of our dining room and saw the sure-tell sign of the monster inside me: white-incandescent eyes and a feral look on my face. A wicked snarl spread across my face.
“Peter. We need to get out of here.” My mother’s voice was quiet, but it did not waver.
“You!” I exclaimed, launching over the table in a single leap with no effort, landing just in front of my mother.
My father jumped in front of his wife, and both of them backed slowly away from me, hands up to their chest. Despite the calm appearance on their faces, I could hear their hearts fluttering wildly in their chest and blood gushing swiftly through. Like music to a predator’s ear. My tongue licked my lips greedily, anticipation gnawing at me.
“Lunis, whatever is happening to you right now, you need to control it,” my father pleaded. “We are your parents, and we love you unconditionally, beyond what words could even describe. Please, I’m begging you, hear my words.” Behind his glasses, his eyes were green, just like mine, and they were imploring. He held out a hand to me.
His words momentarily swayed the monster that possessed me, and I felt my mind become lucid for a few seconds, battling the demon. It was the first time that I realized that I might, someday in the future, be able to control this part of me. As I battled with my alter ego for the moment, my parents took the opportunity to bolt for their vehicle.
Once I realized that my prey for the evening was making a run for it, I snapped out of whatever minute control I had and unleashed a fury for all the world to see. There was no going back then.
I bolted to the garage door to meet my parents’ horrified gaze as they backed out of the driveway. They couldn’t break their transfixed stare from my glowing eyes. The smell of burnt rubber filled the air as my dad revved the engine, reversing quickly down the driveway into the street. I started chasing after them at supernatural speed through the pelting rain. In their haste, my parents failed to stop before making a right onto the busy intersection at the end of the street. Out of nowhere, a large silver semitruck holding gasoline t-boned their tiny sedan, crushing it before my eyes. The truck pushed the car into the streetlamp, wrapping it like bacon around asparagus.
My first reaction was remorse. Remorse that I didn’t get to do the deed myself. I scampered off into the shadows before anyone could see I was witness to the horrific accident.
The next day, I found myself asleep under a bush in a nearby park, like a feral animal. I was covered in mud, and my hair was soaking wet. Ants covered my arms and legs as they explored the intruder. After a particularly draining full moon, as with the night with Damien, I wasn’t unable to remember the events of the night. That morning, however, I remembered everything clearly. My mind raced back to who I saw in the mirror, my eyes filled haunting with white orbs, like a full moon. And then the sheer horror on my parents’ faces. And then . . . the accident.
Tears flooded my eyes, and I prayed to the gods that it was just a bad dream. Please, let it all have been just a dream. Please. As I approached my house, I wished for more than anything to find my parents at home, deeply engaged in conversation as they always were, eating a hearty, warm breakfast. With each step toward home, I willed my wish to be true.
But when I got home, the garage door was still open, and my parents’ silver sedan was missing. My heart began its dark descent toward hell. Once I entered our kitchen, utterly too quiet, my mother and father were nowhere to be found. Reality settled in like a heavy stone in my stomach, unpassable and unforgivable. The messages on the answering machine only confirmed my worst nightmare.
My hands began to shake, and my breath quickened as crippling panic overtook every nerve in my body. As my knees hit the floor, I heard a pitiful, gut-wrenching scream in the distance, only to realize seconds later that the sound had escaped from my own throat. Convulsive cries washed over me, wave after wave crashing down on me, and each gulp of air only pushed the cold truth in deeper: my parents were dead. The only people in the world who loved me were gone. Because of me. Because I was a monster.
I cried for hours, but it felt like days. I drowned in a pool of tears and gasped for air in what felt like an eternal depth of sorrow. During these pitiful hours, dark, destructive thoughts crossed my mind endlessly. It felt like it would have been so much easier and better for me to end everything. But ultimately, I knew that to succumb to those tempting dark thoughts would have been the worst way to honor my mother and father. My parents would have wanted me to live, not only live but try to have a normal, happy life. I didn’t think that would ever be possible—especially now.
When I finally had the strength to pick myself up from the kitchen floor, the sun was nearly gone as dusk settled in through the blinds. My mouth was parched, and my voice was hoarse. I crept into the bathroom, peeled off my muddy clothes, and took a long, hot shower. As the dirt swirled down the white bathtub into the drain, I imagined washing away the monster in me. I scrubbed my skin until my entire body was pink and raw.
I would never forgive myself for what happened that day, and I made two vows. One: I would do whatever it takes to gain control over the monster that emerged from me every full moon. Two: I would put my heart in an iron cage and throw away the keys forever so that I could never hurt anyone I love ever again.
35
Not wanting to waste the day completely, I decide to take Shepard on a long walk through Santa Monica since the rain had cleared out. Halfway to the beach, I receive a text from an unknown phone number.
310-555-4515: Hey, girl. It’s Alex. How ya been?! I’m in town and have a few hours to spare before I have to head to an appointment. I want to hit the shops on Third Street. Are you down?
My instincts tell me that getting closer to Lio’s family is probably not in my best interest at this point, but after spending the morning in company with dark thoughts, spending time with a female friend sounds just about right.
Me: I’m so down for some girl time! I’m in the neighborhood so I can meet you soon.
Alex and I meet at a cozy coffee shop in the middle of the Promenade. As we both sip on honey vanilla lattes, we get to know each other a little more.
“So, what brings you to LA?”
“Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course.”
“But you cannot say anything to my brother!”
“Okay . . .”
“I’m actually here because I’m dating someone from LA. And of course, to get my hair done in Beverly Hills. My hair is not naturally blonde,” she says as she holds out a lock of hair. “A
nd obviously, shop. There’s no place in San Francisco that remotely comes close to these LA shops!” She emphasizes pointing toward the shops around us. “And let me guess, you’re just here to get the sister scoop on Lio. Am I right?” A playful smirk is on her face.
“You’re right!” I admit without shame. “But I also needed to just get out of my apartment.”
“Well, I guess we both have something to gain today!”
Five shops in, three shopping bags later, and we are really getting into the groove of swapping information.
“Lio is a very private person. I think losing our parents at such a young age made us react differently. Lio closes everyone out, and me, I latch on to the first living thing willing to give me some love.” Alex sounds wistful and romantic as she describes their lives.
“Lio had so many responsibilities at such a young age. Just imagine, being groomed and prepped to take over such a huge company like M.M.S. as a teenager. I’m pretty sure most adolescent boys would have cracked under pressure or royally fucked up. Lio somehow thrived in the face of tremendous challenge, but by doing so, he’s closed himself off from the world. I really feel bad for him sometimes. I don’t actually even know if he has many friends. What do you think of this?” She holds an emerald green flowy dress to her body.
“It’s pretty. Looks nice with your hair color. Try it on.” It feels like Alex and I have known each other forever. So, this is what female friendship feels like.
“I still don’t 100 percent understand what M.M.S. does.”
“Honestly, I don’t really know the details myself. Lio tries so hard to keep me out of the obligations of M.M.S. so that I can pursue my own passions and dreams. What I do know is that M.M.S. is the largest shipping company within the Mediterranean Sea, and we export all sorts of goods to multiple European countries.”
