Dark Moon

by Victoria Wakefield

  Dark Moon

  By Victoria Wakefield

  Text copyright © 2014

  victoria.wakefield1981@gmail.com

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents:

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Part Two

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Even though it’s been five years, I still remember the moment my life was permanently changed. There isn’t a way to erase the past, pretend it didn’t happen. No, the ugly truth is here to stay, to haunt me, for the rest of my existence.

  I was fifteen at the time, excited to go to summer camp with my friends and – more importantly – my boyfriend, Damon. We would be like adults. No parents to tell us what to do. No school taking up the day and homework filling up the evening. If I wanted to cuddle with Damon from dawn to dusk I could.

  Boy, was I dead wrong. I had neglected to factor in the nosy, bossy camp counselors that watched us like hawks. My fantasies of snuggling with Damon under the stars were unceremoniously squashed.

  And to add insult to injury, the majority of the activities were gender specific. On the days when I was swimming in the lake Damon was learning outdoor survival skills. When he was playing softball I was playing volleyball. Yeah, that summer was destined to be dubbed The Crappiest Summer Ever. Until It happened. And when It happened, well, my life was changed forever.

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  “Are you here?” I hissed, squinting into the dark night. The moon was only two days away from being full, and I was thankful for the extra light.

  “Lana!”

  “Where are you?” I called.

  No answer.

  Did I dream that I heard his voice?

  I was nervous, more so than I had admitted to my best friend, Carrie, when I told her I was sneaking out to meet Damon.

  “But what if you get caught?” she had asked, her eyes huge with worry. Carrie couldn’t believe that the sweet girl she had known since second grade was about to sneak out to meet a boy.

  I had laughed flippantly. “It’s fine. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Don’t wait up for me.” I had suggestively raised my eyebrows. I was acting like a big shot, but in reality I had no intention of doing anything more than kissing Damon. That was all we ever did – we were fifteen years old for fuck’s sake – and I was happy and naïve enough to believe that kissing was all that Damon would ever want from me.

  I snapped back to reality as I felt Damon wrap his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him. “Trying to sneak up on me?” I whispered.

  “I want you so bad, Lana,” was Damon’s response. And then, before I knew what was happening, Damon was caressing my shoulders, my neck, kissing me feverishly. I responded to his touch, electric currents running up and down my body.

  I lost track of all time, like I always did when I was kissing Damon. He was my first boyfriend, and sure to be my one and only. Tall, with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes, Damon was everything I’d ever wanted in a boy; no, a man.

  And imagine my surprise when I found out that he wanted me as well. Damon and I had been dating for exactly six weeks, four days and five hours. And I was positive it was destined to last forever.

  But, as I later found out, forever is just a word, and it’s thrown around much too casually. That summer was one of the last times I would ever see Damon. I’ve been trying to suppress the memories of that awful night, forget what it exposed about me, ever since.

  ###

  Our moonlight trysts quickly became a nightly affair. We were monitored so closely during the day, but no one seemed to give a shit what we did after dark. The only time I almost got caught was during the second week there. Renee, one of the overbearing camp counselors, had decided to do a check of the rooms at eleven that night. Although Carrie wasn’t thrilled about my secret meetings with Damon, she would never rat me out.

  As Carrie told it, Renee burst into our room, probably hoping to catch us not adhering to the ridiculous rule of lights out at ten-thirty. Carrie quickly told Renee that I’d contracted a twenty-four hour stomach bug. When Renee tried to go check on me in the communal bathroom down the hallway, Carrie had insisted that she not go in there, that it was a gruesome scene (but ultimately I’d be fine).

  Normally, I wouldn’t appreciate her painting a mental image of me vomiting and shitting my guts out, but the way she described it to Renee kept her from insisting on seeing me, and that was all that really mattered.

  So it went off without a hitch; night after night was spent with the love of my life. And Damon was such a gentleman. I quickly figured out that he wanted more than I was ready to give, but he never pressured me.

  Caught up in the throes of young love, I did more than I had planned. We touched each other, slipped hands underneath sweaty clothing, but that was it. No penetration. Nothing more than the foolish lust of two awkward teenagers.

  Me, in my young naivety, thought I was becoming a woman. At fifteen. Yeah, right. At twenty, I still feel like a fucking kid.

  The second to last night of summer camp was when It happened. Damon whispered in my ear how turned on he was, how he wanted to become one with me. I knew what the meant, of course. I’d been through sex-ed classes. And he’d said these things before.

  Caught up in the moment, I told him that I wanted that, too.

  Before I understood what was happening, Damon’s pants were coming off. Jeans, to be precise. His sexy, fitted jeans that showed off his perfect ass.

  “Wait,” I said nervously.

  “For?”

  “I – I’m not ready,” I stuttered.

  “Don’t be a baby. You know you want this as much as me. You’ve been teasing me all summer. Leading up to this moment,” Damon said.

  As he was talking, Damon was trying to pull down my red and black striped skirt. I struggled to keep it on my hips. Realizing that he didn’t need to pull it off to get what he wanted, Damon flipped it up onto my chest, exposing my pink underwear. I loved those pink underwear before It. After It, I burned them in my parent’s fireplace.

  This is where it becomes hazy. I remember slapping Damon, pounding him with my fists, crying for him to get off of me. But no, it doesn’t end how you expect. I wasn’t raped. Instead, I beat the shit out of my boyfriend. I hit him so hard and for so long that I almost killed Damon.

  Chapter 2

  I’m in college now, studying Economics. Boring, but I had to get my undergrad degree in something before I applied to med school. And Economics had seemed like a decent choice although, ultimately, I want to be a doctor, to help people.

  After my parents told me the truth, and I finally understood how it had been possible to nearly kill my boyfriend, I struggled for a long time. Their confession explained the sheer strength I had felt that night. But I still resented them for telling me so late. They shoul
d have either embraced my true identity and had a talk with me as soon as I was old enough to understand, or kept it from me forever.

  No, instead they decided to tell me the truth shortly after my eighteenth birthday. I’d been torn about leaving for college. I was an only child and my parents were older when they had me (or so I thought until that dreadful talk). How could I leave them as they were embarking on their senior years?

  When they first broached The Talk, I actually thought it was going to be about sex. Conservative, standoffish, I could never imagine my mother having sex a day in her life (eww), much less talking about it.

  “Lana,” Mom had started.

  I’d looked at her expectantly.

  “We need to talk to you about something…” Her voice had trailed off.

  I’d rolled my eyes. “If you’re trying to have the sex conversation, don’t bother. We have classes for that in school.” I had crossed my arms across my chest defiantly.

  Mom’s eyes registered surprise. “Lana, are you having sex with someone?” she’d blurted out.

  Feeling my face flush a hot red, I had forced myself not to answer defensively. The truth was, at eighteen, I’d never had sex, but I wasn’t about to tell my parents that. Instead, I said, “That’s a personal question. Are we done here?” I stood up, ready to retreat to my bedroom.

  My dad’s face was grim. “Sit down, Lana. Obviously we need to have a talk about your sexual activities and if you’re using protection, but this is neither the time nor the place. We have to tell you something. Something very important. You’re eighteen now. You deserve to know.”

  They had my attention. I sat back down on the couch.

  ###

  I didn’t date anyone after that. It wasn’t fair to put the burden of my curse on someone else. Instead, I retreated into myself as much as possible. When I got to college, I vowed not to befriend my roommate, but it turned out to be next to impossible. Maryanne was friendly, outgoing and despite my efforts, I instantly liked her.

  Maryanne was popular with everyone – unfortunately, a little too popular. The only time she got on my nerves was when I’d try to come home after class and find an envelope with my name on the front taped to the door. It always said the same thing and it always meant the same thing. There was nothing inside the envelope, but Maryanne thought the traditional sock-on-door was way too obvious. She didn’t have ‘guests’ all the time – she’s not a slut – but it was frequent enough to make it annoying.

  Whenever I’d see the envelope, I’d go eat dinner or head to the library for an hour, hoping the guy would have left by the time I got back. Maryanne was always grateful, and had told me she would repay the favor if I wanted to have company over.

  I had to stifle a laugh every time she said it. I hadn’t had a boyfriend since Jeff, the guy after Damon, and, before I learned the truth about myself. I think I dated Jeff to get over Damon, or at least forget about him. Jeff was the polar opposite of Damon. Tall, skinny, with shaggy blond hair; he was the class clown.

  I liked Jeff, but not the same way that he liked me. And not the same way that I had liked Damon. We would kiss, and it was nice, but it didn’t send chills up and down my body. I always felt guilty about that, but Jeff didn’t seem to notice. He’d follow me around with that big dopey grin on his face. I knew he’d like to take our relationship to the next level, but I made it clear that I was saving myself until marriage.

  A complete lie, of course. I had no religious morals. It was just an easy excuse to hide under, because I most definitely did not want Jeff to be my first.

  When I ended it with Jeff, he was devastated. It had been the right thing to do. It was sad, in a way. I was never going to date anyone again. My human body would die a virgin.

  Chapter 3

  It was the first day of my volunteer work at the hospital. I hadn’t wanted to work in a hospital, but my academic advisor pushed me to do it. “Med school is already extremely competitive,” she said. “You need volunteer work, activities to put on your application. You’re not going to get in on good grades alone.”

  I knew she was right. The problem was, I hated hospitals. Hated the sick people, the feel of death lurking at every corner. When I became a doctor, I was going to be a pediatrician. Administering vaccines and writing prescriptions for antibiotics was more my speed. And besides, I loved kids with a passion. I’d never have any of my own, so why not spend my days with other people’s children?

  Like all first days, the one at the hospital was nerve-wracking. I felt out of place, unsure whom to ask for direction, and no matter how many times I washed my hands I couldn’t get rid of that icky germy feeling that the hospital left me with.

  By the time I got back to the campus, I was mentally and physically exhausted. I was just about to unlock the door and go inside when I noticed the white envelope.

  Fuck. Of all the days…

  Oh well, I would be a good sport about it. I turned around, trying to decide where I wanted to go. I wasn’t hungry – in fact, I felt a bit sick. And I was in no state of mind to go study. The best bet would be to camp out in the student lounge for a while and watch the TV there.

  Which is exactly what I did, and no one bothered me. Even though I’d been at school for two years, I knew very few people. The only time I interacted with my classmates was when I was forced to during the dreaded group project. A few guys had tried to befriend me, but I knew what they wanted, so I acted as cool as ice.

  By the time I got back to my room, the envelope was off the door. Maryanne was eating a sandwich when I walked in.

  “How was your first day at the hospital?” she asked cheerily.

  “Blah.” I started to sit down on my bed but thought better of it. “I’m going to get a shower,” I said.

  I went into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. After half an hour of scrubbing, I finally felt like I had washed the imaginary stench of sickness and old people off of my skin and out of my hair.

  “I’m really tired,” I told Maryanne. “I hope I’m making the right choice about med school. Being at the hospital was awful.”

  “It will get better,” Maryanne said encouragingly. “First days are always the pits. Who knows? You might even find out you like it.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said morosely. I forced a feeble smile. “But I’ll try to keep an open mind. I don’t think it can get any worse.”

  It was only nine o’clock and Maryanne had the TV blaring, but I easily fell asleep anyway. Which was odd, because I’m typically the one up all night climbing the walls, my head filled with worry.

  I didn’t have another shift at the hospital until Friday. My schedule was Monday, Wednesday, Friday and I could come help out on other days if I had free time.

  “They need you on floor six,” Nurse Evie told me when I checked in that afternoon. “Talk to Nurse Barbara at the nurses’ station. She’ll tell you what to do.”

  I obediently took the elevator to floor six. As soon as the doors opened, I saw the huge lettering that read ONCOLOGY WARD on the wall.

  Great. I really was going to be surrounded by death and depression.

  But that’s what you’re supposed to thrive on. That’s your destiny. I pushed the disturbing thought out of my mind.

  Nurse Barbara was an older lady. She wasn’t chatty like Nurse Evie; no, she was all business.

  “One of the orderlies called in sick today,” she told me. “We need you to get the lunch trays ready and take them to the patients.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said obediently. Ma’am? Where the hell did that come from? I had never called anyone ma’am before in my life. But Nurse Barbara made me nervous, as though she were going to give me a lecture if I did something wrong.

  She showed me to the kitchen area and instructed me to remove pre-made trays from the refrigerator, microwave five of them at a time, then add a roll and pudding cup to each tray. I was supposed to prepare ten, deliver those, and come back and do ten more. />
  Nurse Barbara handed me a sheet of paper. “Cross off the room numbers after each delivery,” she instructed before heading out the door.

  I quickly got to work. Microwave for four minutes. Remove. Add roll. Add pudding. Cover. After the first ten had been loaded on the cart, I hesitantly pushed it back through the kitchen doors and into the main hallway. Room 625 was directly in front of me. This is as good of a place to start as any.

  The room was occupied by a man who looked to be in his late forties, but the toll of chemotherapy and sickness could have easily made him look a lot older than he actually was. For someone so ill, he was surprisingly upbeat.

  “You look like my daughter-in-law,” he told me.

  I forced a smile and a polite thank you.

  “She’s so pretty,” he continued. “You have that same long black hair and pale skin. Striking.”

  I willed my face not to turn red. An annoying side effect of being so pale. “I’d better get going,” I said. “Lots of lunch to deliver. You have a nice day.”

  Nice day. What a joke. We were in a hospital for Christ’s sake.

  The next nine deliveries went without a hitch. Two of the patients were sleeping. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wake them up to let them know that lunch was ready, so I just left it on the tray next to the bed.

  One man was comatose. It was obvious he was close to death. His breathing was labored and fast. Sweat trickled down his forehead and his fingers had started to turn blue. I looked away.

  How can that really be my fate? To cause chaos, death and destruction? I couldn’t stand being here. I had a good heart. Right?

  It was a question that plagued me often, ever since that talk with my parents.

  Once I got into a rhythm, delivering lunch wasn’t so bad. Most patients didn’t want to chat, which suited me fine. Only four more deliveries to go.

  I pushed open the door to room 602 and instantly stopped. Someone was standing by the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”