Luna Loud sat by the window overlooking the narrow side street and watched the world pass by, her guitar forgotten in her lap. A faded purple bruise discolored one eye and the tip of her tongue absently prodded the half-healed split in her bottom lip. Her thoughts were slow, disjointed, and her gnarled fingers trembled slightly, lending her the appearance of a woman with Parkinson's. Around her, the one bedroom apartment she shared with her brother was in disarray. Trash, dirty clothes, and broken objects littered the matted carpet. Dirty dishes piled in the sink buzzed with flies and roaches, and an old 90's sitcom played unwatched on the clunky television, the canned laughter worming its way into the center of Luna's muddled brain, making her jitter.
It was almost like they were laughing at her.
A mess of papers covered the end table next to her. Last night, or maybe the night before, as she lay awake in bed and stared up at the ceiling, the urge to write came over her. She got up, sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, and communed with the roaches, writing song after song with the worn stub of an eyeliner pencil, the chalky black words flowing out of her. The writing was unrecognizable, loops and swirls that made sense to no one but her. Songs of loneliness and despair, odes to isolation and demons that lurked in the recesses, watching, always watching. She committed all of her pain and fear to the page like a drug addict purging the toxins from her body, now she was empty, staring, and cold. There was nothing left, nothing to give, not a single drop of life remaining in the vessel of her heart.
She wished Lincoln would come back.
How long it had been since he left, Luna didn't know. A week? A month? Her days blurred together and her nights stretched into forever, so quiet, so dark, so alone. It couldn't have been too long, because the mess they made as they grappled in the living room still covered the floor. He had her around the wrists, wrenching her arms left and right. Stop it! he screamed, like she was the one attacking him. Hahahaha. She tried to fight back, but he was too powerful, too evil. He headbutted her in the face and she collapsed to the floor in a bleeding, sobbing heap. She didn't see him walk out but he was gone and she didn't think he was coming back.
She always knew he would get sick of her and leave. They always did. They always hurt her, slapped her, kicked her, made plans about her.
Why did this keep happening to her? What was wrong with her? Why did everyone she love kick her to the curb? She tried...she tried so hard it hurt...but it was never good enough.
Water filled Luna's red-rimmed eyes and she looked away from the window. An empty bottle of generic aspirin lay at her feet. Last night - or some other night - she upended it and swallowed every tablet there was, the burden finally too much to bear.
Nothing happened.
Of course it didn't.
How can you die when you're already in hell?
And that's what this messy little apartment was, hell. Unnaturally dark shadows pooled in the corners and the air hissing through the vents sounded so much like whispering voices that shivers raced down Luna's spine every time she heard it. The other night, she almost convinced herself it really was whispering. She dragged a chair over, climbed up, and pressed her ear to the dusty grate. Lincoln?
No, it wasn't Lincoln.
It was no one.
Even so, the all-too human sound of it chilled her, and she taped a black trash bag over the vent to keep it out. She also shoved a towel into the crack underneath the front door so no one could look in and see her pain. Despite that, the back of her neck still prickled with the eerie sensation of being watched.
Since Lincoln left, Luna hadn't been out of the apartment. She was out of food and probably didn't have a job anymore; her boss called and called, then gave up. Her phone lay silent and dark on the coffee table, no one calling, no one caring. Was it even on? She tried to remember the last time she paid the bill, but thinking made her brain hurt.
She filled the void within by strumming her guitar and watching television, staring vacantly at Dr. Phil, reruns of Friends and Two and a Half Men, and the neverending crawl of bad news on CNN. At night, the infomercials came out to play, hours and hours of cheap products, Z-list celebrity spokesmen, and bad acting. Oh, no, has THIS ever happened to you? *spills milk trying to open it and holds hands up. Guess I'll dehydrate, then*
Sometimes, Luna played along to theme songs and commercial jingles, her fingers racing up the fretboard with sudden animation. Sometimes, she even sang along, screaming at the top of her lungs to break the suffocating silence. CALL J.G. WENTWORTH, 877-CASH NOW! She shouted the Full House theme five times in a row before one of her neighbors pounded on the wall and yelled at her to "shut the fuck up."
When exhaustion overcame her, she laid down wherever she happened to be - on the couch, on the bedroom floor, in the bathtub - and crossed so seamlessly into dreams that she sometimes didn't know if she was sleeping or awake. She was almost certain that she dreamed the times Lincoln came back, but she wasn't 100 percent sure. His voice echoed in the corridors of her head when she woke, and she could almost feel his presence, as though he were standing over her even though there was nothing there. She hadn't showered in days - she felt too vulnerable - but the last time she did, she didn't wash her hair; that way, she didn't have to close her eyes.
Presently, a horn blared in the street, and Luna turned back to the window. Below, a U-Haul came abreast of the curb and two movers jumped out. Luna watched curiously as they went around the back of the truck and opened the rear door.
A battered red hatchback pulled in behind the truck and Luna zeroed in on it. A tall, sharply blonde woman with a shock of blue through her hair climbed out and walked over the movers, her jeans so tight that Luna couldn't tell if they were real or painted on. She wore a snug Who band T and rings in her ears. Luna's heart skipped a staggering beat and she leaned over her guitar to see better, her puffy red nose pressing against the cool window glass. The woman cocked her hip, crossed her arms over her perky breasts, and chatted with one of the movers, nodding to the front entrance of this very building.
She was moving in.
Luna caressed the woman's firm butt and hourglass figure with her eyes, lingering over the swell of her tits, the dip of her back, and the curve of her throat. Her heart, dead and inert for weeks, began to pound, and colored crept into her sunken cheeks.
Whoever that girl was, she was beautiful.
Like a character from Touched By An Angel.
Luna liked her.
A lot.
The woman led the movers into the building, and Luna jumped to her feet. Before she realized what she was doing, she unlocked the handle, threw back the deadbolt, and undid the security chain. In the hall, murky gray light streamed through the window and the smell of stale cooking choked the air. The walls pulsed with muffled music and somewhere, a woman yelled at someone named Dayquan to knock it off. Luna stopped in the doorway and looked down the corridor. It was cold and open out here, exposed. Inside, it was small and closed, like the safety of a mother's womb.
Her resolve almost crumbled, but she didn't want to be lonely anymore, and the promise of no longer being alone pushed her out and down the stairs. Trash, cigarette butts, and empty wrappers littered the steps, and a homeless man in rags sat on the landing with his back against the wall and a 40 in a paper bag thrust between his legs. He leered at Luna as she passed, and even though he was black and pushing sixty, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow Lincoln, come back at last.
She shuddered.
On the second floor, she came to a halt. Ahead, an apartment door stood open like a hungry mouth. Beside it, the blonde woman texted on her phone, head down. She tucked her hair behind her ear and Luna's breath caught. She was even more beautiful up close, her hair like honey wheat and her skin warm and tan. The hem of her shirt didn't entirely cover her stomach, baring a band of soft flesh. Luna could just make out her pelvic V, pointing to the secret spot between her thighs, and when she sniffed the air, she imagined she could smell her perfume, light and airy just like her. This close, Luna could see that the woman was actually a girl, no more than nineteen or twenty, a child moving into her first apartment, or a coed who wanted the illusion of freedom and adulthood that only living off campus could provide.
The girl put her phone away and looked up, and her gaze locked with Luna's. Luna's stomach dropped to her feet and the air squeezed out of her lungs. Her eyes were the softest shade of blue that Luna had ever seen, reminding her of pictures she'd seen of mountain lakes so clear that you couldn't tell where they ended and the sky began.
She expected the girl to look uncomfortably away. Instead, she donned a beaming smile. 'Hey," she chirped, "nice ax."
Huh?
Luna was suddenly aware that she was still clutching the neck of her guitar.
"Thanks," Luna croaked, her voice low and hoarse from belting out the theme song of The King of Queens that morning.
"My name's Sam," the girl said.
A fevered grin spread across Luna's face. "Like the movie."
Sam's brow pinched in confusion. "I Am Sam?"
Luna's head jerked up and down. "I...I watched that...the other night." Thoughts and images raced through her head in a whirlwind of light and sound. She saw Lincoln's angry face; herself kissing Sam's neck; Jerry and Newman; the Slice 'N' Dice Kitchen Rack ONLY 19,95 PLUS SHIPPING AND PROCESSING!
"My mom named me after Samantha Fox," Sam said. "Have you heard of her?"
The name rang a bell. Luna tried to call up an image of Samantha Fox but her brain wouldn't work. "She's a singer, right?"
"Yep," Sam said. Her eyes darted to Luna's mouth, and for the first time, she noticed the bruises. Luna caught a quick flash of something in her eyes, but it was gone as quick as it came, if it was there at all.
Luna sucked her bottom lip self-consciously into her mouth. Was it her, or was the atmosphere between them suddenly awkward? Minutes of silence ticked by, hours, weeks, and panic rose in her chest. She cast frantically around for something to say. "Just...just moving in?"
"Yep," Sam said and glanced at the open door. Did she want to go inside and shut it to get away from Luna? Did she already want to leave her just like everyone else had left her? "Figured it was time to finally...you know...leave the nest." She held up her hand, palm facing the ground, and made a zooming gesture. She uttered a melodic laugh, and Luna's heart fluttered.
Was she gay now? She felt like she was gay now.
"That's cool," Luna said, "this is a...a nice building. Some people scream and sing 90s sitcom theme songs really loud, but it's okay." She laughed richly at that, and Sam giggled too. "Also...Lincoln...I mean...whatever his name is."
Sam looked confused.
Luna jerked her chin over her shoulder, indicating the stairs. "Drunk guy in the hallway," she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
Understanding filled Sam's eyes and she nodded that she understood. "I can't say I'm surprised. This area, you know...it's not the best."
Sunnyside was one of the rougher neighborhoods in Great Lakes City. Wedged between the lake on one side and the interstate on the other, it was infested with crime, homelessness, and insanity. It was not, however, the worst neighborhood in the city. That distinction belonged to Hepburn Heights, especially the area around the Riverwood Housing Projects. Lincoln said it was so bad there that your gun had to carry a gun. LOL.
She missed Lincoln.
"It's...it looks, uh, it looks worse than it is," Luna stammered, suddenly wanting to cry. "No one's gonna bother you or anything. Except for me. But just this one time. Not like everyday. I'm not a stalker or a serial killer." She spoke quickly, stumbling over her words and talking herself in circles. She knew she was rambling, but she couldn't stop herself. Her cheeks blazed with humiliation and she started to quiver like a little girl bombing in front of her crush and knowing it. "I'll stop talking now."
That last part tumbled out and Sam laughed so hard she snorted. Luna's blush deepened and she darted her eyes to her bare feet like a scolded dog.
"You're a trip," Sam said through sobs of laughter.
Was it good laughter or bad laughter?
It was bad laughter, wasn't it? The kind you only laugh when someone's made a total ass of themselves and you don't know whether to hate them or pity them.
Luna fumbled some excuse about having to water her plants and slunk off with her guitar between her legs. When she opened her door, a wall of sickly-sweet stench washed over her and turned her stomach. She'd been cooped up with it so long that she hadn't noticed it before. She locked the door, leaned back against it as if to keep the world from breaking in, and caught her breath. She turned, knelt, and pressed her eye to the keyhole, vaguely hoping to catch one more fleeting glimpse of Sam, but the hallway was empty.
Taking a deep breath, Luna sat, drew her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her legs. Her heart throbbed so hard she thought it was going to give out and her lungs burst for air even now. A chasm opened in the pit of her stomach and for a long time, she hugged her knees and fought against the urge to throw up. She hadn't felt like this since she was a teenager...since she realized she was in love with her younger brother.
When the worst of it passed, she got to her feet and stumbled into the kitchen, The linoleum floor was tacky beneath her feet. She rummaged through the cabinets in search of food, finally settling on a package of Ramen noodles. She carried it into the living room like Golem with his precious, sat with her back against the door, and ripped it open, bits of noodles showering her lap. She broke off a piece and shoved it into her mouth, crunching it between her teeth. As she ate, she thought about Sam, and the rocking, reeling, nauseous feeling in her stomach steadily increased.
She wanted her. She wanted her as badly as she wanted Lincoln once upon a time. She remembered the keen threshing in her middle as she watched her brother from afar, remembered feeling it so strongly that she could barely get out of bed. Of all the people in the world, Lincoln was her favorite. He was there for her when she was sick and needed him. Their sisters avoided her like she was a leper, but not him. He stood by her, he didn't desert her, he cared and she loved him for it. He even agreed to share her apartment so that she didn't have to live at home anymore.
But then...then…
In her dreams, it happened all over again. She professed her love for him and he got mad. He headbutted her. Get off of me, Luna! Stop it! She sobbed into the carpet and he never came back. Everyone had left her, everyone would leave her.
Even Sam.
Luna swallowed and darted her eyes around the room. Jagged bits of uncooked noodles had cut her gums like shards of broken glass and thin trails of blood oozed down her chin. They all left. They all looked at her from the corner of their eyes and sent her hateful thoughts. Everyone was selfish, everyone was slime. They made plots and plans like games and you couldn't trust them. They were evil and sadistic and all of them were crazy. She was the only sane person she knew. She thought Lincoln was sane too, but he turned out to be just like all the others. He didn't treat her with the same patronizing care that everyone else used, like she was a stupid child, but in the end, he was no different.
Sam would be no different either.
That didn't change the fact that Luna needed her. Luna needed her like INXS and that was a human need, one that you can't ignore. She conspired to meet Sam in the hallway and to walk by her door. In the dead of night, Luna crept out of her sickly-sweet hovel and down the stairs, being quiet as a mouse. Lincoln was passed out on the landing, his coal-black face slack with sleep and his graying hair like ash on his head. Heart blasting, Luna slithered past him like a woman passing a nest of snakes. He didn't grab her but she was certain he knew she was there.
She saw nothing through the keyhole, but she could hear Sam's aural energy. She felt her, smelled her, tasted her. She curled up on the floor like a cat and stayed in front of Sam's door until morning, when it was time to leave. She made a game of trying to meet Sam in the hallway and lobby. She waited by the mailboxes for hours with her guitar in her hands like she was going to break into song at any minute. People looked at her funny and gave her a wide berth, but no one talked to her or asked her to leave. At some point, Sam floated down the stairs like a queen and Luna's heart jumped into her throat. Sam saw her and smiled. "Hey, Luna."
"Hey," Luna said.
Sam went over to her mailbox and unlocked it. "Serenading the building?" she asked and nodded to Luna's guitar.
"I was just...just about to get my mail." She patted her jeans. "I guess I forgot my key."
They chatted for a little while. Later on, Luna would not remember a single word they exchanged but she would remember the way Sam's lips touched as she spoke and the way her eyes sparkled in the sunlight. Luna spun through her living room like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music and rejoiced in Sam's beauty. Her dirty feet trampled broken bits of wood and ceramic and her outstretched arm knocked a candlestick off the credenza. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she was happy, truly, honestly happy.
That happiness didn't last, however. She was starving to death like in a coffin and she had to leave the house. It was late night when she forced herself out. After what Lincoln did to her, she didn't trust anyone, so she tucked a kitchen knife into the waistband of her jeans and covered it with the hem of her shirt just in case. She scurried along the sidewalk, looking over her shoulder for danger, then ducked into the closest store, a corner deal that sold cigarettes, snacks, and beer. The turban behind the counter knitted his brows and watched her every move like he thought she was going to steal something. She loaded her arms with bags of random junk, carried them to the register, and paid with her EBT card. On her way back home, she guarded the bag with her life, and when an old lady pushing a shopping cart came out of an alley, Luna pulled the knife and thrust it at her. The lady screamed and ran away, and Luna's laughter rang through the neighborhood. Don't mess with TEXAS! "Who said Texas was dumb?" she shrieked. Dogs barked and sirens rose in the distance. The soundtrack of the city. Put that in your butt and smoke it.
She ripped open a package of hot fries and ate them on the living room floor. She craned her neck up to see the TV and laughed through orange teeth at How I Met Your Mother. That Ted...so needy. He needed someone as bad as she did, only she had Sam, what did Ted have? Barney? LMAO. *Pulls out condom* Suit up, Ted~
With a full belly and a light heart, Luna perched on the edge of the couch with her guitar and started to play. "Men, men, men, men, manly men, men, men. Men, men, men, men, manly men, men, men. TWO AND A HALF MEN!"
Someone pounded on the wall. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU CRAZY BITCH!"
"YOU FUCK SO GOOD I'M ON TOP OF IT!" she screamed in response.
The pounding stopped and Luna switched to something softer, more melodic, a song that she had known since she was a little had it on CD (remember those?) and used to listen to it on repeat for hours on end when she was sad or angry, and it always made her feel better. She started to strum her guitar and nodded her head. As she sang, she realized that it perfectly described her now, at this very moment in time.
"My name is Luka
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes I think you've seen me before."
She paused, collected her thoughts, and sang it again.
My name is Luna
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes I think you've seen me before."
She bit her lower lip and swayed to the music, imagining herself as Kurt Cobain on MTV Unplugged, faggy 90s sweater and all.
"If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was
Just don't ask me what it was"
It was Lincoln.
He was here again, coming through the door with an evil grin. A knife stuck out of his chest and his eyes flashed coldly. Luna's heart stopped and the guitar fell from her lap with a twang. She jumped to her feet and tried to flee, but Lincoln was too quick. He grabbed her around the throat and squeezed. Do you still love me, sis? He molded his lips to hers and jammed his cold, rotting tongue into her mouth.
She sat bolt upright in bed, a scream locked in her throat. The last thing she remembered was Lincoln choking her in the living room, but now she was in her bed, the blankets lumped beside her like a body. Her fingers went to her neck, but she felt no abrasions. She must have lost consciousness.
Was he still here?
That thought sent a jolt of fright into her midsection. She whipped her eyes around the dingy room, but she didn't see him. She slipped out of bed, knelt, and pulled the sheet back. The space between the floor and the box spring was jammed with stuff, but no Lincoln. Trembling with fear, she got up and searched the rest of the apartment.
He was nowhere.
Maybe he was never there to begin with.
Nah, that was dumb. He was here alright. She took a kitchen knife from the drawer and carried it into the living room. From then on, she carried it with her everywhere she went: The bathroom, the bedroom, the living room, the hallway, and on her Sam hunts. She walked past Sam's door a thousand times a day, stopping to peer into the fisheye peephole but failing to see her. She learned the blonde's routine and was always there, smiling. Sam invited her in one evening and Luna wooed her with her new song.
"My name is Luna
I live on the second floor
I live upstairs from you
Yes I think you've seen me before.
If you hear something late at night
Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight
Just don't ask me what it was
Just don't ask me what it was"
Sam clapped. "You sound like that one singer...oh, my God, what's her name?" She snapped her fingers. "She had the gravelly voice and she did that song Black Velvet."
"I know that song," Luna said, even though she didn't. She started to play the theme to The Big Bang Theory and Sam laughed like a loon.
When Luna was alone, people knocked on the door and she hid in the bathroom. Was it the landlord? Was it Lincoln? Was it Vince the ShamWOW guy? She sang very quietly that night, whispering to Ray and Debra on Everybody Loves Raymond. "My name is Luna...I live on the second floor….I want to fuck you, Sam...and fuck some more."
At some point, after days of not sleeping, she walked barefoot to the store and used the last of her EBT to buy candy bars. She ate them in front of Fox News, her eyes glued to the ticker at the bottom. They were playing her song. MY NAME IS LUNA. MY NAME IS LUNA. MY NAME IS LUNA. PRESIDENT CORTEZ TO CONGRESS: MY NAME IS LUNA. Tucker Carlson met her gaze and when he spoke, it was Lincoln's voice that issued forth. I don't love you like that, Luna. Calm down, Luna; put down the knife, Luna.
Shaking, Luna launched herself at the TV and knocked it to the floor, where it went black with an electric sound. Shoulders hunched, fingers hooked, Luna sucked deep breaths like an ape and looked around for something else to vent her fury on.
Her ax.
She picked it up and strummed it as hard as she could, ripping the strings and cutting her fingertips to ribbons. "MY NAME IS LUKA...I LIVE ON THE SECOND FLOOR!"
Bang! Bang! Bang! "I'M CALLING THE FUCKING COPS!"
"YES I THINK YOU'VE SEEN ME BEFORE!"
She spun around and brought the guitar down as hard as she could on the coffee table. The neck snapped off and she flung it at the wall. "MY NAME IS LUKA!" she shrieked.
That night, she dreamed the cops came, then the landlord screamed at her for bothering Sam. I'm not bothering her, she likes me.
Like Rob Thomas, Luna decided that she didn't wanna be lonely no more. Game time was over. Now was the time to make Sam hers. Halt! The hour of the hammer is upon us!
She went downstairs and knocked on Sam's door. Lincoln wasn't in the hallway but Luna had her knife anyway. Sam appeared. "Hey," Luna said.
A look of apprehension crossed her face. "Uh...look, Luna, I...y-you just need to go."
Luna's heart dropped. "W-What?"
"I told you to leave me alone," Sam said.
What? No she didn't!
Or she did…
In her dream. When the landlord yelled at her.
Luna's brows angled down in an angry V. "How do you know my dreams?"
Sam looked confused. "W-What?"
Suddenly it was all clear to her. Sam wasn't Sam at all, she was Lincoln. Lincoln was playing a joke on her, leaving her and breaking her heart all over again.
Not this time.
"NOT THIS TIME!"
Sam started to slam the door, but Luna forced her way in. Sam turned to run, and by magic, the knife was in Luna's hand. Luna slammed it down and the blade sank into Sam's back. Sam threw her head back and screamed. Sneering, Luna ripped the knife out and did it again, piercing Sam's shoulder. Sam sank to her knees, and Luna shoved her to the floor. Sam screamed and kicked her legs, screaming every time the knife hit her. The tip struck bone and a jarring vibration shot up Luna's arm. The knife flashed up, down, up down, blood pooling on the floor, splattering Luna's face.
After a while, the fight ran out of Sam and her breathing got shallower and shallower. Dazed, Luna got up and staggered away, crying, bare, bloody footprints following her like a daming red arrow. Why, Lincoln? WHY DID YOU DO THIS?
In her apartment, Luna tripped, stumbled, and shambled into the bedroom. She flopped onto the bed, and the blanket slipped off the lump. Lincoln, eyes wide and staring, greeted her, his skin gray and mottled. I don't love you like that, Luna, he told her. You need to take your medication, you're acting CRAZY!
She remembered now. He rejected her. He told her he didn't want her.
So she grabbed a knife. He tried to fight her off, grabbing her wrists and headbutting her, but love trumps hate and she was STRONG.
For a terrible moment, the clouds in her brain parted, and she saw everything clearly. The uncomfortable look on Sam's face every time they met, the way she inched away as Luna spoke, like she wanted to run, her bullying her way into Sam's house to play guitar, and Sam flashing her fake, phony smiles.
It was all a lie.
A LINCOLN LIE.
"You bastard," she sobbed, "you fucking ghost."
Her misery turned to rage, and she lashed out, hitting his cold, dead face. She mounted him, wrapped her hands around his throat, and throttled him.
She was still killing when the police broke down her door. They dragged her away, and as they did, her screams echoed through the entire world:
"MY NAME IS LUNA…"
