Moon Bound: I'm Not A Fickle Luna

April 14, 2018

An alternate Glendale, California.

The messy apartment littered with beer bottles and food wraps dating back several weeks couldn't have been the optimal place for romance, but the youthful rush was untamed and unbothered.

The two tussled, twisted, and teetered, taking turns to push each other down and breathing heavily as they locked lips.

One was a handsome, brown-haired young man with sand-toned skin that advertised his well-defined muscles underneath. A grin momentarily showed on his face when he wrestled his thin lips away from the girl's.

The only piece of clothing the young man had left on him was a pair of drawers which he was ready to rip off as soon as he spotted the imaginary green light whose timing he had mastered through countless 'encounters' with different ladies.

The girl under him suddenly wrapped her long legs around his waist and twisted, bringing herself on top; now, she mounted him. Her partner grew excited.

The girl had rough, shoulder-length black hair that she swept to the side as she did a little giddy-up on the young man's abdomen. He groaned lightly but could hardly complain.

Almost there.

The girl rubbed her long, slender fingers along his bold, naked chest and pulled gently at his lips with her own. She pressed her breasts, which were still locked away behind a silver brassiere, against him and then stroked his abs. Her fingers then slid to his drawers and slowly began yanking them down.

It was here!

The young man's heart throbbed. Only a hunter of his caliber could enjoy the satisfaction of finally nailing a beast like this one after a month-long hunt!

This girl had stolen his very soul at first sight. She had the perfect figure, the perfect face, and an attitude that he intended to correct shortly after his drawers were fully drawn away. That moment had already arrived.

The young man felt the chilly air whip his thighs as his third leg of salvation was revealed and then...

Nothing.

The girl who had been showing all the signs that she was about to ride him like a bike suddenly toppled to the vacant side of the bed and sighed deeply.

She turned to him languidly, her emerald green eyes as beautiful as ever, and said two words:

"Get out."

"What...?" the young man was baffled.

"I said, get out, Stewart or whatever the fuck your name is," the girl said, and she closed her eyes, her brows furrowing.

A rush of annoyance, anger, and unwillingness bubbled within the young man at once.

What kind of unfunny joke was this?

What did this girl mean by 'get out'?

The young man whose name was possibly Stewart swallowed the monstrous venom which had been creeping up his throat and chose the healthiest set of words that came to him.

"Hey... come on, Maeve," he said, leaning in for a kiss while his hand slid down the girl's flat belly. It rode the contours of her faint abs and towards the rim of her panties.

"Let's just ha—"

"I said GET OUT!" the girl yelled, and she suddenly pushed away Stewart with a palm.

The young man flew high and knocked hard against the wall on the other side of the room.

He grunted in pain as he slid down the wall. His face quickly adopted a frightened expression and he trembled.

His gaze hesitantly met the girl's figure on the bed. Her face was buried in her hands and she looked to be sobbing or maybe panting, it was hard to tell.

"W…what the fuck man?" Stewart cried as his feet scraped against the floor. When he finally managed to stand up, he rushed to grab his shirt, pants, and shoes, his bulging eyes never daring to let the girl out of his sight.

He reached the door, wrenched it open, and cried, "FREAK!" before bolting away.

The girl on the bed did not pay him any mind. She merely cursed and sat up straight on the bed.

She extracted a cigarette from a drawer by the bedside – the last amidst a sea of cigarette butts – and lit it with a lighter she picked from the floor.

She sucked desperately on the sweet yet bitter taste of the tobacco as though solace and peace were hiding in the flavor.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked herself. She clutched the bridge of her nose and almost broke into tears.

These sudden, extremely aggressive mood swings and abnormal rushes of adrenaline which had started a month ago were ruining the normal flow of her life. She couldn't find pleasure in anything anymore. Everything irritated her. Everything triggered her.

And when the trigger was pulled, strength the likes of which Maeve couldn't explain coursed through her veins. But this paled in comparison to some of the things she had started to feel, some of the urges she got.

But this all couldn't be anything unnatural, right?

Maeve refused to believe this wasn't something without a completely plausible explanation somewhere, but she didn't dare enlist the help of the internet. She couldn't give her imagination the tools necessary to harass her in her dreams.

'It's only been a month. It'll go away soon. Yeah. I've just been pretty pissed about…' she began, trying to rationalize her thoughts, but the voice in her head broke off.

A tear ran down her cheek. She desperately sucked on her cigarette. It didn't help.

Before she knew it, she began sobbing.

VRRM! VRRM!

Maeve's phone rang from the top of the dressing table. She sniffled, wiped off her tears, and dived for it as if her life depended on it.

The caller ID had the name 'Brie B-word' and Maeve desperately answered.

She collected herself.

"Yeah?" she said.

"Don't 'yeah' me!" a feminine voice boomed from the other end of the line. "Do you know what time it is, Maeve? If you don't want this job, I'll happily find you another, but you can't keep missing your shifts!"

"Huh?"

Maeve reeled and checked the time. Her emerald green eyes ballooned, and she scurried up from her position to the closet with a loud and dragged-out 'Oh shit!'.

It was 12.31 pm and her shift began at 12!

In the span of five minutes, she brushed her teeth, washed her face, donned a pair of blue jeans and a black shirt, tied her black hair into a ponytail, and bolted out the door to her apartment.

As she rushed through the streets, sprinting before making a sharp turn around the corner, two men watched her from a distance by their car.

Their eyes lingered on her figure, and then they made their move.

They entered the apartment building Maeve had just left and went up to the door of her apartment. Despite her hurry, Maeve had locked it.

One of the two men lock-picked the door open while the other stood, watching with a hand in his pocket. The door soon swung open.

"This isn't really dignified, you know? Breaking and entering into a lady's house, I mean," the man who opened the door said.

"Evidently, we're not above it," the other man chuckled as he walked into the untidy apartment.

He exhaled exasperatedly as he saw the mess. For once, he regretted having a heightened sense of smell; he really felt he didn't need an in-depth analysis of the composition of cheap alcohol and cigarettes.

The other man shook his head slowly.

"Uhm... Look, Aaron. I know the vow is important to you and your family, but this is not worth it. She is not worth it," he said with a look of concern. "Look at this place. I'd say this is a perfect reflection of what you are getting yourself into, man."

The other man, Aaron, smiled faintly.

"Nah. She's the one. She will win, and I will win her heart in the process."