Graffiti

Epilogue:

Alex's P.O.V.

I never wanted to experience the kind of pain that I suffered through last month. Seeing Luna lying there, motionless, pale and lifeless. It killed me, it tore me apart inside and I hated it. She'd had to have thirty-four stitches in her shoulder and was ordered to rest for two more months. 

No one had caught Macon yet, but there was a search under way. That bastard was sneaky, and one would have to be extremely lucky to catch him. When Luna was in the hospital, I'd decided that she was the girl that I wanted in my life. I gave up the graffiti, got myself a proper job in computing and brought us a house. 

It was in a remote place on the edge of town because I knew how uncomfortable Luna was around other people. She was on the couch, sleeping peacefully. In a way, I'd blamed myself for what had happened, and Luna had sensed this. She'd called me a whimp and ensure that I wasn't to blame.

I listened to her.

I sat on the floor, leaning my back against the soft brown coach. Luna was swaddled in blankets of all different colours. She looked comfy and I didn't dare disturb her. Instead, I stared straight ahead, out of the window. The cold, wooden floor that I sat one made me ache but I didn't want to leave Luna so I endured the pain. 

The soft, golden grains of sand flew in a frenzy outside, blowing away unwanted memories. The waves crashed against one another, frothing and thrashing. The darkening sky touched on the water and calmed the anguish they felt. 

Behind me, Luna stirred. "Alex," she breathed. I whipped around and checked her for signs of injuries that might have occurred. Maybe she'd bled out from moving around to much. "I'm OK. I have to tell you something." 

This was the first time that she'd strung together a proper sentence since we'd left the hospital one week ago. She'd been so sedated that she could barely keep her eyes open for more than a few minutes. 

Suddenly, a feverish flurry of frantic panic swarmed through my body. What if she wanted to leave? What if she didn't want to be with me? What if, after everything she'd said at the hospital - before the morphine - had been a lie. I gulped and tried not to think negative. 

I messed with the bottom of my plain black shirt. "I'm listening," I told her softly. 

"I love you," she whispered. Her eyes were closed and I knew that she was fading back into that blissful place where she had no worries. My hear rate picked up, my cheeks tingled and a wide smile etched itself onto my face. I'd been waiting for this for such a long time that I could barely contain my joy. 

I grabbed her sweaty hand and held it in mine as I whispered: "I love you too."

Then, together we slept and fought off our relentless nightmares.