Page 14

The Eye of The Storm

O utside my window, the wind howls like a wounded animal. The gothic panes are shaking so hard that I think they might break. The afternoon sky is a scary shade of gray-green, which means a nasty storm's coming. Dark clouds have been gathering all day, making their way to the island. The ocean beyond Shark Bay's cliffs churns angry and dark, white-capped waves crashing against the rocks with thunderous force.

A voice crackles over the ancient PA system, tiny and distorted: "Due to severe weather conditions, all students are to remain in their dormitories until further notice. Evening activities and study groups are cancelled."

Great. Trapped inside with nothing but my thoughts or worse, stuck in a room alone with Belle. Not to mention, the ghost of sick perverts' hands still lingering on my skin, both the ones inside and outside the school. It's been three days since I got back from that terrible party, but I still can't get rid of the way their hands, eyes, and demands weighed me down like chains. Even though the bruises are getting better, the memories are still as clear as glass.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room, followed almost immediately by a thunderclap that makes the windows rattle in their frames. The storm is directly overhead now, nature's fury matching the tempest in my head. Fortunately, Belle's still not back from wherever she disappears to these days—probably finding new ways to destroy me, new secrets to leverage. The room feels both too big and too small at the same time. The walls are pushing in on me, and the shadows go on forever.

I pace the length of our shared space, my designer heels clicking against hardwood floors that have witnessed generations of rich kids' secrets. There are five steps between the door and the window. Five there, five back. The rhythm should be relaxing, but all it does is remind me of other patterns, like the steady tick of expensive watches as hands wander, the click of camera shutters recording evidence, or the slow, measured steps of animals circling their prey.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memories. They're everywhere, stalking me like ghosts. My hand twitches, itching for the pills or anything that could take my mind off just about everything. But if I had them, using the drugs would feel like admitting defeat. I can't afford to fall apart, not when they're watching, measuring, judging.

Another crack of thunder, and suddenly the lights flicker and die. Perfect. Because what this day really needed was literal darkness to match the metaphorical kind. As I look at the weather map on my phone, the screen gives off an eerie blue glow. The storm system covers miles. It forms a huge red blob that covers the whole island. The night is going to be long.

A soft knock at the door makes me freeze mid-step. "Luna?" Erik's voice carries through the wood, concern evident in his tone. "You okay in there?"

My heart does that stupid little flutter, as it always does when he's near. "Peachy," I call back, aiming for casual detachment but probably landing somewhere closer to barely contained panic. "Nothing like a power outage to really highlight the charm of our prison."

He laughs softly. "Mind if I come in? I have a surprise."

I shouldn't. Being alone with Erik is dangerous—not because he'd hurt me, but because he makes me want things I can't have. Safety. Connection. Trust. But the thought of spending the night alone with my demons is even more terrifying. With a sigh, I open the door, revealing Erik standing in the hallway. The only light comes from emergency lanterns and phones, casting weird shadows across his face.

Erik slips inside, looking unfairly good in the dim light from his phone. His uniform shirt is slightly rumpled, and his tie loosened just enough to be distracting. He's carrying what looks like a laptop and some snacks.

"Thought you might want company," he says, holding up his offerings. "I've got the entire Marvel collection downloaded, plus enough candy to put us both in sugar comas."

"Trying to save me from the dark?" The words come out sharper than intended, brittle with defensive edges.

He meets my gaze steadily. "No. Just offering to wait it out together."

Something in my chest breaks when I hear how honest he is. Erik never tries to fix me or save me. He just keeps showing up, being there without putting pressure on me. It's more dangerous than any attempt at rescue could be. I could handle an attack—I'm used to people seeing me as a burden or a problem to solve. But the warmth in his gray eyes when he looks at me, as if he sees past the icy exterior and knows exactly who I am… it's a drug more potent than anything I've tasted from my parents' friends.

"Fine." I gesture to my bed, the only comfortable seating option in the room. "But if you try to make me watch Thor: The Dark World , I'm kicking you out."

A ghost of a smile crosses his features. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

We lie down on the bed and make sure to keep a safe space between us. Erik puts the laptop on a pillow in between us, and soon, the screen is filled with the blue light from the beginning of Iron Man . Even though there is a storm outside, we have our own little bubble of peace and quiet here.

Except nothing about this is normal. Not the way my skin prickles with awareness of his presence, not the comfortable silence that falls between us, not the way he somehow knows exactly when to offer commentary and when to let the movie speak for itself. Erik's different from anyone else at Shark Bay—he doesn't want anything from me except my company, and that terrifies me more than any demand ever could. Because for the first time since I arrived, someone sees me—the girl behind the armor, the brokenness beneath the confidence—and they don't run away.

I jump when another thunderclap shakes the building, and Erik stops the movie. There's concern etched in his features.

"We can watch something else if you want," he offers. "I've got comedies, documentaries?—"

"It's fine." I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to stop the trembling I know he can see. "The storm just… reminded me of something."

He doesn't push, doesn't ask for explanations I can't give. Instead, he simply shifts slightly closer, offering warmth without demanding contact. "Want to talk about it?"

"No." The answer comes automatically, a reflex born of years of keeping secrets. But then, softer: "Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

"Okay." He settles back against the headboard, his presence steady and grounding. "Then we can just sit here. Sometimes that's enough."

And in a way, it is. While the storm outside keeps raging, we sit back and enjoy the peace and quiet. On the screen, Tony Stark builds his first suit. Erik doesn't try to make things better by saying empty words or giving false comfort. He's just there with me, a safe place to be during the storm, without trying to save me. I keep my walls up and my armor on, but I'm going to enjoy the moment of peace at least for now. Let myself think that we could stay together forever, just two hurt souls looking for safety.

"The parties," I say suddenly, the words escaping before I can catch them. "When I was younger, there were always storms. Thunder covering the sounds, lightning hiding the shadows. My father said it was perfect timing—nature providing cover for man's darkest impulses."

Erik goes very still beside me, but his voice remains gentle when he speaks. "Luna, you don't have to?—"

"I know." I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms. "But sometimes I think if I don't say it out loud, it'll eat me alive. All these secrets, all these shadows… they're suffocating me."

He reaches out slowly, telegraphing his movements, and covers my hand with his. His palm is warm against my cold fingers, anchoring me to the present. "Then tell me. Whatever you can, whatever you need to say. I'm here."

The storm is the background for my confessions, which are little bits of truth that are strewn around like broken glass between thunderclaps. I don't tell him everything. I can't. I tell him just enough to feel better. I don't tell him about the abuse, but I tell him about my father's intimidation. I don't mention I'm forced to take drugs, but I acknowledge I'm haunted by constant fear. He never shows sympathy or anger, and he never interrupts or demands answers. He does nothing but sit there like a rock for me to lean on and hide behind while the storm rages around us.

Erik listens without judgment, his hand steady on mine. When I finally fall silent, emotionally exhausted, he doesn't offer platitudes or empty promises. Instead, he simply says, "Thank you for trusting me with pieces of you."

"I don't trust anyone," I whisper, but we both know it's a lie. Because I did trust him. With the thing that scares me most—the partial truths of my secrets, the cracks in my armor. The pieces no one but me has ever seen.

"I know." His thumb traces circles on my palm, the touch featherlight. "But you're still here."

"I'm afraid they'll know that I told you," I whisper, the confession raw. "They know everything. They're watching."

"You can't let fear control you." His hand finds mine, warm and reassuring. "I won't tell anyone."

"You don't need to," I counter softly. "They know either way."

The words fall between us, fragile and heavy. Both of us know just how small a chance there is of remaining anonymous. They are connected. Watching. Never slipping up.

"I'm here," he says simply, his arm brushing against mine.

These two words say more than any promise ever could. We have this moment, this room set aside for us away from everyone else, no matter what comes next. Outside, the storm keeps going, and the lightning colors the room bright blue every so often.

Still sitting close together, we watch the lightning as it makes moving shadows on the walls. The movie keeps playing in the background, somewhat forgotten. Erik being here with me is like a chain that keeps me from falling too far into the darkness of my memories. I feel almost safe for the first time since coming home from that terrible party. Almost at peace. A thin veneer of armor between myself and a broken past, keeping the trauma at bay for now. The future is uncertain, a swirl of endless dangers, but we're still here. Still together. And maybe that's enough.

Maybe that's everything.

When he shifts slightly, I think he's going to leave. Instead, he adjusts his position so we're facing each other, those storm-gray eyes serious in the dim light. "Luna," he says softly. "Whatever happened at those parties, whatever they made you do—it wasn't your fault."

"You don't know that." My voice cracks. "You don't know what I've done, what I'm capable of?—"

"I know you." He cups my face with gentle hands, and for a moment, I let myself lean into the touch. "I see you, Luna. Not the mask you wear or the puppet they tried to make you into. You."

The sweetness in his voice breaks my heart. I've been holding back tears as much as I could, but now they're running down my face, hot and silent. When Erik pulls me into his arms, I let him. I bury my face in his chest and start to cry. With soft words of comfort that I can't quite make out, he holds me through the storm—both the one outside and the one inside me. There are no absolutions, no declarations of love, or promises that it will get better. Just his strong arms wrapped around my shaking body and his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

My mind knows that this brief moment of vulnerability won't solve all my problems, but my heart rebels at the thought of going back to the way things were. So I cling to the feeling of safety Erik gives me, desperate and needy like a drowning woman finally breaking the surface. Let myself go in his presence, letting the familiarity of his warmth wash over me. I don't belong to anyone except myself, not anymore, but maybe, just maybe, I can borrow a piece of his strength. For tonight, I might allow him to protect me from my own bad memories.

When I finally pull back, embarrassed by my display of weakness, Erik doesn't let me retreat completely. He keeps one arm around me, providing warmth and support without a cage. His shirt is wet from my tears, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or care. "It's okay," he whispers. "You can break a little. I'm here."

And I do—crack right down the middle and continue to cry on his chest. For what I lost and the innocence I don't think I ever really had. For the powerlessness I can't bear to confront. Weakness will get me killed someday, but tonight, Erik's strength is enough to hold me together.

My face is wet with tears, my chest heaving with shuddering sobs. Vulnerable and raw, a wounded animal in the flickering blue light from the laptop. But this isn't a weakness—no, it's a decision made through blurred vision and warring emotions. I still won't lay my burdens on Erik's shoulders; I refuse to let him feel the blame that consumes me every night. But he said he's here for me, and I choose to accept that.

When I finally stop crying, there are no traces of pity in his gaze, just an emotion I can't quite put a name to. Gently, slowly, Erik shifts so that his back rests against the wall. For a moment, I think he's going to let go, and some aching part of my heart screams at the thought of being alone again. I'm desperate enough to reach for him, to show him I need him in the only way I know how—by kissing him.

Before our lips touch, Erik pulls away slightly. Disappointment threatens to overwhelm me before his deep, genuine tone cuts through the fog of desire.

"Not like this," he says, cupping my face in his hands. "If—when—we kiss, I want it to be because you want me, not because you want to punish yourself."

His words break my heart. I was sure this was just another game, a new way to get his attention. But the truth is clear in his expression, raw and painful: He wants this, but not as much as he wants me. Not when I'm desperately seeking an escape. The realization should hurt, but instead, a jolt of hope arcs through me, dispelling some of the black mood. This isn't about him using me; it's about him seeing through the armor to the mess of darkness that lies beneath.

"I should go," he says quietly. "It's getting late, and?—"

"Stay." The word surprises us both. "Please. Just… stay."

He studies me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he nods, settling back against the headboard. "Okay. But we're finishing the movie first. I refuse to leave Tony Stark hanging."

A wet laugh escapes me. "You're such a nerd."

"Guilty as charged." He grins, beautiful and infuriating.

We start to watch the movie again, but something is different between us now. Erik keeps his arm around my shoulders, and I lean into his warmth. When I finally fall asleep from being too tired, I hear his steady heartbeat mixed with the faraway rumble of the storm.

For the first time in years, I don't dream of parties or pills or predators in expensive suits. Instead, I dream of gray eyes and gentle hands and the possibility that maybe, just maybe, not everyone in this world wants to break me.

Even though there's still a powerful storm outside, I finally feel like I can breathe here with Erik by my side. The thunder that used to scare me now sounds more like a song, far away and steady with his heartbeat. We're still wrapped up in each other's arms when we wake up, with my head on his chest and his arms around me to protect me. The first light of dawn is caught by dewdrops, which almost turns the scary darkness into something beautiful. The gothic windows let in a lot of light that makes everything look golden and full of possibilities.

Erik stirs beside me, and for a moment, I tense, waiting for the regret or awkwardness to set in. But he just smiles sleepily, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face.

"Morning," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. "You okay?"

I consider the question, taking stock of the various aches and wounds inside me. The darkness isn't gone—it may never be completely gone—but it feels less overwhelming in the light of day. "Getting there," I answer honestly.

He nods, understanding what I'm not saying. "Good." Then, with a playful smirk, “Though I have to say, your taste in movies could use some work. Who falls asleep during the best part?"

"Shut up." I shove his shoulder, but there's no real force behind it. "Not all of us are Marvel superfans."

"Your loss." He sits up, stretching in a way that makes his shirt ride up slightly. I force myself to look away from the strip of exposed skin. "I should go before Belle gets back. Wouldn't want to start any new rumors."

Right. Belle. When reality hits me again, it reminds me why this can't happen between Erik and me. I look quickly to the corner of the room where I found one of their tiny cameras before. I wonder how many more they've hidden since then. My parents are out there, watching and looking for any weak spot they can use against me. It's possible they recorded everything that happened or didn't happen last night. If they did, they're probably still going over the footage, finding ways to use it against me as another tool. I can't let them hurt Erik too. I won't.

"Erik," I start, not sure what I'm going to say but knowing I need to say something.

He cuts me off with a gentle squeeze of my hand. "I know," he says quietly. "We don't have to talk about it. Just… remember you're not alone, okay? Whatever storms come next, you don't have to face them by yourself."

He leaves but I still feel his warmth and the dangerous seed of hope in my chest. I touch my lips, remembering how close we came to crossing that line, how much I wanted him to kiss me in that moment before sleep claimed us. Not as a distraction or a release, but because he saw the real pieces of me and didn't run.

But Erik Stone is too good and pure for someone damaged like me. His new life is full of Marvel movies and study sessions fueled by candy, while mine is full of surveillance cameras and champagne laced with drugs. He doesn't deserve my darkness, the threats that follow me, or the weight of lies that could destroy us both. I put a target on his back every time I'm with him, and I've seen personally how well my father and his friends can hit their marks. Leaving him would mean giving up the warmth and safety he gives me, and I don't want to think that this fragile peace could last.

Besides, I deserve exactly what I've always had: nothing but storms and shadows and the cold comfort of knowing that at least when I'm alone, no one else can get hurt.

I curl my knees to my chest, trying to hold on to the memory of his steady heartbeat as the silence closes in.

The sun continues to rise over Shark Bay, turning the world outside my window into something beautiful and new. But I know it's not safe to trust the quiet after the storm. There are always more storms coming, more secrets that want to come out, and more darkness waiting to consume whatever light dares to shine through the cracks in my carefully constructed walls.

Though I'm getting ready for another day at Shark Bay, I can't get Erik's warmth, his steady presence, and the way he made me feel safe without trying to save me from my own mind. That storm that could wash away everything I thought I knew about love, trust, and the chance of forgiveness might be the most dangerous of all.

But for now, I have a role to play and a mask to maintain. Luna Queen doesn't get to have normal things like movie nights and comfort and the gentle touch of someone who sees past her shadows. Luna Queen exists in the dark, uses the darkness, and becomes the darkness that others fear.

Even if, for one stormy night, I got to pretend otherwise.