To The Moon and Back

𝟏𝟑 | 𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞

P H A S E

The apparent change in the shape of the Moon and inferior planets as seen from Earth as they move in their orbits.

T O T H E
M O O N & B A C K

I WALKED UP the front steps leading to the Torres residence which was just out of London, near Holloway. It is almost four AM but I cannot seem to sleep, so I went for a drive, as I always do when I am unable to sleep, which is often. And somehow, I ended up here. I don't know why.

Her house was a normal suburban house in England. It was tall, made entirely of orange brick, and the grass was incredibly green.

I raised a fist, I wanted to knock, but it is late. Her parents are probably asleep. Her parents have a strange relationship. Her mother sleeps on the couch constantly, spending her days watching television and sipping tea because she recently discovered that she has Leukemia, so she no longer works. And her father is a drunk deadbeat that invalidates every human around him and makes people feel like shit.

Her mum is nice at times and not so much at others. I have visited this house many times over the last few years and not often have I surpassed her father around the house, but when I have, he doesn't smile nor greet me, just merely walks past as though I am a ghost. Though that is not special to me, he acts that way with everyone.

I grasped the doorknob, turning it slowly before pushing it open, and thankfully, it was not locked.

My Converse squeak against the wooden panelling and I spare a glance at Mrs Torres who is sleeping peacefully on the musty brown couch, her mouth wide open as she drools, the early morning news projecting a dull light upon her barely conscious body.

My hand slides along the railing as I walked up the old wooden steps. Once reaching the top, I head down the short hall, opening the first door on the left. When I walked in, I was welcomed by the familiar scent of her Chanel No. 5 perfume that she practically bathes in.

Her sheer curtains remain open, allowing the moon to grant its light. Her brown and blonde hair sprawls out all over the pillow, her eyelids closed as she snores softly. She is far more pleasant to be around when she is sleeping. Her lips, usually painted but now bare, were parted, rather than holding her usual cynical smirk. Even in her sleep, her forehead creased. She was frowning.

She stirred in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent.

I toyed with my fingers, unsure of what I truly came here for. I don't even like sex and even more, I do not like her. So, why did I find myself at her doorstep so early? Maybe because I am simply bored. So fucking bored. And everyone is asleep.

Solar and Alula are together. Orion I don't even want to see. And that is all I have. Lonely, huh? But I made it that way. I used to have dozens of friends, so many that I lost count. But that was in high school, and they were all fake. I dealt with it for years until I dropped my scholarship and became a deadbeat and observed all of my friends dropping like flies. They did me a favour by leaving, though, so, at the end of the day, I don't really give a fuck.

I haven't been over in a while. So long that I almost forgot what her room looked like. Baby pink walls, an old drawer set with the white paint chipping adorned the right wall, glow in the dark stars from her childhood remained stuck to the ceiling like glue. On one of her shelves, there were several dolls from when she was a little girl.

A little ballerina attached to a jewellery box twirls around, a soft—but absolutely fucking irritating—tune following and I walk over to where it sat atop her drawers, along with countless perfumes. I narrow my eyes at the inanimate object before slamming the lid shut, so that it would be quiet.