To The Moon and Back

𝟐𝟗 | 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥

C E S T I A L

positioned in or relating to the sky, or outer space as observed in astronomy.

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

CONSIDERING MY HOUSE is an absolute monstrosity, I head to Rory's house. I'm driving ten below the speed limit which is a rare occurrence for me, but she told me to go slow, so I am. She's been staring at the side of my face the entire drive so far, eyes fixated on my jaw and I'm not sure why, but I can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of my lips.

I see her smile in the corner of my eye.

"What's so interesting about the side of my face, Red?" I query, slowing down as I turn a sharp corner, my foot pressing down on the brake pad.

She doesn't turn away. "A lot, actually." she admits and I snort. "You have a really nice side profile, you know? It's quite unfair, actually."

I laugh, speeding up again—though I could barely call it speeding. "Do I?"

Rory nods as I rub my hand up and down her thigh, stopping near the top, fingers curving around the swell of her thigh and she inhales, scooting back in her seat. Only then does she remove her gaze from mine.

I notice the bridge we met nearing in the distance and she inhales a sharp breath. I would have gone another way but this is the only way to get to the area she lives in from her work without going directly through traffic.

I glance over at her, making sure she's okay and she looks ill but trusting nonetheless, and it makes me feel good that she trusts me. I grab her hand and interlace our fingers, running circles with my thumb across her skin and she exhales.

I slow down even more, not going a single number over thirty as I drive over the bridge. Looking in my rearview mirror I can see the person behind me is glaring impatiently, considering I'm going fifteen below the speed limit, but I don't speed up.

Nearing the end of the bridge, she speaks up. "Do you think you could stop?" her soft voice fills the space around us.

I stare at her quizzically but she's not looking at me anymore, she's looking in the opposite direction, out the window, and so I don't say anything, I answer by parking in a spot on the side of the street just a few meters left of the bridge.

She exits the car, closing the door behind her, and I follow suit.

The cold air nips at my mostly exposed arms as I inhale the cold air. She walks ahead, strolling down the path until she ends up right where we were the night we met and the ambience becomes even more cold because that night—I'm assuming—held an unexplainable amount of pain for the both of us.

Just like that night, it's dark. The traffic slows as people return home for the evening and we stand here, side-by-side on this old bridge made of asphalt, stained with age. I wonder how many other people have attempted from this very spot.

When I first started secondary school, I recall hearing about one of Alula's distant friends committing suicide here. Someone she spoke to in class but not enough to consider an actual friend. I don't remember her or her name.

I look up at the celestial stars, some shining brighter than others, and some dull. There aren't many—stars, that is, due to the light pollution in the city, and with being so close to it, there is nowhere as many stars in the sky as there would be having everyone turned their lights off.

Sometimes I fantasize about how amazing it would be if just for one mere hour, everyone turned every single source of light off, and I could see everything.