“No, I’m sorry—Luna, wait!” But she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd.
Fuck!
I frantically look around the room, not trying to draw attention to myself, but I finally find Luna practically running out the front entrance. I bump into people as I try to catch up with her. I walk through the doorway and am blinded by the lights. I hold my hand up, blocking the light, and that’s when I see her leaving in an Uber.
Fuck! Why couldn’t I keep my fuckin’ hands to myself? I huff out of frustration and run my hands through my hair.
Until we meet again, Luna Stirling
Luna
Istare at my half-eaten egg bites, poking at them with my fork. I’m not hungry, but I mostly feel like an idiot because of how I acted last night.
Running away like a runaway bride from a man who has done nothing wrong. I feel like I’ve made a complete fool of myself for no reason. How am I supposed to meet people andtalkto a crowd tonight if I can’t handle a room full of strangers at a club? Maybe I should call my therapist for an emergency appointment.
I head to my bedroom to grab my phone off the charger on my nightstand, but when I pick it up, my eyes catch the card that Dante gave me at the gym. I put it on my nightstand, intending to throw it away, but now I’m sure I want to. Before I freakedout last night, it felt good, being in his arms. It feels good to be desired. I pick up the card, running my fingers over the raised gold letters.
I should apologize. Dante deserves that after I just ran off with no explanation.
I flip the card over, type the number into my phone, create a contact for him, and open my messages. I stare at my phone, unsure of how to start a message like this:
I chew on my thumb, hit send, and close my phone.
My luck, he’d ignore my message and forget me entirely, but then my phone buzzed, and I saw his name light up my screen. I unlock my phone to read his message:
My heart flutters as I stare at my phone for several moments before thinking of a reply:
What am I saying? Did I want to go on a date with him? Is it a date? No, it’s just drinks. Right? I hit send and throw my phone onto my bed. I chew on my thumb as I wait for him to message me back. My phone buzzes, and I cross the room in a flash to pick it back up:
I bite my lip to keep myself from smiling. It’s just drinks, Luna, calm down.
I check the time, and the clock reads 10 a.m., which gives me plenty of time to prepare for my event tonight. Instead of calling my therapist, I’ll spend the day doing self-care and mentally preparing myself for tonight. Sally mentioned doing this for myself in our last session, so this is the perfect excuse to try it.
I walk into my bathroom, pulling down some of my favorite skincare products, and set them on the small shelf beside my mirror for later use. I turn to the shower, adjusting the knobs to set my favorite temperature: scaldingly hot.
Steam starts to fill my bathroom, and the eucalyptus leaves that hang around my shower head remind me of a spa I once treated myself to.
I undress, throwing my clothes in the laundry basket next to the shower, and step into the lava flow from my shower head. I groan as the water pressure massages my body'ssore points. I stand under the flow for several minutes, letting the water wash away my anxious thoughts. “Everything will go as planned tonight, and I will not make a fool of myself, and even if I do, it won’t be the end of the world. You are Luna Stirling. You get back up.” I repeat this a few times before grabbing my shampoo and starting my usual routine.
I shampoo twice, condition, and then move on to my legs. I clip my hair up. Letting the conditioner soak into my hair, and reach for my razor when I feel that sinking feeling, like I’m being watched again. My heart sinks as I stand frozen, unsure of what to do. I grab the curtain's edge and slowly pull it back, peeking my head out cautiously to see if I can see anyone.
Unlike last time, no one’s there, and no eyes are peering through the corner of my stained glass window. It’s just my steam-filled bathroom. I draw the curtain and shake the image from my mind. “No. No, stop thinking about that. You’re just freaking yourself out.”
It’s light outside. You’re safe in here. No one can open the window. You’re safe in here.
My breath hitches as I close my eyes. I place my hands against the wall to anchor myself, allowing the water to wash over my neck and ground me. I let out a few ragged breaths to control my heart rate.
After several breaths, I’m able to regain my composure, and my panic attack subsides. I’ve been getting them most recently since the Peeping Tom incident. It’s almost every time I take a shower. Another thing in my life ruined by a man, how fitting.
The hot water turns cold, bringing me fully back to reality, so I quickly finish my routine, rinsing the conditioner from my hair before getting too cold.
I turn off the water and step out of the shower, grab my robe from the hook on the back of the door, wrap my hair in a towel, and head to my bedroom.
I open my dresser and take out my underwear—a simple pair of nude seamless hipsters and a sports bra. I slip off my robeand let my hair down. I dry the rest of my body with the towel, then put on my panties and bra. Like usual, I admire myself in my floor-length mirror in my room and decide to self-tan before tonight. The dress I bought for tonight has a slit in the front that runs clear up to my hip.
I go back to the bathroom, open the cabinet above the sink, take out my self-tanner and mitt, and gather the rest of my skincare products. I return to my room, placing everything on my dresser, and start my skincare routine. I moisturize from head to toe with various lotions and potions before I begin tanning.
I’m applying the last bit of tanning foam when I hear my phone buzz. I set my tanning mitt down, walk over to my nightstand, and pick up my phone. I had hoped Dante was sending me a message, but it turned out to be just a text reminder that my dress is ready for pickup at the dry cleaners. “Right. The cleaners.” I check the time —it’s a little after noon.
