After surviving the Pen, being pursued by Rivet, watching cities being bombed, trekking through the Star Realm, I thought I had proved I didn’t have a breaking point. I was wrong. Everyone has a breaking point. This is mine. The world is dead to me. All that I cared about. All that I loved. Ripped away from me. Wrenched from my shaking hands.
Tristan is here and I know I should talk to him. I haven’t said a word since it all happened. Not to him; not to my mother. Elsey’s still too unwell for visitors, not even family.
But still Tristan comes every day, sits on my bed, talks to me. Lies to me and tells me everything’s going to be okay, even though we both know it’s not.
He told me all about what happened afterwards. How the Resistance somehow managed to kill enough of the sun dweller troops to overwhelm them, eventually driving them away. How they fought like wild animals, with tenacity and heart. How they found us clinging together, amidst the dead, me and Elsey, my teeth chattering as I rocked her back and forth while Tristan used his tunic to put pressure on her gunshot wound. Roc and Tawni, of all people, stood guard over us while Trevor ran to get help. I don’t remember any of that. Although I was apparently conscious for it, my subconscious protected me from the memory.
His father was never there, was just a voice through a speaker. A madman using his pawns to do his bidding.
He sits on my bed, in his normal spot, rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’m here, Adele,” he says.
A day earlier his touch would have sent tendrils of excitement all through me, but now, it’s just a touch, cold and meaningless.
Finally, I break my silence, although the words come from a new Adele. The old Adele is gone, dead. “I’m toxic, Tristan. Everything and everyone that gets close to me dies. First Cole, now Dad. Stay away from me. STAY AWAY!” My body’s trembling and my fists are ready for a fight, against whoever is in my way, Tristan or his father or whoever.
But he doesn’t leave like I expect him to, like he should do. He stays right there, grabs my hands, pries my claw-like fingers apart. I’ve got nothing left. No fight. My body goes slack and I fall apart in his arms as he holds me, rubs his hands along my back. He doesn’t try to soothe me with words or shush my tortured sobs, just lets me get it all out.
I need something to take the pain away. Just for a minute, a second. My lips find his and I kiss him hard, then harder, practically throwing myself at him. He lets me at first, but then pulls away while still hugging me. “Not this way,” he says. “We need to give it some time.”
I’m glad he’s still thinking clearly.
* * *
The next day I finally go to visit Elsey, who is recovering. With each step I take my heart is breaking. It’s like despite everything I’ve been through, I can’t bear one more tragedy. Tristan holds my hand to make it easier. It’s strange, how different it is holding his hand now from the first time. I mean, I still get the tingles, the tiny bursts of electricity up my forearm, but now it feels so normal, so safe, like we’ve been holding hands for a million years plus a million more. I like the subtle change.
But the strength of the magnetic pull I feel toward him has not subsided whatsoever. When he is near I can always feel him on my skin, in my bones, particularly around my head and down my back. It’s the weirdest thing.
We enter a dim room—only a clouded lantern provides a soft glow. We see the thin outline of my mother, sitting on a bed, looking down at a bump under the covers. Tristan releases my hand and I kneel next to her, gaze at the pale face of my sister, who’s sleeping. She almost looks dead and for a moment I think she might be, but then I see the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.
“How is she?” I breathe.
My mom has one hand on my sister, and now she places the other on my shoulder. “She’s a little trooper, hanging in there. She can barely eat because she just throws it back up. The trauma of it all is affecting her entire body. But she’s so positive about everything, it’s hard to keep her down.”
I manage a smile. That’s my sister—a little firecracker. Even with the covers over her, I can tell she’s lost weight. Weight she doesn’t have to lose.
“How’s she taking…”—my voice catches in my throat and I swallow—“Dad?”
Mom’s eyes are misty but she doesn’t cry. She’s tough—like I used to be. “You’ll have to ask her that, but I think she’s handling it better than you or I.”
I nod. “Do you think he’s still somewhere?” I ask, surprising myself, because I didn’t even realize the question was on my mind.
“Elsey does,” she says. “I think that’s one of the reasons she’s handling it so well.”
“Yeah, but do you?”
She tilts her head to the side and chews on the side of her mouth, like she’s really giving my question some serious thought. “You know, I want to believe it and sometimes I do, because I can still remember him, can still feel him here”—she motions to her heart—“but other times I just feel this void and it’s as if he’s disappeared from within the caverns of the earth.”
I nod. I appreciate her honesty. She’s treating me like an adult.
Elsey stirs in her bed, yawns, and then her eyes blink open. “Hi, Adele!” Although her voice is weak, there’s a certain energy in it, but the same energy doesn’t make it to her face, which is ashen. She looks so pale she almost appears dead, if not for her half-open eyes and limp smile.
“Hey, El,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and the waiting tears from my eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I just lost an arm,” she says, smiling weakly.
I bite my lip, wishing I could laugh, if only to make her happy. Underneath the covers it’s easy to forget that she’s not whole anymore.
“It’s okay, Adele,” she says, acting the role of the big sister, as usual. “I survived. Because of you.”
Despite my efforts, a tear rolls down my cheek, stinging my skin. “But you lost…and Dad is….” I can’t get the words out, even now.
“I’m fine,” she says, sticking her jaw out. “And Dad is…in a better place. Away from all the bad people.” Away from all the good people, too, I want to say, but I don’t. How can she be so strong when she’s the one who lost an arm and a father? Why do I feel so weak? I try to think about my sister’s words, try to take strength from them, like she does. Dad is in a better place. Is it true? Is he somewhere, his soul flying high, away from his broken body, away from the turmoil and strife of the Tri-Realms? Is he on Earth, aboveground, seeing the real moon and real sun and real stars for the first time, feeling the wind through his hair, the sunlight on his skin, the rain on his face? Maybe he is. Who am I to say Elsey is wrong? Warmth suddenly fills my chest and I know I’ll get through this, just like all the bad times before. It’s not about what I don’t have, it’s about what I do. My mom. My sister. Tristan. Tawni and Roc and even Trevor. Family and friends—that’s all I’ll ever need.
* * *
The funeral is a blur of tears and speeches and emotions and I don’t remember any of it when it’s over. As is the custom of the moon dwellers, they cremate him, which is good because I couldn’t have handled seeing his face again, not like that. I prefer to remember him as the man who showed me how to kick and punch on our back patio.
Tristan’s been following the news but I’ve stayed away from it. I’m just not that concerned with politics and rebellions and wars at the moment. I’m just trying to spend as much time with my family as possible. Half the moon dweller VPs are dead, but a vote will be held in a week’s time to replace them. After everything that’s happened, everyone’s expecting that once the new leaders are elected, the VPs will unanimously vote to unite with the Star Realm and support the rebellion. Evidently the Sun Realm has already officially declared war on us, which I’m not too surprised about. Tristan tells me that people are saying the first battle could occur in as soon as week’s time.