Everytime Under the Full Moon

The upbeat song could be heard from the inside even with the doors closed. A cigarette left her lips with the anxious movement of her shaky hand; she choked with the smoke that was subsequently exhaled with a cough. This wasn’t her first time smoking; in fact, she’d picked up this habit decades ago when it became fashionable, just to blend in. Now, it was something so natural to her that every time she looked for a distraction, she reached for the small metal box that rested in her pocket.

With her shoulders slouched, she closed in on herself as the nicotine filled her body. She tried again, taking another drag of the cigarette, and this time it was smoother, allowing her to wonder why she had accepted the invitation to the party. She met the hostess a couple of weeks ago, they crossed paths more than twice in the same busy coffee shop and ended up sharing a table.

Sitting on the gaudy fountain that decorated the grounds, she shivered when the wind blew fast and cold. Her arms closed around herself and she swore under her breath, damning the moment she decided a silk dress was a good idea for a December party—to her credit, she didn’t expect to spend the night exiling herself to the garden.

The music from inside made its way to her in low waves, turning it into background noise. So, she sat there, making herself smaller by the second, letting the cigarette burn, and closed her eyes. Prismatic lights danced in the darkness that belonged to the memories created just minutes ago as she exhaled a third gust of smoke, and in the action, she felt the illusion of control. For a moment, his image left her mind, for a moment she felt like she would be alright; even if it was a make believe idea, the anxiety that had brought her here would dissipate.

She breathed deeply, inhaling the cold air of a Yule night and exhaling as steadily as she could; still, peace evaded her. Light came from the full moon that adorned the dark sky and suddenly she wasn’t in the garden of an upper class neighborhood holiday house near the beach illuminated with dozens of fairy lights, instead she was surrounded by the darkness of crooked trees in the deepest part of a nordic forest, she was sitting in a british tea house warmed by the fire of a candle the glowed in front of her, she was standing in a corner with her hair and her blouse sticking to her skin as she drown in the humidity of a tropical town. Every memory of every heartbreak of the many lifetimes she’d lived, the same full moon, the same pair of green eyes looking back at her with the regret of someone who couldn’t give back what you gave.

In the distance, she could still distinguish the lyrics of a love song that came from the party she had left behind. Perhaps it was destiny mocking her from afar, perhaps she just finally went mad; neither alternative was comforting. Tears pooled in her eyes, and in their path, they burned her vision away as she felt them cascade down her cheeks. A knot in her throat made her cough again as oxygen tried to reach her lungs; the cold and her crying had congested her nose, and sniffles were necessary as she tried breathing.

The song became louder, and so she realized her solitude was suddenly interrupted with the sound of footsteps that came her way. The slight hitching of her breathing could’ve been seen as unimportant, perhaps to some might’ve even gone unnoticed, but it hid the fear of her broken heart as she wondered who had just stepped into her seclusion.

She killed the cigarette on the stone of the fountain she’d taken as a seat, and as the footsteps continued on their unknown path, a brief and silent remembrance of the last couple of months appeared in her mind as a way of saying goodbye to the place she’d called home. She liked the city, even if she’d spent less than a year here; she’d hoped to stay at least half a decade, enough to enjoy it without raising suspicions. It was a moot point now. He’d taken that possibility away with his arrival.

She memorised the roughness of the stone against her skin with a caress of her fingertips, and with one last memory before a hurried farewell, she finally stood up, getting ready to leave one more life behind.

Her sentimentalism—she realised—made her forget the person that had intruded in her solitude just moments ago, and the sound of her own weight shifting over the grass that cut through a silence in which she wasn’t alone anymore, made her even more anxious.

She wanted to avoid any more contact with anyone, whatever intentions she’d had to enjoy her night as the hostess had invited her here tonight with a knowing shimmer in her eyes, had gone to hell, and to make it worse, the lack of awareness of the other person’s point in the otherwise lonely garden enhanced the lack of comfort she was experiencing.

Shaky hands rubbed her thighs in search of a distraction, looking for something to make her look natural here, standing in the middle of the night, alone under the cold light of a full moon.

She wondered if the owner of the wandering steps was looking for the same silence and solitude she’d stepped out for as they lingered somewhere behind her. That was the best option; she wouldn’t even have to acknowledge the person if that was the case, after all, she’d interrupt their peace if that was the case.

Finally, with her gaze downwards, she turned back to the party that still went on in the house, ready to make a beeline to the exit, no matter the awkwardness. One foot in front of the other and suddenly she’d crossed the distance between the fountain and the door, if only she knew where her coat had disappeared to—well, it would be such a torturous loss, she supposed.

“It’s been a while since we've been under the same full moon.” A voice she could recognise anywhere stopped her with a crack as she stepped over a discarded branch. She straightened, careful and overly conscious of her movements, not daring to look back, feeling every inch that separated them.

It turned out it was he who had followed her outside, just as she’d been the one who had followed him time and time again. The sound of fabric let her know he’d turned around, but she was still refusing to face those green eyes she could see every time she lay alone in the dark of the night.

“Leaving again?” His voice slashed the wound she’d nursed repeatedly through her lives. Pain and confusion maimed her features, but the incredulity that was born in her by his question made her turn to him.

He’d turned his gaze to the sky once again, staring at the moon. He seemed relaxed with his hands on the pockets of his dress pants; the anxiety that characterized her movements was nowhere to be found in him, and it irked her.

Suddenly, as she studied him, he turned to look at her, an unexpected sadness staring back at her. His gaze analysed her, dissected her, committing every inch of her to memory like he didn’t already know her like the back of his hand.

“Don’t go,” he whispered. Still standing where he’d been before, even when a small movement showed his hand trying to reach for her. “I’ve been looking for you—”

“How—,” she had no idea what to ask, it was always her who remembered, it was always him who fell in love over and over again.

“I had an accident a couple of years ago.” A sheepish smile appeared on his lips as if the quirkiness of his comment explained everything by itself. Still, he continued as she remained silent, unconvinced. “I don’t know what happened,” he admitted. “But suddenly, I remembered you, every version of you. I remembered us in Norway, in London, in New Orleans—All and every time we’ve met and all and every time you’ve left—”

“It’s not me who leaves,” she interrupted, her cheeks blushing in anger, disgust showing its bitter taste in her tongue as she tried to swallow the knot in her throat.

“I’ve only been one version of me. Always. Since the first time over a thousand years ago, there has never been one day in which I haven’t existed since the day we married. I’ve lived through every meeting, every infatuation, and every heartbreak when you realised you could give yourself to our forever.

This was her curse; even when ire corroded her heart, it never destroyed the love she had for him. Even now, when his plea filled her heart with anticipated heartbreak, all the plans of running far away fell apart. She hadn’t looked for him this time, but he found her still.

“Do you believe in fairy tales?” The girl who had sat in front of her in the busy coffee shop suddenly asked, resting her chin on her intertwined hands as she looked at her with a knowing interest she couldn’t give back.

“I do,” she answered.

“Would you tell me your favourite?”

She smiled with sadness in the corner of her lips but indulged her companion anyway. “Once upon a time, there was a girl who every night before going to bed wished to the stars for one thing and one thing only. To know true love, to love and be loved with an intensity that would defy death, for you see, eternal love seemed like a blessing at that moment. Sadly, you never know who will answer your prayers, and so she never knew who turned her wish into a nightmare…”