As the moon crested, the pull began again. It always starts out innocuously, but the spiral is never kind. Lately, heroin was her lover. As she tied her arm and tapped the vein, she could hear the voices start again. As a child, Luna did not realize they were voices, she had always believed they were her own thoughts. As she grew older, she began identifying personalities and characteristics. She heard men, women, children, and sometimes even animals.
Most nights were spent shaking in her bed. She attempted to suffocate the noise with pillows, or drown them with blaring music. She would wake up shivering, naked, and covered in sweat. Luna found the only way to manage was to drink, fuck, or medicate sleep. She doesn’t remember when she found the one drug that worked, and at this point, she doesn’t care. As her vein plumped, an eager, hungry smile erupted on her face. While fucking didn’t quiet the voices, it did give her the money to buy the only thing that worked.
There was a time when business suits and pumps were her priority. Coach bags were her indulgence. She had been a mother and a wife before her husband killed himself and her children were taken away. She allowed so many people to hug and tell her it was not her fault. She lied as she thanked them for prayers, flowers, and thoughts. She knew they were liars. She knew it was her. How many times had the neighbors caught her outside naked and confused? How many times had she driven with no way of knowing how she got there? After he killed himself, there was no one to hide her. Didn’t she whisper in his ear as he was holding the gun? She can’t remember, but the nightmares have her on his lap whispering that it was for the best. She saw tears streaming down his face, and heard him begging to make it stop. She knew it was a dream, and she knew she loves to lie.
The kids began showing up to school half dressed with moldy bread sandwiches. The house had overflowed with trash, utilities shut off as she forgot to pay bills, and she couldn’t remember where she was or how she got there. Everyone blamed it on the alcohol, but she knew the alcohol was what kept her in bed. Before the kids were taken away, she dreamed of slicing her arm and painting I love you on their walls. She needed them to know she did not mean to hurt them. It didn’t matter, they had turned against her too. She can’t remember if they liked her painting. It didn’t matter, she knew. They were not actually her children anyway. She never wanted them, they told her she was better off, and that makes sense.
As time wore on, the voices merged and grew in volume. Luna had given up attempting to control them. She found it easier to simply obey or run. As the numbing ecstasy spread in her body, she felt the simple release she prayed for. Silence. She laid back on concrete made of feathers. Drifting in the oblivion she desperately needed. It was a full moon tonight, and if she was not careful, she did not know what else she could take or lose…