Content warning: SH/Bad Thoughts. Luna has some very dark thoughts and actions in this chapter that may be disturbing for some viewers.

The next morning, the house was a flurry of activity. Matt and I worked on tiding up the house before Kris' arrival while Dylan rushed around getting ready for school. 

I'd gotten Tracy to give me the day off. She'd been initially hesitant to give me a Saturday morning shift off, as that was both one of our busiest days and the day of the week we had most callouts. Once I told her of Kris' homecoming, she'd been sympathetic enough to give me the day off.

I started the day by cleaning the pig sty that was my room, before moving to the kitchen to wash dishes. In the living room, the wail of our thrift store vacuum alerted me to Matt cleaning the carpet rather animatedly. He'd even dusted the ancient ceiling fan. The lazily turning fan rewarded him by spawning multiple elusive dust bunnies which skittered along the worn carpet, fleeing the vacuum cleaner. 

There was a feeling of nervous excitement permeating the air. We had all missed Kris dearly. Even though we visited her often in the hospital, it was unusual not having her in the house.

As the morning droned on, Matt and I moved through the house like a cyclone of cleanliness, waging a two-person genocide on the dust and dirt that had accumulated for far too long. We took special care to re-arrange some of Kris' clutter in her bedroom to be easier for her to maneuver on crutches. A labor of love that was needed, but would likely get our asses chewed by Kris nonetheless. 

Soon, Matt left for the hospital and I busied myself with a little bit of self care. Various chemicals were encrusted in my sweater, my sleeves cold and wet from splashing myself whilst doing dishes. As I wandered into the bathroom, I noticed my brunette waves had splatters of Meteorite Cleanser stuck in it, no doubt I reeked of artificial lemon and sweat.

After a brief skirmish with the broken drawer,  I was able to wrestle free a change of clothes from my dresser. The crumpled black dress Taylor had bought mocked me from the back of my drawer, making me slam it shut and turn on my heel.

I set my phone down on the bathroom counter, blasting some emo anthem about shutting a door or something. It matched my mood, morbid yet upbeat.

As I stripped, I turned back and forth in the mirror. Scars lined up in neat little rows covered most of my body, usually hidden by formless sweaters and jeans. A small smile crossed my lips when I noticed some of them had faded from an angry, puckered pink, starting to blend in with my pale complexion. A few new stretch marks had cropped up on my belly and the underside of my breasts. I had put on weight, but it didn't bother me as much as it used to.  

I climbed into the shower and let the warm water embrace me, rolling over my body and melting some of my cares away.  

After I finished cleaning myself, I toweled off and got dressed. I struggled to button my jeans, doing a kind of impromptu jig trying to get the stubborn denim to climb over my widening hips. With a final triumphant jump I managed to wiggle into the pants.

Having succeeded in my great battle, I tossed my dirty clothes into my broken hamper and climbed onto my bed, dragging my laptop across the mountain of blankets and pillows. I hopped on the internet and started looking to see if any new job postings had cropped up. 

As I filled out another application, I felt my phone vibrate against my leg. Opening my messages, I noticed a one-word text from Taylor.

'Hey.'

'Hey!? HEY!? She drops off the face of the earth for nearly two weeks, running away and ignoring my texts and all she can think to say is HEY!?' I would be lying if I said it didn't make a wave of giddy nerves swirl in my belly. I remembered what Kayce had told me about her and Kayce's history. I couldn't tell if it was a good sign that Taylor messaged me or not, so I shoved my phone under my leg and shook my head. No, I would let HER stare at the phone screen and wait for a message from me! 

I put my fingers to my laptop's keys and tried to focus my frustratingly short attention span on the application before me. After several moments of staring blankly at the screen I growled in frustration. 

Damn my poor impulse control.

I picked up the cursed little device, looking at the single word that mocked me with it's simplicity. Deciding to fight fire with fire, I simply texted her one word back.

'Hey.'

I pushed my laptop away and flopped back into the multitude of plushies that surrounded the head of my bed. My mind, ever so helpful, decided to remind me of when Taylor had sat so close to me. The night everything went wrong, sending me into a spiral of bullshit I was just now recovering from.

Looking at the water-damaged ceiling, I tried to ignore the pang of guilt that yet again, I was caring entirely too much about Taylor talking to me. Kris was coming home today, I should be working on putting finishing touches on the house, but I didn't want to. The selfish part of me wanted to stare at my phone endlessly until I got a message back. That sounded a lot more interesting then taking out the trash.

Grumbling, I left the comfortable warmth of my bed and made my way to the trash can. As much as I wanted to sit and wait around for Taylor to decide I was worth talking to, I would not let my personal issues take me away from making today a good day. Everything I accomplished was one thing that Kris didn't have to fuss about. 

While walking out to the chain-link gate to throw away the smelly bag of trash at the road, I could see a flash of Matt's blue and white Chevy through the trees. I smiled and waved to them as they turned down the beaten dirt path that functioned as our driveway.

As Matt brought the truck to a stop in front of the chain link gate, I ran over to help Kris with her things. She fussed at me. "Luna! I'm not an invalid, I can get out of the truck myself!" She still had a large bandage over the stitches on her forehead, her messy baby hairs sticking out every which way around the foreign object on her skull. She swung her hips over the faded blue interior and managed to wiggle out of the cab and onto her good leg. She winced as her undoubtedly sore muscles struggled to keep her upright. I grabbed her crutches from the bed of the pickup and offered them to her while Matt fiddled with the gate.

I could tell she was annoyed by all the attention; Kristina Wooding was known for her fierce independence and she did not take kindly to people doting on her. Even when she was sick she preferred to putter around the house with a cup of tea rather than be, as she put it, 'coddled'.

The three of us made the daunting journey up the stairs, I led the way, holding open the porch door, the aging hinges squeaking in protest. As Kris navigated the steps with her crutches, Matt stood a step behind her, ready to catch her if she fell.

Slowly, we made it inside. Kris hobbled over to the faded blue couch and carefully lowered herself down, putting her crutches in the makeshift metal umbrella holder we hid between a couch and the wall. It was originally a Christmas popcorn tin, but we had put gravel from the driveway to hold umbrellas and now crutches.

I sat across from her in an aging recliner, covered in peeling fake leather. It may have been an ugly chair, but it was extremely comfortable. Kris gave us a dark look as Matt took the opportunity to bring her a pillow and a fluffy blanket. "Thank you. Now, will you two please quit hovering over me?"

Matt held up his hands to placate her, scurrying into the kitchen. Hearing the telltale groan of our cabinet door, I assumed he was grabbing a glass of water.

Kris waved a hand at Matt aggravatedly as he brought her the drink. "Dammit Matt, if you get any more up my ass you'll be a butt plug! Fuck off!" 

I snorted. "It's not like you can chase him off, Kris."

Kris pulled out a crutch and waved it in my direction. "No, but my eyes work well enough to aim with this thing." Her eyes blazed with annoyance. She may have been injured, but even with only one good leg she was a force to be reckoned with.

I couldn't help snickering at her predicament, but knowing I was within striking range I didn't argue with her. As she settled in, she glanced around for the TV remote and groaned when she noticed it was on top of the entertainment center. It was too far away for her to knock it off with her current weapon of choice and even if she managed to get it down, it would likely fall back behind the tv and she'd have to have help to rescue it.

She processed her current situation for a moment before looking at me in defeat. "Luna, would you hand me the remote?" I stood, reaching over the console to retrieve the little box. I carefully approached, making sure I was still out of range of any flying crutches. Holding the remote over my head, a smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. "Now what's the magic word?"

Her face screwed up in annoyance, fire dancing behind her chocolate eyes. "Give me the remote before I throw something at you?" When I held the remote up higher, she glared at me and ground out 'please' under her breath.

Mockingly, I cooed at her. "Very good! Here you go." I narrowly dodged a well-timed lunge from the ginger woman, her missing me by inches. I tossed the remote next to her on the couch and backed out of her reach. 

Kris turned on the tv and scrolled through the channels, crossing her good leg over the injured one. I settled into the chair, pulling out my phone and checking my messages. Still nothing from Taylor. 

After the events of yesterday, I wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

My phone started vibrating in my hand, making me flinch. When I glanced down at the caller ID, I saw it was from BurgerByte. I groaned audibly, catching both Kris and Matt's attention. 

"Who is it?" Matt raised an eyebrow at my pained reaction.

"It's Tracy. If she's calling me at this hour it means somebody must have called out and she's trying to see if I can come in." I didn't want to interrupt my time with Kris and Matt, it was so rare anymore for us to be able to spend any time together with our differing schedules. Besides, we were about to be deeply entrenched in some trashy reality television about sibling celebrities. 

Matt looked sympathetic. "Are you gonna go in? I hate to say it, but we could really use the money."

The guilt flashed across Kris' face briefly, but she offered me a soft smile. "It's not like I'm going anywhere any time soon, we can always watch some more Sibling Rivalry once you get home."

It could just be my anxiety talking, but it didn't feel like I was being offered much of a choice. Maybe it was selfish, but I didn't want to deal with work. Long lines and difficult coworkers this early into my day off sounded grueling. Still, with Kris being out of work, I could really use any extra hours I could get.

Sighing, I picked up on the last ring. "Hello?"

"Hey Luna, it's Tracy. I was calling to see if I could get you to come in today. I've had a few callouts and I need some coverage until 3 when the rest of the team gets here."

I winced. We'd probably be running on a skeleton crew, which meant lots of bitchy customers and a healthy dose of stress. Against my better judgement, I dredged my customer service persona up from the depths of my subconscious. "Sure, Tracy. I'd love to help. I can be there in an hour."

"Please hurry, I have to prep lunch for this afternoon and we're already slammed." Tracy hung up the phone before I could reply and I wordlessly made my way to my room to change into my uniform.

---

I REALLY should have stayed home.

I scrambled to the drink station to pump out more drinks, Tracy screeching orders from the headset. I had expected to walk into work to find a lackluster skeleton crew. What I'd come into was a panicked Tracy running from station to station while a line grew in both the lobby and the drive-thru. 

As Tracy explained it to me, out of the five people scheduled to work this morning, only Tracy and Marie, one of our new cashiers, had shown up to open the store. They had been able to handle the first wave of the breakfast rush but as the second and third waves had come through, the teenage cashier had tossed her apron down and stormed out just minutes before I arrived. 

I was full on sprinting from one station to another, making drinks, taking orders, making food. It was all a blur, I worked like a woman possessed, frantically assembling orders. More then a few sandwiches were dropped and amongst the chaos we had more then a few wrong orders.

 Minutes crawled by like hours as the rush crashed into us, a typhoon of humans clamoring for sustenance. A particularly unpleasant elderly woman screamed in the drive thru while I was making her drink, her wrinkled face contorted in fury. She watched me from the window impatiently, shouting directions to me that were impossible to do in such a busy time. Three times I had to remake her drink before she sped away, nearly taking out the car ahead of her that was waiting for fries. 

The stress was tightly coiled in the bottom of my stomach, waves of anxiety radiating from me. The heat of the kitchen seemed to suffocate me while I rushed back and forth trying to meet demands. I felt nausea in the back of my throat and I focused on trying to breathe through it, lest the next surly customer get a face-full of vomit. 

I poured a decaf coffee from a carafe into a cup and hissed as the hot liquid overshot the cup and spilled over my hand. The burning pain made dark parts of my psyche come to life and whisper disturbing ideas in the back of my mind. 

A sick part of my brain reveled in the pain. I resisted the intrusive thought telling me to submerge my entire hand. My heartbeat hammered in my ears and I stared at my reflection in the dark liquid for a moment. The throb of my injury cut through my cluttered thoughts, making things seem more manageable. 

That's the deceptive thing about self-harm; it makes everything go away for a moment, makes things manageable. But the instant the pain fades, it all comes crashing down again.

I blinked and the feeling was gone, looking down to my hand I saw that it was only a mild burn, the irritated red of the affected area would likely be back to normal by the time my shift was done. I shook my head, trying to shoo away the sick thoughts swirling in the back of my skull.

I tossed the overflowing cup away and made a new one for the customer. Handing it to the middle aged woman behind the counter, she gave me a look of concern before turning and walking out of the lobby. 

As I went to turn around to walk back to the sandwich station, a flash of blue caught my eye. Upon further inspection, I could just barely see the silhouette of a girl walking away from me. My heart leapt in my throat for a moment before it dawned on me that the person's hair was straight, not Taylor's tuft of aqua curls, and the departing woman was much too skinny to be Taylor.

I had no time to process my conflicting feelings; Tracy bellowed from the drive thru for me to prep a few burgers. I lost myself in the motions of the sandwich station, trying to ignore the persistent throbbing of my hand.

It was 2 hours before the rush died down. The kitchen area looked as if a hurricane had come through, with various crumbs of forgotten food items and the odd drink lid strewn about. Now that things were a bit more tame, I focused my efforts on tidying counters and sweeping floors. 

Tracy looked as haggard as I felt, hair sticking out of her hairnet in every direction, sweat staining her creased brow. She leaned against a counter for a moment, trying to regain her composure. 

The calm, quiet lull of the restaurant was a sharp contrast to the chaos of the morning and I was having a hard time composing myself, lost in my thoughts, it wasn't until Tracy cleared her throat that I realized I'd cleaned the same counter 4 times. Shaking my head, I plastered my well-practiced fake smile on and faced the shorter woman.

Her emerald eyes fixated on me for a moment and she gave me an exhausted smile. "Hey, Luna, why don't you take a 15, you look a little shell shocked."

I nodded numbly, Tossing my cap and apron haphazardly on the counter and brushing past Tracy through the employee's only door, making a beeline to the bathroom. 

As the stall door slammed close behind me I sunk to the floor, breathing hard and trying not to hyperventilate. The numb feeling had ebbed away as soon as I was alone and waves of panic crashed into me.

Tears streamed down my face in a torrent, releasing the frustration of the last 2 hours. I curled further into myself, trying to quiet the ugly sobs that radiated from my chest. As soon as I wiped the tears away, new ones were making their way down my cheeks. 

I hated this, I hated the entitled customers, the loud noises, the stale scent of used grease. I hated all of it and wished I was anywhere else. I felt like the pristine black and white tile of the bathroom would swallow me whole, the acrid aroma of bleach suffocating me. My chest threatened to explode, my heart painfully crashing against my ribs. 

I slammed my fist against the wall in frustration, wishing this horrible feeling away. The irritated pink skin of my hand flared with pain as the sensitive flesh made contact with the cool tiles. A flicker of clarity in the whirlwind of emotion. I had to stop myself from tearing at my skin with my nails for more relief. 

I wanted to. I wanted to take a boxcutter from Tracy's office and fillet myself from chest to hip. I wanted to see my blood stain this nauseatingly pristine bathroom. I craved it, rolling up my sleeve, the puffy scars on my inner arm staring up at me, begging me to break them open.

Trembling, I traced the raised, gnarled skin. It was a patchwork of pink and white lines stacked in neat little rows. I noticed how so many of them had faded from an angry, inflamed red to a pale peach, nearly matching my skin tone. How easy it would be to add more marks..

NO!

I had just started getting better. For the first time in a long time, I hadn't felt the itch of unhealed wounds tugging at my clothes. For the first time, I didn't have to worry about my clothes accidentally revealing the cruelty inflicted on myself.

I tugged my sleeves back to rest on my wrist and slammed my skull into the wall in frustration. My skin itched unbearably, that dark part of my mind screaming at me to take the opportunity to ease the stress. I hated myself for wanting to be better. 

I wanted to slide back into my comfortable little rut. Where things were easier to deal with. Where I didn't have to worry about work or school or bettering myself. I wanted to slide back under my comforter for days and cry until my throat would make no more sound. 

I wanted to scream and cry and throw myself into oblivion, but I didn't have the time. My phone showed the time as 2:45pm. My break was nearly over and I needed to make myself presentable, the next shift would be arriving soon and I needed to make sure the kitchen was tidied and the dishes were done before I could escape this hellhole. 

I dragged myself up onto my aching feet and approached the mirror, looking at my reflection. The woman before me was a wreck. My dark hair was disheveled, my ponytail had random locks of hair sticking out, frizz making an auburn halo under my hairnet. My hazel eyes were puffy, fresh tears leaking from the corners. I took one of the paper towels from the dispenser, wetting it with cold water and dabbing my face. It felt like wet sandpaper scraping against my skin, but it soothed some of the redness spread across my cheeks and nose. 

I straightened my ponytail with my wet hands, trying to smooth some of the fuzz caused by the shitty mesh hairnet we were required to wear.  

I stepped back and examined myself in the mirror. I still looked like a mess, but it was less obvious that I'd been sobbing my eyes out only moments earlier. I steadied my breathing, shuddering gasps replacing my sobs. I let a few deep breaths out, my glassy eyes still threatened to let the occasional tear fall and I fanned my face to try and stop them.

Composing myself the best I could, I wandered back to the kitchen area, where Tracy was bent down, chasing a runaway tater tot. After retrieving the petulant potato, she turned to me, analyzing my features and offering me a gentle pat on the shoulder. I had to refrain from flinching away at the touch, the adrenaline still coursing through my system.

Tracy gave me a sympathetic look but she didn't comment on my haggard appearance. Her expression gave me the impression that she'd had a few bathroom meltdowns herself. "Why don't you go work on dishes until the others get here. I'll take care of your chores so all you have to do is clock out once the Calvary arrives."

I nodded. "Thanks, Tracy." The words were thick in my throat, my vocal cords strained from crying so hard.

I shuffled back to the sink to the mountain of dishes, pulling out my phone and sending a text to Matt to come get me. I set the device down on the counter near me, pulling out a stainless steel bowl coated in stuck-on sauce. 

I fell into a rhythm of washing dishes, autopilot taking over as I tried to recover from my breakdown.