I SAW THE MOON TONIGHT
I LOVE HER SCARS
BOY, DO I LOVE HER CRATERS//
♪

01: moongirl

I NEED A BREAK.

The skylight directly above his bed tells Mamés the world is barely awake. It feels warm and slow in his bedroom. While the air is heavy and sticky with yesterday's memories and today's regret.

I need a break.

When did he start waking up to thoughts like these? When did 'today is going to be a good day' turn into 'I need a break'? It feels like it has always been there, hanging in the crevices of his skull like an invisible spider web. Fragile but yet durable. Today, it has finally shaken loose. The realisation that he is tired. It's not physical: it was more than an exertion of muscle fibres. It was more than pulling the forty-three muscles in his face to form a smile. It was more than that.

Looking back maybe it was when he picked up his guitar, but he ached too much to play. It was a deep ache, down in the sheath of his tendons. His fingers are peppered with cuts and scrapes from countless hours in the kitchen. It hurt like a bitch when he picked a string.

Maybe it was when he got called by Lulu's workplace to take her home because she got into another alteration. Like he was the parent and she was the kid and not vice versa.

Maybe it is right this second as Lulu, his mother, pounds on his door.

"Mamés?" she's shouting like the walls weren't paper thin. "Are you still asleep? Wake up. I need your help."

I need a break, he thinks. I need a fucking break.

The Beatles wallpaper on his ceiling is peeling, much like the walls of his stomach and the wall of his patience. He blinks lethargically, gathering up the strength to roll out of bed.

But he's still so tired. Last night's events trickle slowly in his head. Not only was he up late last night sewing the last pieces on Lulu's dress for her audition today. He was also plagued with worry over his fight with Mel.

Blood soars to his head at the thought of his best friend. His gut is burning. He needs to make things right, anything to stop her from being angry with him. His brain tries to reassure him: the fight— it was small and trivial, nothing to get so worked up about. But he's so desperate he can taste it, the swelling nebula of regret, on his tongue. It tastes like sour pennies and pain.

His brain speaks again: it's your tongue, you idiot. You're biting your tongue! But Mamés doesn't trust his thoughts this early in the morning.

Lulu hits the door once more, startling him and his journal slips from the bed. Loose leaves of paper spill out to the ground. And that's what finally makes him get up. It isn't just paper, they were pages and pages of lyrics. Pieces and pieces of his cells, his insides, strewn on the floor. He could hardly leave them lying on the ground a second longer. So he picks them up delicately. One after the other arranging it back where it was meant to be. Inside the thick leather journal, Jun got for him on his twelfth birthday. And it's only after he is done that, that he opens the door.

Lulu, whose hand was poised to knock again, falls in. All dark limbs and wild hair, she's a blubbering mess. She blinks at him before pressing her face into his shirt. "I can't find my ticket," the words spill from her mouth quickly, dampened with tears and sniffles. "I looked everywhere. How am I supposed to even go to my audition without my ticket?"

Mamés feels all his irritation melt at the sight of his mother's tear-stained face. It's a wonder how he can still get affected by this considering how much he has seen it—both the real and the fake. But he still feels the familiar ache in his gut caused by watching his mother cry.

"Hey, hey calm down." His voice is mellow, like the soft twinge of his guitar when he is warming up. He can feel the tension in her shoulders softening at his practised sound. "There is no need to cry, I'll find it for you right this second, okay?" She nods and sniffs. "Good, no more crying."

She nods again, and Mamés leads her to the bed. "Okay, now try and remember where you last saw it. Since you're looking for it, that means you didn't keep it in the drawer where everything important goes, right?" He continues when she nods again, misty-eyed. "So that only leaves," he sighs in resignation, "everywhere else."

Lulu has the grace to look ashamed, after all, she did promise him eight hours of peace and quiet. But when he exits his room, the wall clock tells him it's: 6:37.

Which means he hadn't even gotten four hours' worth of sleep. Another deep sigh builds in his chest. He wonders when he started complaining less and sighing more.

Do the dishes, Mamés. I know it's my turn but I have a thing. Sigh.

I'm sorry, you got called out of school because of me, but I swear she started it. Sigh.

Lend me a fiver. Sigh.

Mamés sighs again as he takes in the mess, that is his house. It's not a mess, to be honest. The morning sun bathes the room with a warm glow. Allowing his eyes to pick up all the dirt that he wouldn't have normally noticed. Lulu's clothes are hiding away again, this time nestled between their orange couch cushions. Two empty beer cans are sitting on top of the tv like an antenna. He picks up a broom by the corner, knowing fully well that it's Lulu's turn this week. He reasons that he would never be able to find what she's looking for underneath all this mess. So he might as well clean up.

But suddenly he gets a weird feeling in his stomach when he spots Lulu dry-eyed, laughing over the phone. It disappears as quickly as it comes when she meets his eyes and sends him a beautiful heartwarming smile.

Mamés shakes his head and goes back to sweeping.

◒

Lulu is what society labelled as an airhead. And it isn't so far from the truth. She had Mamés at sixteen. Ran away from home when her boyfriend—his dad—didn't want anything to do with her or her baby.

It was spontaneous. It was stupid. It was Lulu. She never thinks things through, sometimes she doesn't even think. She is always doing, though. And he is running after to keep her from doing too much.

Mamés finds the ticket, only when he's cleaned every inch of the house. His shoulders are aching, his hands reek of disinfectant but Lulu is ecstatic. "Thanks, baby," She beams at him through her vanity, before going back to the daunting task of laying her edges. "I may be gone for a while. Do you think you can make me something for the road?"

He shakes his head. Now that one matter has been dealt with, he needs to tackle another and that's Mel. If he is going to see her, he is going to need a peace offering. Even if that meant going to the other side of town to get the yoghurt she likes. "I'm going over to Duncans' to pick something up before heading to Mel's." He yawns into his hand. "I have to go now."

"Aw, come on. It will only take a second."

He doesn't give in. "No can do."

Lulu pouts. "I can't believe you are going to make me starve. Who's more important your, best friend or your mama?"

"Mel," he wants to say just to spite her but Mamés can see she was in one of her moods.  He knows from experience it's better to cave. "Take the sandwich in the fridge. I was going to take it later but you can have it." He compromises. "Don't forget to take out the pickles."

Lulu claps him on the shoulder, giving him a small squeeze, "Thanks, sweetie. Say hi, to Mel for me." She waves as he opens the door.

Mamés puts on his shoes, "Don't forget to take the pickles out, Lulu, you're allergic."

Right before the door shuts close behind him, he hears her mumble in annoyance. "You don't have to talk to me like a child, jeez."

Aren't you?

The walk to Duncan's Bite is nice. A gentle zephyr nips his cheeks as he walks downhill. Rochford is stirring from its slumber; doors opening and closing, children on the lawn. Their hands and feet are wet from sprinklers, laundry being aired. Beaconed by the syrup sun and the morning wind.

Mamés usually rides his bike but it isn't due out of the shop until Tuesday, so he takes his time. Because he is going to leave it all behind someday: Rochford, Lulu, Mel—everyone. Rochford is a cage dressed in velvet drapes, a technicolour of yellow, orange and purple. The lure of simple and safe is deliriously comforting but he is determined to leave. Leave it all for his dreams—for his music that is too big for this tiny town and his tiny heart.

Mel makes fun of him for it. Somehow even though they are both musicians, Mel doesn't get that feeling in her. The one he gets when he stares at the sky too long, eats his food, drinks water, showers, breathes. It's always there, the sensation of the earth disappearing from under his feet. The tightness suddenly appears but at the same time, it isn't sudden because it has always been there. And Mamés is reaching for his guitar, his notebook, his pen—anything so he could breathe, so his music could breathe. So even though he is free-falling, he doesn't crash.

Mamés remembers he forgot to put on his contacts, again, when he can't see what the sign says on the door. Even though it's just a few metres away. Open or closed? He squints. The word looks longer, so maybe it's closed.

He quickens his steps and the words come to focus: Closed. As he predicted. It doesn't matter really, Duncan would never turn him away.

When he walks in, the diner is dark and quiet, two things that he would never associate with this place. The back of his neck tickles and it feels like someone is watching him. But the darkness hardly improves his vision. The blinds, he notices, are drawn shut. It's also something he's never seen. Huh. Maybe the place is really closed, leave it to Duncan to leave his shop open and empty. Everyone takes Rochford as some big joke. Guess there's no real need for security when everyone's cramped into each other's pockets.

Last year, when James Parker tried to break into Mrs Courtney's shed. He was spotted by her neighbour, Larry before he could even get his tools out from his bag.

Mamés is about to leave when he finally notices the silhouettes underneath the lone lit bulb at the door of the back room. He creeps closer. A guy and a girl. He blinks. It's no surprise that he didn't notice them before. The only real reason he even noticed them now was because of the noise he heard, what sounded like a whimper.

He makes a beeline in their direction before he even realizes what he is doing. Lulu always drilled it into him to mind his business, even Mel's constantly telling him so. But Mamés still has a hard time saying no or looking the other way.

It's too late now. He is close enough that he can see their faces. The guy is wearing a sneer and his hand is clamped down hard on the girl's bicep.

His stomach dips, this is why he should mind his business. He can hear the tail-end of their conversation and it sounds like a lovers' spat gone wrong.

"—I said leave me alone, Fred. We aren't together anymore. Fred! Get your hands off me, you're hurting me."

"Shut the fuck up, Cam." The boy hisses and he raises his hand to strike her.

Mamés doesn't think twice before he moves in between them, stopping the onslaught. The boy, Fred, topples backwards, even though Mamés hardly even touched him. Irritation wells up in him. Because at the end of the day, he is still the tall, black guy, with broad shoulders and a barrel of a chest. Even though in reality he is just cotton ball soft.

"What the fuck man?" Fred stops himself from falling, using a table for support. "You're supposed to catch my hand, not mow me down. Fuck! This is why I said I don't want to work with amateurs, this isn't some–" he hasn't still looked up at Mamés but when he does, he freezes. His glare morphs into confusion. "Who the fuck are you? Where's Charlie?"

Mamés ignores him and turns towards the girl behind him. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

The girl in question is not impressed. She pulls out a piece of chewing gum, unwraps it and throws it inside her mouth before stepping out of his hold. Fixating him with bored eyes. "Do you mind? We are trying to make a movie here?"

"Huh?"

Fred stands, snagging the sleeve of Mamés shirt and pulling him towards him. "Are you blind or something? There was clearly a sign that said do not fucking enter."

"Give him a break, Chris." The girl says, chewing her gum noisily. "Isn't he just precious trying to come to my rescue like that? I'm swooning right now, not to mention he's gorgeous. God, look at those eyes."

Fred or Chris or whatever his name is, opens his mouth to say something but a voice from behind him beats him to the punch. "CUT!"

"Fuck, we're screwed," the girl mutters, softly. The lights turn on and Mamés closes his eyes, partly so he doesn't go blind, but mostly because he is kicking himself. A movie? This is why you mind your fucking business, Mamés. So you don't walk into the middle of a movie filming.

"What on earth is going on here?" the same voice behind him, demands. The voice is closer and distinctly feminine. He peeks at them, and seeing the looks on Chris's and the bubblegum girl's faces makes him apprehensive. "I leave for a quick piss and you guys are doing anything you like."

"You should ask Mr Prince Charming here." Chris whirls him around so he is facing the other direction. Mamés still refuses to open his eyes. He can feel not just one but several eyes looking at him. And his embarrassment is a living breathing thing that wants to swallow him whole. He's just lucky his skin is dark enough to hide the heat flooding his face.

Thanks, melanin.

He is perfectly content in keeping his eyes shut for as long as possible. But the plan flies out of the window when fingers snap at his face, so close it bumps into his nose. His eyes fly open and he comes first to face with amber eyes.

He blinks, she's close. So close. If he wasn't too busy taking her in, he would be pleased by the 'deer stuck in front of headlights' expression on her face.

She is lovely: satin, pearly skin graced with a dust of freckles. Dewy eyelids, cherry petal lips and midnight hair cascading down her shoulders. 

There's a pink scar on her face. It starts from the top of her forehead on the right and trails the perimeter of her face down to her right ear where it disappears hidden by her hair. For some reason, he wants to see how far it went, he wants to trace the hypertrophic with his fingers. And perhaps play his guitar and get rid of the tidal wave in his chest with a symphony. She is talking. Mamés can see her lips moving, but the sound escapes him. God, she's so pretty. At the back of his mind, words are being strewn into lyrics, a melody is forming.

Something about scars, something about craters.

He interrupts her finally, talking over her because he has a question and he is an idiot, "What's your name?"

Her mouth opens, amber eyes shining and widening. Somehow he knows she isn't ready to indulge his small request. But that's okay because the answer comes nonetheless. Not from her but from the bubble gum-chewing girl.

Bubblegum girl throws her arms around the girl, kisses her cheek and says, "This is Ana Wang, our moon girl."

author's note:
i didn't know i was a perfectionist until i rewrote this chapter a million times and still managed to be unsatisfied. but i'm still so excited, let me know what you think.
thanks for reading.