The balcony lights flickered in the middle of the night. Moon had forgotten to call the electrician to fix it; she'd been too tired to do it, too out of it and trapped in her own head for a week.

The smoke from her sixth cigarette of the day mingled with the San Francisco air, mild and perfect in the summer air. She loved summer because it didn't remind her of the horrible trauma that haunted her head like a routeless ghost in an abandoned house.

Moon heard the cars below, on the streets, honking, rumbling in the night as they were probably commuting from work to their families. And something in Moon's chest filled with envy for that, for the fact that she couldn't be like them and have a job.

And it was true that it was her own choice to be unemployed, but it was because she couldn't find anything she liked, it was because the fear that they would find her again was born every time she entered a new place.

The sliding balcony door opened, and her girlfriend emerged wearing her nightgown. As beautiful, as gorgeous as ever, and so perfect for Moon.

Moon threw her cigarette off the balcony and turned around to see her girlfriend, and the flashback ran through her head again.

"Come on, baby, run, run!" The 18-year-old Moon shouted as they both ran through the grassland and wheat field in their white robes, leaving the Cult camp behind.

Both tired, both happy, but afraid of leaving that whole world behind, with that terror of being found again, being taken away, and severely punished for the act against religion that had been planted in their brains for years.

Moon approached her girlfriend, who was shivering from the slight cold she felt since her fever had returned this year. Moon, on the other hand, was wearing her short, sleeveless shirt, revealing the scars she hated most etched into her skin.

She placed her hand tenderly on her cheek, her thumb stroking the skin of her cheekbone like a feather, delicately, as if it might break.

"The doctor told you to rest, you're so stubborn," Moon said, with that hoarse voice and that concern in her tired eyes. I hope it's just a fever, for eternity's sake. Shit.

Once again, she prayed to the Cult's ancient god as if it were a flea glued to her brain, eating every fiber until it grew fat.

Moon leaned closer, so close that the tip of her nose touched hers, and then their lips joined in a kiss that spelled out the love they felt.

Hunger filled her insides, firmly digging into her stomach all the way down, deep down where desire grew.

It was the only part she didn't operate on, because yes, she was a woman, but Moon still wanted to explore that part of herself further.

She broke away from the wet kiss and whispered, "You must sleep. Now."

And that's something that terrified her too, that axis of toxicity in some of the words her mouth often uttered, romanticizing them with love and protection.

"Do you hate me? For not having a job? You hate me, for that?" She asked, both hands on her girlfriend's cheeks, her tired eyes now wild. "Do you think I'm a failure? Go on, say it. Say you hate every part of me, tell me I'm an aberration."

Her hands tightened around her girlfriend's face, who trembled a little.

"Say I'm the worst thing you ever had, say you hate every fucking scar on my body, say it, baby." Moon pulled her back until her back hit the window of the sliding door, and her body pressed up against hers with her tall frame.

"Say it," she whispered against her forehead before placing a tender, cold kiss.

That toxicity rubbed against her core. The trauma reflected in every word and the madness in her eyes as if it were the most normal thing.

So Moon held her girlfriend like a madwoman, not meaning to hurt her; she was just a mentally damaged woman, her brain shattered and fucking unstable.