Under a Silent Moon

Epilogue

Epilogue: I Felt Like I Could Breathe

LANA

The rhythmic tapping of my pen against my shoe fills the empty lobby. I read the words in front of me over and over, suffering from severe writer's block. Not now, I think to myself admonishingly. I have to get this done. My eyes flit to the oversized analog clock positioned above the door and curse myself for waiting this long to finish my latest assignment from Dr. Liz.

She usually isn't angry with me if I slack on an assignment, but this particular one means so much to me, I'll be angry with myself if I don't get it done. Maybe that's precisely why it's taken me so long to complete it. Subconsciously, I know that once it's done, it's over. And maybe I don't want it to be over.

The quiet creaking of a door opening disturbs my trance and I look up to see Dr. Liz's smiling face. She steps aside as a gesture for me to enter, so I gather my belongings and make my way to the purple bean bag chair in the corner of her office.

As I plop myself down, she's already prattling on about how busy her day has been and that seeing me is a welcome relief. Dr. Liz is only twenty-seven, a newlywed as well as a first-time mom. I hear about her hectic family life during almost every session, but I don't mind it one bit. Dr. Liz is one of the most genuine people I've met, and she's helped me through a lot these past six months. The least I can do is let her vent to me.

She leads her swivel chair over to our corner, talking the whole way.

"They say you never sleep during the newborn phase but they're dead wrong, let me tell you, Lana. Aubrey is going to be a year old next month, and she is nonstop."

She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath, letting it go slowly and purposefully, like she taught me at one of our first sessions. When her eyes reopen, she gives me an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Sometimes even therapists need therapy sessions."

We laugh together and I tell her it doesn't bother me at all, I like hearing about her life.

She turns her attention to the weathered notebook in my lap and h0er eyes soften like they do every week. I know what she's about to ask me before the words escape her lips.

"How are you?"

My responses are usually short and lack the detail therapists crave, but today is different than the norm, and I'm eager to share it with her.

"When I woke up this morning, I felt like I could breathe. The heaviness . . . it settles deep into my chest every night. But for some reason, this morning was different. It was like a crew of burly men snuck into my room in the middle of the night and lifted the mounds of bricks off of my body."

Dr. Liz tries not to make her note-taking seem too obvious, but I can hear her pen scribbling away furiously as I speak. Her eyes are gentle and welcoming and in that moment I know my mom couldn't have chosen a better counselor for me.

"Lana, that's wonderful to hear. What do you think sparked this sudden change?"

I shrug. "I don't know and I'm not really sure that I care, either. You know? I think this might be what peace feels like . . . whatever that means."

"Any recent nightmares?"

I shake my head happily. "Not in two weeks."

She makes a note and then clicks her pen closed. Leaning back in the squeaky swivel chair, she prompts, "I'd love to hear what you created for this week's assignment."

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks but I try my best to stifle the embarrassment. It's just Dr. Liz. I can't imagine the kinds of things she hears on a daily basis.

I flip open "Lana's Happy Journal" and find the page I have bookmarked. My eyes scan the lyrics I've scribbled haphazardly across the page. I purse my lips. "Give me one second," I tell her as I pull the journal close to me, finishing the assignment. I've grown accustomed to writing in multicolored gel pens, just like Zack and I did all those months ago. The variety of color changes the mood, sets the tone, and overall just looks pretty.

For this particular page, I stuck with using one color--purple--because my mind was spewing out thoughts so quickly I feared if I paused to change pens the words would be lost forever. I smile as I finish the last line, and inform Dr. Liz that I'm done.

"It's a rough draft, though," I warn preemptively, setting my pen down beside me. As I was finishing up, Dr. Liz removed my guitar from her closet and hands it to me now. I sit cross-legged on the bean bag chair, my weight squishing the beans as I adjust my posture. With the lyrics splayed out in front of me, I begin to strum a soft, melodic tune.

Dr. Liz relaxes in her chair, and for a moment I'm taken back to my bedroom, sitting next to Zack, heart fluttering as I play an original song for him. Dr. Liz certainly isn't Zack, but her expression is just as eager.

The faces we see are the masks that they wear

They laugh and they listen but they aren't really there

I couldn't imagine what they see through their eyes

It's hard to imagine the truth in those lies

But you were like me, and we saw the truth

You told me we should always savor our youth

You showed me the good and scared away the bad

And I'll be forever grateful for the time that we had

-THE END-

If you or someone you know is struggling, please visit the following websites for help

National Suicide Prevention: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Mental Health Resource: https://www.mentalhealthfirstaid.org/mental-health-resources/

Substance Abuse Resource: https://www.drugabuse.gov/

Sexual Assault Resource: https://www.rainn.org/

If you've read Under a Silent Moon in its entirety, first of all, thank you very much. This story has lived in my head for years, and I'm ecstatic that I'm able to share it with such wonderful readers. If you liked this novel, please leave me a comment. I would love to hear from you. 

All my love, Steph