In the midst of so much chaos, you are a wounded woman and you are fully aware of it, but maybe
you don't have full control over people and their worldview. Maybe meeting other people, changing
the lifestyle, it didn't matter. It did not work, and all you want to do it's simply destroy yourself every
single night. You’re not brave enough to end this with your own hands, scream it for somebody, tell it
to anyone, you need to leave it in secret, just you and whatever who is watching all your pain through
the skies, God maybe.
It was another ordinary day, still with that feeling of disappointment with herself there beating along
with her heartbeats. You felt bad, that you didn't fit in the world, no matter the argument against it. It
lasted for days, months, years. The routine was the same: to be depressing.
You never looked for someone to really diagnose it, because you know what you want, and it's not
medicine, a report or therapy, you just need a person and a drug stronger than any medicine: love.
The feeling doesn't hallucinate you, it doesn't transport you to another dimension or make you "good"
for the next morning, but it's enough to slow down your racing heartbeats, your red eyes, the
uncontrolled rage and revolt for all your life trajectory, that you call insignificant and worthless every
morning, but even so you wake up, put on your best shoes and pants and go out for another day of life.
But let's talk about one specific night; tonight. You blinked compulsively, trying to keep those tears
from sliding down your cheeks, which were red with anger. It was another blow of fate that took you
away from the dream of full joy and happiness. Nothing mattered, but still, you felt responsible for it.
What was it? You don't even remember because the feeling was bigger than your reality at the
moment, but for sure it was something unimaginable. It was seven o'clock at night when you leaned
against the edge of one of the windowsills of your house, sliding dramatically until you were curled
up between your knees, crying silently, jamming your nails under the jeans that covered your knee,
your skin burned, but it didn't matter, you just wanted to run away from that feeling and thought that
only your pain could help. And then you realized what you really needed, he had a first and last name,
more than one actually, but this is just a minor detail, he was Marc Spector, a knight of the night, the
Moon Knight.
By far he was your first love, and then your first hero, but still you were afraid. What price would you
pay if he knew everything? Of every crisis, every feeling, every thought that might leave him
incredulous, frightened, panicked and afraid, driving him away, and maybe making him run away. "Of
course he wouldn't feel the same way anymore, ever." You thought, each time you hesitated to tell
him about the burden you carry, the melancholy and the past.
For both of you, more details were not necessary when you met; but in your love there was a promise,
which was: not to let evil beset the other. It seemed more like an oath of love, made by the light of the
full moon under the terrace of an abandoned building, when he warmed her pale and cold skin after
seeing him in one of his battles, after seeing him in danger. This may be an adventure for another day,
but for the first time that night you admitted to yourself that you would be floored if anything
happened to him that night, that without him you would be alone, and that he was the only one who
could accompany you in the daydreams of your simple and complicated life, which reminds you of
something he had said that night: "Everyone's life down there is so complicated? Just like ours can be.
You don't have to hide anything from me, I promise you that." Such a beautiful flashback, stored in
your memory forever.
Burning with rage, you try to forget your troubles in the shower, soaking yourself from head to toe in
the cold water.
What you felt had no explanation, and it was better not to have one, or better not to have anyone to
ask. So that's how you thought the night would end, with no one to be there with you. After the
shower you decide not to eat, you prefer to turn off all the lights, turn on the radio and listen to that
CD you had from high school with some tracks from The Who, Scorpions, Extreme and A-ha, that's
how you would choose to get through that waning moon night. Curled up in bed you cry silently,
holding onto the sheets because you knew it wouldn't look good to punch your pillows and break
some things. A few sobs escaped, and your face became more and more red.
You didn't hear the tune of music as loud as before, and maybe you were falling asleep. Not enough to
hear a noise coming from your window, which was just with the curtains closed. Backwards to the
window, you'd rather not move, and accept that if it weren't for Marc that it was someone interesting.
If it wasn't for Marc, you'd want to hurt him, want to make him feel your pain, hurt him. You can't
hurt him, you can't, because your love is deep and unconditional, and the exchange of feelings
between you was exceptional.
Without moving you hold the crying, the sadness, all in your throat, while he slowly recovered from
the night he had just spent, alive. From afar, he watched you, without even suspecting that you would
be awake, or that you would be so upset. His eyes shone when he saw you, and followed your body in
the symphony of your lungs that rose and fell quickly according to your breathing, making you arouse
his curiosity, suspicious of what was really going on. Without making a sound, he slowly approaches
you, sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching around your waist and up your arm, causing a shiver to
run down your spine. Then he pushes your hair back, letting your neck showing and giving him a
better view of your face.
You close your eyes tightly, as if he wouldn't notice:
"But? Are you awake? Why?"
Without answering he gets up and goes to the other side of the bed, kneeling on the floor to see your
face in a wider view.
You open your eyes slowly and let the tears just flow down because he is there, watching you
crumble. He is unable to say a word, his hand resting on your face, trying to wipe away the tears that
gave you such a sad expression.
"No, no, no," he whispers, hugging you as he climbs into bed to lie beside you.
"I should have told you, I don't like it, I feel this way, and I don't know how to explain it to you, I'm
sorry, I-"
There was nothing to be said, he envelops you in a silent embrace. "I maybe should have noticed, I
don't know, but you not telling, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. Look at me."
He moves a few inches away to see your face, puts your hair behind your ears and says:
"We promised, and you don't have to hide what you feel. Not for me, but what you feel, and I will take
care of you. Always."
He seals the promise with a kiss on the top of your head, making you breathe deeply. The shortness of
breath is persistent, not disappearing, but diminishing with each moment. For a moment, there was no
pain to be shed, no anger to be spread, for now you were back at your fullest peace, which you didn't
know you had to have, nor even knew you could.
Lying on his chest, you could hear Marc's heart beating like a drum, and you could see that his arms
were not able to let go of you for anything, but were willing to adapt to any movement you made,
causing you to slowly stand up, slowly leaning under his body, Your fingers slid down his face,
circling his hair in small circles, and then you were holding him as tightly as he was holding you, and
you were both snuggling, warm under the heat of their bodies. You were never more sure of doing that
now. The exchange of caresses sent shivers down your spine, your heart raced but for a feeling and a
desire so good, that for an instant you forgot all the evil that surrounds you, the people, the hurt,
everything.
All this because you were safe, in his arms.
Even with moist eyes, swollen face, he admired every detail of your body, as if it was always the first
time he touched you, and you felt the same. But that night was special, and peculiar, you felt the
intensity of every look, every touch, and in a strange way you solidly felt the desire to be his that night
in an electrifying way.
So it was inevitable, that with each slip, a piece of clothing would be dispensed, which never did you
any harm. With your body being dominated by him, you were at Marc's disposal to belong to him, but
not in a dirty or promiscuous way, but in an unconditional and indecipherable way, because this was
not sex, this was love in a true way.
Their bodies were attached to each other like a magnet and it was inevitable that one could hear the
moans, murmurs and even the small words of love said between one breath or another, it was
something mutual. There wasn't much to be done, not that they couldn't or didn't want to, but that it
would be necessary. It was long, it was simple, but it was complex, because that night was not based
on the physical but in an inexplicable way, because the night was followed between affection and
silence enough to make you better, make you loved and make you sleep that night with the quietest
beats ever heard by you and him.
And now that room could transmit the necessary peace and provide you with the serenity you need to
free you from your own hell, to know that you can trust your pain, and your love to the one who really
loves and protects you, from your own pain. And with that, you make an agreement with your own
faith, about loving him, protecting him, and preserving every centimeter, every moment, every touch.