Forbidden Under Starlight

The day was supposed to be like every other day, it was the day my life fell apart.

It started with pizza and movies.

It sounds ridiculous now.

Almost funny.

But that morning, I had woken up happier than I had been in weeks.

Saturday was movie night.

For six years, my father and I had followed the same routine. Every Saturday evening we'd order pizza, buy enough snacks to last an entire weekend, and spend the night arguing over which movie to watch first.

It was our thing.

Our tradition.

The one thing that had survived after my mother died.

I rushed out of bed that morning and headed straight for the mini-mart a few streets away. The place was crowded with families buying snacks and renting movies for the weekend, but I didn't care.

I had a mission.

After twenty minutes of searching, I finally found three movies that looked perfect.

One action movie.

One comedy.

And one terrible horror movie that Dad would complain about the entire time.

Smiling to myself, I carried them home.

I was already imagining the evening.

The pizza.

The arguments.

The way Dad would pretend not to fall asleep halfway through the second movie.

The thought made me laugh.

But when I opened the front door, the house was strangely quiet.

"Dad?" I called.

No answer.

I checked the kitchen.

The living room.

His study.

Nothing.

Then I spotted the note on his desk.

Emergency meeting. I'll be back before dinner. Sorry, sweetheart.

My smile disappeared.

Of course.

Work.

Again.

I crumpled the note in my fist.

For a long moment I simply stood there staring at the empty room.

Then I threw the movies onto the couch and stormed upstairs.

I was sixteen years old.

Too old to cry because my father missed movie night.

But it still hurt.

Because lately it felt like work always came first.

And I was always second.

By midnight, I was still awake.

Angry.

Waiting.

The pizza untouched in the kitchen.

The movies remained stacked beside the television.

And my phone showed no new messages.

I checked the clock again.

12:43 AM.

I was about to give up and go to bed when a knock echoed through the house.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Relief immediately flooded through me.

Finally.

I walked toward the front door without thinking.

"Dad, you know you have keys, right?" I muttered.

The knocking stopped.

I unlocked the door.

And everything changed.

A man dressed in black stood on the porch.

For a second neither of us moved.

Then I saw the gun.

The world stopped.

Before I could scream, he shoved the door open and forced his way inside.

The gun was suddenly inches from my face.

I couldn't breathe.

Couldn't move.

Couldn't think.

My legs felt frozen to the floor.

My vision went almost blurry.

"Take them off," he ordered.

His voice sounded distant.

Like it was underwater.

I stared at him.

Not understanding.

Not believing.

Surely this wasn't real.

This couldn't be happening.

The gun pressed harder against my forehead.

"Now."

My entire body shook violently.

"No."

The word barely came out.

The man cursed.

Then-

A deafening bang exploded through the room.

I screamed.

The bullet struck the wall beside me.

Fragments of plaster scattered across the floor.

For one horrifying second I thought I had been shot.

Then darkness swallowed everything.

When I opened my eyes again, the world smelled like disinfectant.

Bright white lights burned overhead.

Machines beeped somewhere nearby.

A hospital.

I tried to move.

My body felt heavy.

"Elena?"

My father's voice.

I turned my head.

He was sitting beside my bed.

His eyes were red.

Exhausted.

Terrified.

Relieved.

The movement he realized I was awake, he stood so quickly his chair nearly fell over.

"Thank God."

Several police officers immediately approached the bed.

Questions filled the room.

Voices.

Movement.

Concern.

But all I could think about was one thing.

He wasn't there.

Why wasn't he there when I needed him the most-

He wasn't there.

My father reached for my hand.

I pulled away.

His face broke.

I looked toward the wall and said nothing.

The doctors called it trauma.

Shock.

They said my voice would return eventually.

That I just needed time.

Weeks passed.

I never spoke.

Not to the doctors.

Not to the police.

And certainly not to my father.

The silence became my prison.

And his punishment.

Two months later, I was still trapped inside it.

Two months later, I barely left my room.

Six months later, my father finally gave up trying to fix me on his own.

Which is how I found myself sitting in a car headed toward a countryside I had never seen.

Toward relatives I had never met.

Toward a house that belonged to my mother's family.

I hated the idea.

I hated the journey.

I hated all of it.

What I didn't know than was that the countryside would change everything.

Because somewhere in that old house was a boy named Leo.

And before the summer was over, he would become the only one person capable of reaching the parts of me that nobody else could.

Places I never thought existed.

Even if the desire to love and have him would become my greatest mistake.