Shattered Moon

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‘I don’t know why I said that. I just want you all for myself. I’m sorry Maddy.’

‘Did Sanka say something? Is he trying to upset you and to make us argue?’

Kiri is lying next to me on the bed. He is propped up on one arm, and the other is resting on my stomach. He looks at the ceiling and lets himself flop on his back.

‘I said I’m sorry, Maddy. It won’t happen again, I promise.’

In the last weeks, there have been a few episodes of sarcasm and anger. Mostly were defused before they escalated, apart from a couple where I was pulled and pushed around a bit before I told him I was here for him and I would not abandon him. That seemed to soften him. That and the fact that he has laid off the drink a bit.

I think Sanka is not happy with Kiri having someone who has come back for him. He is always with new tourist girls, but no-one ranks him important enough to return for him. Maybe this is why he tries to break us up, but Kiri doesn’t want to talk about it.

‘You don’t have to be alone anymore. I’ll be here for you, always.’


He props himself up on his elbow again and looks straight at me. I catch a glimpse of the terrified, lonely child. The child who had to fend for himself in the face of all the adversity this life decided to throw at him. I raise my arms, clasp my hands around his neck and pull him to me. We kiss. Slow, sweet loving kisses. His hand travels under my top and starts caressing my breasts. My whole body shrugs, as it always does when he touches me. His leg is in between mine, and it is pulling me open. I start travelling down his bare back, feeling his smooth skin and the ripple of his muscles, all the way down to his shorts. We are in our own little world. Then the peace is shattered by three loud knocks at the door.

‘Kiri, come on. Kiri. Work.’

It’s Ishan summoning him. They have been walking to work together since I got here, and Kiri has moved in with me permanently.

With a grunt he flops on his back, stalls for a couple of seconds then crunches up and springs onto his feet. He throws his T-shirt over his head, pulls his arms through and lets it fall down his back. He lunges over to the bed, bends down to kiss me and is gone, the door clicking gently after him.

I turn onto my belly, my mind replaying our conversations. All I want to do is give him a better life. Help him to shake off the shroud of sadness that is enveloping his heart.

We’ve had some good days, alternated with some off days, but overall the time so far has been good, I think.

We’ve spent many evenings sitting on the beach, watching life unfold around us, tight in our own little bubble. Happy all on our own. We are cocooned together, and no-one else is allowed in. Like theatre spectators, we are just glad to watch the show around us, but we don’t need to be part of it. I like the intimacy that has grown between us. He has opened up a lot and has told me things about his life he had never shared with anyone before. He trusts me. I’m different.

I didn’t know it was still possible at my age to feel this way, but I’m discovering an intensity I don’t think I ever experienced in my youth. I want to hold on to this. I want this never to end. I would do anything to keep feeling this alive. The making up after an argument is also intense, something I’m completely new to. I find it hard to admit it, but it’s exciting to be so wanted.

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