From yesterday, a fallout after the things go bad. Apologies for raw, unedited piece
Everyone left Volya alone, just as he’d requested, apart from the two phone calls.
First, Dr. Sangha insisted that he must eat, but he refused, because he was a fool.
Second, Damir called to inform him that he was a fool. Also, that he (Damir) would break, enter and drag him to the kitchen by the ear at supper time. Not confident if Damir was joking or not—because his sensitive ears also caught Damir arguing with Marina under his breath to give the ‘kid’ some space—at dusk Volya crept through the house. He kept low and quiet, then dashed for the river, praying that Anabelle wouldn’t spot him. Two talks about her being pretty was enough for one day.
He lazed the last warm hour of the day laying on the fresh grass, watching the sky change colors and turning the bitter ashes of the day in his head over and over. Anabelle’s story, the Elder calling him a foreigner, Liam’s dashed hopes, him snapping at Liam, and Toshka pitying him when what he had wanted was to hear was the same longing that had filled his chest.
Then he counted the pinpricks of stars, or maybe they were planets, or the satellites. No matter, they were sparks in the sky, and counting them kept the dizziness at bay, as well as the kind of restlessness that welled up in him before each moonrise.
The hunger built up to a crescendo as well, twisting his guts into macrame. He was glad it did, for once, because it also distracted him from missing the moon.
But the brighter the moon shone, the greater became the urge. His chest heaved in relief after he gave in and howled, filling the air with a long trilling note, lonely and threatening at the same time.