Damìan: The Wounded Heart

Luena: The Anchor

Late at night in the backyard of the Malibu Estate. Two friends sit at the edge of an infinity pool. One holds a chilled bottle of vodka, and the other smokes a blunt.

Luena: I told you you wouldn't drink alone.

Her speech is slurred, and she glances at the blunt in Damìan's hand.

Luena: Where did you even get that?

Damìan: Ace. He hooked me up. Want a puff?

She takes the blunt offered to her. Placing her drink aside, she inhales the smoke from the dried green plant. Not expecting its harshness, she coughs.

Luena: Did you add tobacco to this?

Damìan—amusingly: Just how I like it. You alright?

She hands it back to him, and he immediately inhales and puffs a smoke ring into the air.

Luena—hoarsely: It tastes different. Not like the one you usually smoke. What type is it?

Damìan: Lamb's Bread. Sativa.

Luena—incredulously: Shit. That's basically herb gold. How did Ace manage that? And why are you smoking sativa instead of indica so late at night?

Damìan: Ace managed to score a deal on lambs bread from an exporter travelling in from Jamaica, and luckily for me, I bought the last batch. It's all he had anyway. I'll be fine.

Luena: I got some blue lotus and damiana. Try it with me later, alright? You won't be disappointed.

Damìan: I can't believe you smoke dry herbs. Tea herbs. It's weird.

Luena: Like the one you're smoking now?

Damìan: This is different. It's not weak herbs like rose or catnip. It's cannabis.

Luena: You do know that the herb in your hand has many other uses other than smoking, right? I think it's ignorant to assume that cannabis is the only good herb out there. And by the way, cannabis can also be considered a tea herb, so the jokes on you.

Damìan: I'm aware, but I prefer to use it for what it's mainly used.

He blows a puff of smoke in her face to prove a point.

Damìan: And it's the only known herb to have multi-purpose uses. Your array probably has three or less, so cannabis is the shit. The best shit.

Luena: You have a point, but broadening your horizon is good. They aren't just tea herbs, by the way. I'm not ripping teabags and rolling them into smoke paper. I'm a herbalist, as you know, and I enjoy learning about the different uses of plants. Maybe, it'll benefit you more than you know.

She smiles sweetly at him, which he knowingly understands as teasing.

Damìan: Nah, I'm good. I'll leave the herbology to you, Cinzia.

She glares at him.

Luena: Excuse me for wanting to teach you something, Aldebaran.

Damìan—cringing: Never. Ever. Call me by my middle name again. Truly?

He wags his pinky expectantly, but she leans close to him and whispers.

Luena: I can't make a promise I won't keep.

Damìan: We'll see about that.

Without warning, he stands and swiftly cradles Luena in his arms, preceding to jump in the pool.

Luena—she warns: Don't. You. Dare.

He sticks out his tongue and jumps into the water with a splash, and she yelps in surprise. When she swims to the surface, her green polyester jumpsuit clings to her average frame. She spits pool water out her mouth and waits for his head to resurface from below. When he finally does, she splashes him immediately.

Luena—she muses: What the actual fuck, Damìan!

Damìan—he smirks: The waters great, isn't it?"

Luena—she laughs: Very mature, Ìan.

After a bit, they float in comfortable silence, observing the sky. She smiles, admiring the moon's brightness and reaches out her hand as if to touch the moon that's light-years away.

Luena: 1.25 light-years.

Damìan: What?

Luena—wistfully: The Moon. It's a waxing gibbous tonight, approximately 1.25 light-years away. On average, it would take three days by spacecraft to get there. Can you imagine three days in space?

Damìan: Not really. I've barely seen the world, so I'm not ready for space.

Luena—she giggles: Sometimes I wish I could, and sometimes I'm afraid to. But both times, I can agree that to float in space seems like a beautiful thing. Seeing and touching the moon up close is a wonder, a beautiful wonder.

Damìan—he chuckles: I see the sativa has kicked in. You alright over there?

Luena—in Italian: La luna si avvicina (the moon is getting closer).

Damìan: That's a yes.

Damìan can't help but admire her, appreciating how she loves the beautiful things. As he acknowledged Luena, whom he's known his whole life, he couldn't help but wonder what life would have been like if he had asked her out years before.

Damìan recalls the crush he had on Luena throughout middle school.

It was the fourth of July and an early afternoon; fireworks cackled in the distance, and laughter emanated from inside his home—his maternal uncles visiting from San Juan were playing dominoes inside the house.

An eleven-year-old Damìan and twelve-year-old Luena layed in his mother's garden, on the grass, gazing at the sky. Damìan quietly listened as she cried and sucked on her ice-cream bar—it was an Indian brand named Vadilal she loved. Damìan would ask his aunt Dahlìa weekly to stock up on the ice-cream dolly, and he would never eat them until Luena arrived. Today, he refrained from touching them because Luena needed them more.

He usually adored her parents, but on this day, for the first time in forever, he resented them. He couldn't bear to see his friend in pain and, even more, his first love in pain.

Before the news of her parent's divorce, he had decided to tell her how he felt.

He had a plan to say it to her in the garden and then, if the news went well, bring her to the beach for a picnic as they watched the fireworks go off—his picnic basket was waiting in the kitchen with some of her favourite foods and snacks, that he had spent the day in person preparing.

But instead, he had to watch her cry.

Luena—she cried: They've been arguing the last few months behind closed doors, thinking I didn't hear them, but I did. I should have seen it coming, but for some reason, it's still unbearable to know. Aren't married couples supposed to love each other? What is love if it doesn't last?

Damìan: Relationships happen and sometimes end. It's the circle of life, I guess.

He glanced at her. Her eyes were puffy from all the crying, but he still cherished her brown eyes for being beautiful. She looked away and finished the rest of her ice-cream dolly.

Luena: This tells me that love is temporary. If it mattered as much as people said it does, it would last. It makes me not want to love. I don't want to end up like my parents.

Damìan—his face fell: Well, I like you, Luena, and I'll always be here.

He was surprised by the confession that left his lips but was proud that he finally admitted his feelings. He wasn't expecting to tell her so quickly or even at that moment, but it happened.

Luena—she smiled: You're a great friend. Thank you for listening to me.

She sits up and wipes her sticky hands on her sundress. He looks up at her confusingly.

Damìan: What? No. I don't think you understand, I—

Luena: Let's find Carmen and go to the beach. My driver will take us.

Damìan scratched his head in confusion but dejectedly accepted the rejection.

Damìan couldn't help but appreciate their platonic friendship and how supportive she had been tonight. Who knows how long their relationship would have lasted if that day had gone differently? He glanced at Luena, who seemed to be struggling to stay awake. He swims to the pool ladder to get out of the pool.

Damìan: Come on, let's head inside.

She follows behind him, lazily getting out of the pool, swaying side to side. She was fully drunk and high. He held her upright, managing to cover her in a towel he found on a lounge chair nearby. He lifts and cradles her into his arms.

Luena—she slurs: Thank you. Livia...didn't deserve you. It would have been different if it was us.

He pauses, startled by the confession.

Damìan: What did you say?

But a half-asleep Luena doesn't reply.