Where the Mountains Meet the Sea

by A. R. Breck

  My eyes are saucers as I stare at the madness in front of me. That isn't just one tower, I realize, that's two towers that are on fire. And those aren't just any towers.

  That's the World Trade Center. I see firetrucks up ahead, and a cry leaves my throat, breaking through my mouth in a painful scream.

  "No," I cry, walking toward the mess in front of me. People are running around in absolute terror, but it's like everything is in slow motion for me. There's no sound. It's as if the only sound I can hear are the burning flames as they scorch every inch of the building in front of me. They’re on max volume. I can hear the pops, the crackling as the wood and metal burn to a crisp.

  He can't be there, can he? He was supposed to be off. He was supposed to be with me, watching me dance. Cheering me on. Sitting in his seat with a proud look on his face.

  Not in this burning building. Not like this. Not like this.

  There's suddenly a stillness in the air. I can hear everything and nothing at the same time. I look up at the burning buildings, pieces of white ash landing in my black hair. Tears stream down my face, mixing with the ash that fills my lungs with every breath I take.

  It's almost as if I can hear a crack. A crack that fills the entire world, splitting through the seams of my entire being. My stomach hollows out, and everything in front of me erupts.

  One of the towers shatter, collapsing into itself as the top floor falls, falls, falls. It echoes throughout the city, maybe throughout the entire world.

  Falls.

  Falls.

  Falls.

  There's a rumble that pounds through the streets as the tower collapses, so loudly, so incredibly loudly I can barely breathe.

  The ash, rubble, and the entire world in front of me turns into a black cloud. A wave of smoke fills up the sky, tumbling toward me at a rapid pace.

  My bag with my ballet uniform falls from my fingers, pounding to the ground in a soundless heap. I feel like the world slows down, everyone screaming. People start running, terror and chaos filling the streets. People are running. Away. As fast and as far away from the smoky cloud as they possibly can. Bumping into me, some people even slamming against my shoulders in an attempt to get away.

  I run toward it.

  I take off into a sprint, feeling like my legs are moving in slow motion as I make my way toward the building.

  I know he's in there.

  I know it.

  I can feel him, the electricity that I've always felt whenever he's near. My heart beating heavier, faster, lighter, easier, as it always has. As it always does. As it always will.

  I run, sprinting as the black cloud gets closer, the top of the building settling to the ground, the noises in the city so loud, the screams of terror, it all runs my blood cold.

  Then, it’s as if everything in my life stops.

  The feeling of Roman, of his heart, of his soul connected with mine… stops.

  I feel the severing of it, as if someone lifted the cord between our bodies and snipped it away with scissors. One easy clip, one building crash, and that feeling I’ve had for years, is gone.

  In only a second.

  A scream rips through my throat. I can feel the bloody, terror-filled scream tearing apart my vocal cords.

  Suddenly, I'm lifted off the ground, a man in the crowd wrapping his arms around my waist, lifting me into the air as he sprints. My body thumps against his body, hauled up into his arms as he runs. My body flops up and down with his urgency. I reach for Roman. I beg for the feeling of him to come back, but it never does. I can barely see, barely stand to breathe as the smoke envelops us, the cloud of ash and dust tearing apart the street and everyone in its wake.

  Until I can't see anything, and I hear nothing but a whoosh of dust as it powers into my ears. I scream, but I can't get a word out as my body fills with gray sand. Gray as my eyes. I hear a door open, and I'm shoved to the ground. Looking around, I see a crowd of terrified people.

  The entire group curls on the ground, crying, the floor littered with rubble and glass and so, so much ash.

  The air is filled with terror. I can taste it just as much as I can taste the ash on my tongue. It burns me from the inside out. Everyone, everything is filled with a white coating of dust covering their skin, rivers of tears clearing the ash away as it travels to their chins.

  They feel so much terror, so much fear.

  I crawl to the glass window, my palms filling with pebbles and dust that I barely feel. I press my hand against the glass, which should feel cool, but it doesn't.

  It's hot.

  I close my eyes, hoping for any kind of feeling. Anything to tell me he's still here with me.

  Anything at all.

  Nothing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  ROMAN

  One hour ago

  "Holy shit." My eyes widen when I see the flames billowing out of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. The sky is turning black because there is so much smoke.

  "Terrorist attack." My chief gets off the phone, looking over at us with a grim expression. "A plane was hijacked. Hit straight into the North Tower. There are people stuck in there. We have to get them out."

  We all nod, grim expressions on our faces. This isn't how we planned to start our morning, but here we are. We all gear up, sliding our helmets on as the firetruck pulls up right next to the building.

  The ground below me shakes, and I look up just as a plane strikes the South Tower. People go crazy, running for their lives and screaming at the top of their lungs. Flames billow from the plane, and my eyes water, thinking of all the lives just lost in a split second.

  So many fucking lives.

  "Move! We have to move!" Chief shouts.

  We hop off the truck, running to the South Tower. The air grows heavy, filled with debris and so much smoke I can barely see. I squint my eyes, running through the smoke and into the side of the building. We can barely get in the door as people bust out, clear panic written all over their faces.

  "Upstairs. We need to get upstairs," Dylan shouts.

  I look around, seeing a stairwell. "There."

  We rush toward it, our uniforms heavy as we race up the stairs. I'm hot instantly, panic, worry, fucking terror eating away at every single bone in my body. We exit onto a floor, and it looks like a warzone. Things tipped over, everything left haphazardly as people left in panic. It smells of smoke in here, the building starting to burn and reaching the lower floors. We rush through the offices, checking for any survivors.

  I glance out the window, seeing someone out on the windowsill. My eyes widen, and I rush over to it, attempting to open the window. The woman looks at me, tears running down her cheeks. I can't open the window, though. Nothing will get it to budge.

  "Move out of the way." I wave my hands.

  She does as she's told, sliding to the side. Then, it’s like slow motion as the toe of her heel slips on the ledge. She looks at me, a look of terror in her eyes before she loses her grip. There's a knowledge in her eyes, like she knows what is about to happen. All I can do is stare at her, watch in horror as she falls backward, her arms windmilling around her as she falls into the sky.

  I look away, a choked sob breaking from my chest.

  "Holy shit." I wipe my wet eyes, a disassociation to my body and mind.

  "We've got to move!" Dylan shouts, and I nod my head. Looking up and over at the North Tower. My eyes widen when I see someone standing on one of the highest floors, standing on the ledge of his window. He barely takes a second to think about it. He looks over his shoulder, fear and terror covering his features before looking below him.

  And he jumps.

  "Fuck!" I rush away from the window, moving to get other people out. We find people hiding under their desks, hidden away in bathrooms. We move as many people out as we can, telling them to take the stairwells on their way out of the building.

  We move for so long, smoke filling the air and covering my lungs. My uniform weighs me down, and
it feels claustrophobic, like I've been working for hours, even though I know it hasn't even been an hour.

  We rush up the stairs, until the ground is hot and the air is stifling, and we can barely breathe.

  I can hear their screams from the other side of a closed door. Pained, treacherous screams that come from the pits of their stomachs.

  People holler for help, screaming and pleading for any type of assistance. My stomach bottoms out, tumbling to the ground below me.

  "We need to help them," I shout.

  Dylan shakes his head. "It's a death wish, Roman. We have to get out of here."

  I listen to people screaming, terror and pain filling their voices. Pleading for help, pleading in pain, crying for their loved ones.

  Help.

  Help.

  Help.

  Pounding so heavily against the door, like every bit of strength is going into their fists.

  I take a step up the stairs, and Dylan's hand wraps around my wrist. I glare over my shoulder at him. "I'm not going to walk out of here knowing these people died, Dylan. Fucking help me."

  Pure terror makes his eyes water, and he nods. The rest of the guys rush up the stairs, into the heat, into the fire, the door opens, and a roar of fire billows toward us.

  And then it's silence. Like my ears become muted, and I can feel the ground start to shake below me. The ceiling shakes even worse above me. We all freeze, staring at each other. And in one group decision, we grab those that we can, rushing down the stairs.

  The cracking grows louder, into a violent roar that fills up every inch of air and space around me.

  Life stops.

  The entire world… stops.

  Luna appears before me. Her face, soft and feminine, smiling at me. Loving me. Her gray eyes staring at me in comfort. She’s younger, just a teenager. No worry or darkness in her eyes. Her soul touches mine, a glow emanating from her hand as she presses it against my chest. I bring my hand up, pressing it over her pale skin. She's warm against me, and even in this heat, her warmth brings me so much comfort. So much safety.

  Then her hand separates from my chest, and she turns around, walking off into the distance. Her hair floats around her back, slapping at her waist as she walks. She looks over her shoulder, a soft smile on her face.

  It's okay.

  "I love you, Roman," she whispers, and I can somehow hear it over the roar of the world around me.

  "I love you, Luna," I say back.

  Then, there's only darkness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  LUNA

  I stare at the TV, feeling nothing.

  Seeing nothing.

  Hearing nothing.

  Nothing.

  My mind is empty, my heart is empty.

  My soul? Completely gone.

  The phone behind me rings again, but I don't go to pick it up. I picked it up once, knowing it was my mom. She said they're on their way. Driving, they say. No planes. No airports. Everything is shut down. No way to get here. Nothing to do.

  Just wait.

  Wait.

  Wait.

  Wait.

  I stare at the TV, watching as volunteers pick through rubble, like it's a game almost. Who can find the first dead body.

  No one can. There isn't much to find, besides char, char, and more char.

  The reporters on the TV cry, because there is no other emotion to have. Their red-rimmed eyes are filled with tears as they watch the horror only become more horrifying by the day. The death toll rises, the missing remain missing, the dead remain dead.

  What used to be a beautiful city is now the city of ashes. Burnt to the ground in a horrible tragedy that will surely live on for the rest of time. It's all anyone talks about. There is no TV anymore. It's only news stations reporting our disaster.

  Our little group at the shop was brought to the hospital, and after an all clear I was brought home. By who? I don't know. What time or day? No clue. I don't know much of anything, besides the fact that I'm here and showered. I don't know when I last ate. I don't know how long it's been since I've slept.

  I don't even know how many days it's been.

  All I know is that he's gone. Nothing, not even our love, will bring him back this time.

  I feel it in the depths of my soul.

  Roman is gone.

  Swept away like he was never here in the first place.

  Except he was, because the imprint on my soul is so much deeper than anything else in the world could ever be.

  Roman is everything, and now he's nothing.

  I blink, and blink, and blink, staring at the TV for I'm not sure how long. Watching the same stories on repeat.

  War.

  Tragedy.

  Death.

  So. Much. Death.

  Thousands.

  I wish I could reach into my chest and rip out my heart, tossing it into the rubble with everything else. What do I need it for now?

  What is the point?

  Knock, knock.

  I ignore it, much like I ignore everything else. People come by, checking up on us. Everyone checks up on everyone, suddenly close-knit even though I barely spoke to anyone before. I don't want to talk.

  I don't want to breathe.

  Knock, knock.

  "Luna!" My mom's terrified voice rings from the other side of the door, and my entire body deflates. With relief, with grief.

  So much grief.

  "Luna! It's Mom!" She screams, pounding on the door as if she could knock it down with her bare hands. She couldn't, but then again, maybe she could.

  I get up from the couch, my body feeling stiff, numb, not my own as I walk to the door and unlock the hinge. Before I can set my hand on the handle, it's shoved open, and there she is, pulling me into her warmth. A gathering of people barrels into the door, sweeping me into their arms and checking me head to toe.

  I'm fine.

  I'm fine.

  I'm so not fine.

  I haven't cried since that little shop. Since the moment I couldn't feel him anymore, my tears dried up. It's like no tears exist in my body anymore. Not one.

  I can't tell who's around me, but I can tell either way. I can smell my parents’ familiar scents. I can sense Roman's parents, huddling around me, crying in grief.

  So much grief.

  I can feel the grief in the tips of my fingers, all the way to my toes. The sound of constantly being underwater. The sensation of constantly living in slow motion. It's like I'm living out of my body, watching myself go through the motions. Not able to stop or dictate anything. I just watch myself, hovering over my defeated form. I stare at myself withering away.

  They watch the news. They talk. They attempt to get me to eat. So many things happen, but all I do is stare at the screen. Wishing this was all a dream.

  But knowing it's not.

  It's not until my mom bends down, forcing my gaze to hers. She stares at me, tears in her eyes. "Honey, I think it's time you come home."

  Home.

  Where is home?

  Isn't home wherever Roman Hall is?

  Maybe home is nowhere at all.

  I nod my head anyway. "Let's go home."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  LUNA

  My heart sits in my throat as I stare at the empty casket in front of me. Everyone cries. Everyone wears black. Everyone weeps and moans and gives me their condolences.

  Everyone is sorry for my loss.

  I don't look away from the oak-colored casket, with flowers upon flowers loaded on the center.

  It's empty, does anyone know that?

  "How are you doing?" My mother comes up behind me, this being the first I've ever seen her wear black in her entire life. She wraps her arms around my waist, and oddly, all I want to do is curl away from her embrace.

  I don't want touch. I don't want anything if it doesn't have to do with Roman.

  I shrug, feeling empty.

  "If you need a break, you just let me know and we'll get out of
here for a bit."

  I nod, blinking at the casket.

  People give me space, a wide berth around the wooden box. As if we're in our own little bubble. No one dares come within this space, I guess except for my mom.

  September has turned into November. Our small apartment has been packed up in New York, and I'm once again living in my childhood bedroom at my parents’ house.

  Julliard is on pause.

  After hearing about what happened, they gave me a leave of absence and told me that I could take my time, although the sad tone in their voices over the phone as they told me this made me think they knew exactly what the end outcome would be.

  I'm never stepping foot back in New York. Never again.

  It took a month for them to dig Roman's body out of the rubble, and what they did find of him and his crew was absolutely horrific. Roman's parents had to go identify the body, and the darkness in his mom's eyes since she got back from that viewing have been so haunting; I've barely been able to look her in the eye.

  People walk past Roman's casket, bawling their eyes out as if they were his best friend. It makes me angry, seeing their balled-up tissues pressed to their faces. Their tearstained cheeks and their bloodshot eyes. Is their sorrow even real?

  Maybe they feel real sorrow, and it's me that has the problem.

  I still can't cry. My eyes are almost too dry, burning and scratching with every blink I take. My hands feel numb, my toes and fingers constantly in a state of cold. I can't sleep, my dreams a nightly occurrence of my cliff and fire, like they combined together in a never-ending nightmare. Every night, I go to sleep knowing where I'm heading, and I wake up in a horrified sweat.

  Yet so incredibly exhausted.

  My body weeps for sleep, but my mind continues to stay in this state of numbness that no amount of thawing will get me out from.

  "Luna." I turn around, seeing Lonnie, Clyde, and Flynn standing behind me. They're all in their black suits, their hands tucked into their pockets and their shoulders slouched forward. A weariness and hopelessness lays in their eyes, and I so badly wish I had it in me to go comfort each one of them, let them know how much Roman loved them.