Legendary // H.S

42.

'I know it's everybody's sin

You get to lose to know how to win'

*

Harry

There's a pain on Atlas' face that I know all too well. One of guilt and remorse, but also anger and torment. Like she's facing not only her inner demons but the creatures of the outside world that haunt her. We haven't spoken much about what happened at Joe's wake, but from the way her body has jittered and refused to sit still since she sat in the car, it's clear that something is weighing heavily on her. Something caused by the other guests that decided to follow her out.

There's so much we still don't know about her friends, but George has kept track of them over the weeks while Atlas laid in bed and spent her days alone in sorrow. At first, all I wanted was to be there for her and make sure she had someone to hold her hand, but the way she grieves is different to how I do. It's not like there's a set of rules to how one has to react in these circumstances. Her response was perfectly valid. But while I would try to busy myself and stop my mind from going to the darkest depths, she was swallowed by it and left paralysed.

In the moments I have faced death, being the cause of it or influential in it, I've ran from the problem. At the start of my journey into this world, I allowed that guilt to consume me. It controlled everything I did, until I realised that would only make things worse. Taking responsibility is not the issue, it never will be. I will never deny my involvement in my crimes against others. But when you're trapped in this cycle, eventually you get used to the anguish of it. I hold onto that sense of regret and liability, but it cannot undo the mistakes I've made. As long as I have that sense of blame, I know I won't become the people I despise, though.

When she finally rose from the bed this morning and managed to shower and dress herself, I felt proud. It must have taken so much energy to even muster the courage for that, so to then take herself to a funeral for the person she is mourning is a huge milestone. It's something that should be celebrated after what she's gone through, but I know that's not how she sees it. She got out of bed as a duty to her late friend. Not because she wanted to but because she had to. I wish she never has to face that again, but the likelihood is it may become a routine if Hugo isn't stopped soon.

It became clear to me as we drove away from the venue that Atlas needed space and room to breathe away from spectators and people expecting too much of her. Hidden from those she cannot trust and given the time to finally express how broken she is. I can tell how tired she is, the bags under her eyes only becoming darker by the days. Though she spent all those days in that empty bed without me near her I knew that she barely slept in that time. Every now and I again I would catch her dozing off, but after a short time her eyes would open again, and her body would continue to lay limp on the mattress as she waited for the pain to stop.

The funeral for Joe took place in West London near his parents' home, so it would take about an hour to get to the place I had in mind to help her relax. She didn't know that I intended to take her somewhere, but it's not like she was paying attention anyway. The passing sights would be enough to distract her until we got out of London.

It's a good thing the sky is clear today, no rain in the clouds. Otherwise this excursion would end up damp and muddy. The blue hues of the sky hit her face perfectly, the sun lighting up her features the way I've always enjoyed when looking at her. There's a slight innocence to how perfect her skin is, a thin sheen on it from the natural oils. Something I have gathered her to be insecure about with the amount of times she dabs at her face.

I've realised that I'm noticing a lot of things about Atlas lately. The way that it takes her at least ten minutes to fully wake in the morning, her eyes puffy when she finally rises. The way that she only takes a dash of milk in her tea, claiming that anything more would ruin the taste. The way that her feet tap against the floor when she doesn't know what to say when talking to a group of people. These small moments are locked in my brain. Whenever I see them, I can't help but smile. I'm not sure why I've made note of them, but it's a welcome relief from the chaos of our lives these days.