These Violent Delights

Twelve: Atlas

I have a dream that Ridge is still here. I come back from the diner to find Ridge waiting for me on the stairs, a smirk on his face as he asks where the hell I've been. And it's like he never left. He was always here, just waiting. I tell him about Greer, how great she is, how comfortable I feel around her. Ridge proceeds to laugh, tells me he's happy for me, and asks when the wedding is. We joke. We catch up. I tell him how much I've missed him.

Then the sun rises, and I wake, and reality sinks in.

The dream felt so real.

Realizing it wasn't makes me feel like I've lost him all over again. Tears clog my throat. It's hard to breathe. My hand clutches my chest. Pulling at the fabric of my t-shirt. Attempt to pull myself out of bed, but there's a weight placed on top of me, restricting me from doing so. Bowing my head, hair falling forward into my face, I try to get control of my breathing. Try to slow down my thoughts.

Should've been there. I should have been there. He'd still be here if I had gone. My fault. My fault. He's gone. Dead. Didn't get to say goodbye. I should have been there. Why wasn't I fucking there? My fault.

An agonizing sound escapes my mouth. I run my hands roughly down my face. Rub my eyes.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

I think about Greer. Sitting at the diner with her. The sound of her laugh. The way her eyes light up when she smiles.

My breath begins to slow. Body untensing. I feel the sunlight cascading into my room. A comforting warmth. I'd left the window open overnight. Birds chirping. My easel covered in dried, old paint stands in the corner of the room. Empty canvas. Art supplies left haphazardly all over the room.

I'm able to stand. Collect myself. The tears subside for the time being. On standby for when my mind begins to go haywire.

Exiting my room, I move down the stairs. They creek under my feet. I'm surprised to see my mother in the kitchen, busy writing a list of things on a sheet of paper.

When she sees me enter the room, her head snaps up in my direction, eyes narrowing slightly. "You've been gone a lot lately." She says, putting the cap back on the pen in her hand. "Find a new job perhaps?"

"Uh, no." I run my fingers through my mess of hair.

A frown forms. Lines creasing. "Have you gone to the college yet? You can hop into the summer classes."

"No, haven't done that either." Nor do I plan to. My parents have made it abundantly clear they will not be assisting me financially when it comes to college. Despite them harping on me to sign up every chance they get. I'm unable to afford school and don't want to be drowning in debt the rest of my life. The only way I'd be able to get by is with the largest amount of loans they can offer. Not to mention, I have no idea what I'd be interested in going for. I'm not particularly smart. Nothing I'm rather good at.

My mom places a hand on her hip, watching me as I open the fridge and pull the orange juice out. "Atlas," she sighs with utter disappointment. A sound I'm more than familiar with. "You're twenty-one, still living at home. No plans, no goals, no job. You're not attending college, and you don't have a girlfriend. What's your plan exactly?"

"That's why we're going to start charging him rent." My dad suddenly says, appearing in the room dressed for work.

My body automatically tenses at the sight of him. Pouring my glass, my eyes focus on the liquid filling in the glass.