These Violent Delights

Sixteen: Atlas

Greer is asleep soundly beside me.

It's still early. But I'm unable to fall back asleep. My bladder is about to burst, yet I'm too scared to leave her room. I know she lives with her dad and younger sister. After hearing how highly she talks of her father, the last thing I want is to meet him as I'm sneaking out of her room after spending the night together.

I try to focus on things around her room. Distracting myself for as long as I can. Novels on her shelves that I'm slightly familiar with. Series of Unfortunate Events, Narnia, and nearly all the high school required reads like 1984, The Pearl, and Fahrenheit 451. Though the only novel that sparked my attention in high school was The Great Gatsby. Something about it stuck with me. Causing me to read it numerous times.

I'd always enjoyed reading as a kid, but as I got older, I struggled to find the time. Investing more time into art than anything else.

Unable to distract myself any longer, I slowly push the covers off me and grab my folded jeans off the chair. After stepping into them, I gradually open her bedroom door, peeking my head out to check that the coast is clear before searching for the bathroom. Each step I take is delicate, ensuring I don't alert anyone in the house of my presence.

When I finally find the right room, I use the bathroom, then splash some cold water on my face. Leaving the bathroom, the house is calmingly quiet. An older house that has kept the original charm. Lived in in the best way. Curiously, I peer at some family photos that are perched atop a grand piano. Greer and her sisters, with presumably her mother and father. Her mother is vibrant and smiling. All of them a slight mixture of her.

A throat clears behind me, making me jump. I turn to see Greer's father standing behind me, a steaming coffee mug in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. He peers at me through black-framed glasses. My face pales. Shit.

Her father nods towards the pictures. "Every time I look at those pictures, I'm amazed at how lucky I am." He cocks his head slightly. "Are you an intruder? I swear I locked up last night."

"Uh, no—"

"Only teasing." He smiles slightly. "I was just about to make some breakfast. Care to help me?" Without waiting for a response from me, he waves for me to follow him as he turns and heads into another room.

Nervously, I decide to follow after him. Entering the kitchen, I watch as her father begins cracking eggs into a bowl. Unsure of where my place is, I remain quiet.

He looks over his shoulder at me. "On the weekends when I have both the girls's home, I like to make them their favorite blueberry pancakes. Come over here; you can stir up the batter." He holds out the whisk for me.

I walk over and take it from him and begin to whisk the eggs into the batter.

"I hope you're here for, Greer." Her father then says as he melts butter on a pan.

"Yes, yeah, sorry, I'm Atlas. Sorry, I didn't plan on meeting you in this way..." My voice trails off at the end, embarrassed by the obviousness of what occurred last night. Hating that he might be thinking the worst of me. I wipe my hands on my jeans and extend a hand to him.

He shakes it with a warm grin. "Nice to meet you, Atlas."

"Nice to meet you sir."

"Oh, call me Peter." He turns back to the stove, and I turn back to the batter. His kind, welcoming demeanor somewhat calming my nerves. When the butter is properly melted onto the pan, he takes the bowl of batter from me. "Mind cutting up the fruit? Strawberries and Kiwi are in the fridge. There's a bowl to put them in the cabinet there."