How to Be a God [ManXMan]

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Plan

~Chapter Thirty-Two: The Plan~

A hand brushes gently over my cheek and I have to fight back a smile at the familiar sensation as I open my eyes to a foreign place. Most of the room is white, which includes the walls, couches, chairs, and other decorations with the exception of the blue couch pillows and the few paintings on the walls. The wall to the right is missing, though it is not a construction mistake; rather, it allows for a perfect view of the beach I remember from Atlas' last dream visit. We are close enough that I can hear the waves splashing softly on the shore.

I am sitting on one of the white couches and Atlas is crouching in front of me, looking quite content about something. Or perhaps he is just content in general. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time," he says, one hand now resting just above my knee while the other is gripping the edge of the couch for balance.

Because I only just returned to my hotel room from the destruction of the last prison, the answer would be 'yes' since I went to bed exhausted. However, considering what my plan entails and when I will be enacting it, now may be my only chance for a while to talk to Atlas. Despite my still-conflicted feelings about him, I do not want to waste this opportunity to simply catch up on my sleep, which I will soon not need. Besides, I feel rather awake right now, though that may be the fear starting to kick in.

"It hardly matters," I reply with a small shrug, and then inwardly flinch when his expression changes from content to suspicious. There is no way he could possibly have figured anything out from just those three words.

"Has something happened?" He demands warily, though his grip on my leg remains gentle and he even gives it a light squeeze, as if to reassure me not himself.

Apparently, he can figure something out from three words...he is more observant than I remember.

"Not yet," I answer vaguely.

"You're planning something," Atlas states after a moment of silence, holding my gaze. When all I do is raise an eyebrow in response – that was not a question and thus does not require a reply – he asks, "What are you planning?"

The amount of concern on his face has me looking away, unable to face his uneasiness while not broadcasting my own emotions – namely, dread. While I would like to say it is nothing, not only would it be a lie, but he would also still worry. In fact, he might even worry more.

"Something crazy," is what I eventually decide on.

I only look back at him when his head abruptly falls into my lap. "Please explain," he requests, his voice muffled by my pants. His grip on my leg is tighter, though not uncomfortably so, informing me of the distress I cannot see on his face.

For a moment, I consider lying to him, no matter how guilty it will make me feel later. After all, if he hears my plan and thinks it is too dangerous or he just does not like it, he could very easily contact my uncle. Not that it would do my uncle any good, as there is no way for him to stop me now, but he might still disrupt the plan before it is fully carried out, which could lead to my permanent end.

"Before I tell you the plan, you need to hear the reasons, of which I have four," I inform him, because that is the best way to go about this. At his hesitant nod, I start explaining, "As you know, I owe someone a debt. And no matter what I do, I cannot think of a way to pay it off completely. And it keeps growing with every day of inaction, or it does in my opinion. Since she is out of my reach, there is no way to ask her what she wants of me outside the vague requests she left behind. And with her still alive, unless I save a member of her family from mortal peril, my debt cannot be ended by them.