Atlas

Three

Atlas

A week passed. Everything was normal. He went to class in the morning, worked at the bar at night. He would often come home late, and barely get any sleep. That's why he looked tired all the time, but that wasn't new. 

Not that it mattered to him. Five hours of sleep was a blessing. And it was rare. Adrian had once got him sleeping pills, but he only took them when he really needed them.

Otherwise, he didn't mind the insomnia. He could catch up on some work, go for a walk to clear his head, or simply just lay down and listen to the rain.

He did that a lot.

He closed his eyes. He was seven years old again. Cold and dark, shivering, trying to sleep with a blanket he had made from foil.

Outside the tiny window, it rained. The little boy listened to it all night, wishing he had his brother's hand to hold onto. Ida's soup in his stomach. The warm bed at the orphanage.

When dawn hit, the boy finally fell asleep.

And when he woke up, it was still raining.

Atlas liked to believe his days were on a grayscale. Sometime darker, sometimes lighter. He grew used to a routine and forced himself to stick to it – otherwise he would go insane.

Try to sleep by 2 o'clock. I know you won't. I know it will be difficult. But try anyways.

6 o'clock – Get up. Make breakfast. You're not hungry, I know, but eat anyways.

8 o'clock – your first class. Literary history. Go to it.

11 o'clock – Lunch. Eat it.

4 o'clock – Attend your last class. Go home afterwards. Take a nap if you can.

8 o'clock – Go to work. Try not to talk back to your boss.

12 o'clock – Come back home. Sleep.

He made a habit of talking to himself when he wanted something done. Talking himself into doing it. It was the only thing that worked.

These past few months, he was trying really hard to not get in trouble. A few small brawls here and there, and that's it.

He wanted Adrian to be proud. Well, that was stretching it. He wanted Adrian to not be mad.

So the morning that his older brother was supposed to come over, he cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, cleared out his fridge and threw the garbage out.

He loved Adrian. He really did.

At five, the doorbell rang. He went to open it, and sure enough, his big brother stood there, grinning.

He reached in for a hug.

"How are you?"

"I'm doing good." He shrugged, and stepped back to let him in. Adrian placed his bag at the door and took off his jacket. "Bloody cold this year." He complained. They looked nearly identical, but Adrian's brown hair was cut shorter,  and the stress wrinkles on her forehead were just a little but more pronounced. 

Atlas didn't mind the cold – he was used to it. Besides he didn't really care either.

He got Adrian a glass of water. "Tired?"

"The flight was full." Adrian answered. "Lots of crying babies."

"Yeah but I'm betting Milan was fun."

"Milan was boring." He snickered. "I can't wait to be back in Brighton. I don't know why you don't like it there."

The corner of Atlas's lips turned upwards. There were some things even Adrian would never understand about him.