(Formerly known as "When Our Paths Crossed")
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A tale of two lost souls brought together by pain, grief and trauma.
Atlas tries to find a place in a world he's worked so hard to escape. Elijah struggles to balance the life he's building and the...
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I END UP staying with Atlas for the rest of the day. After June returned home, we moved into his bedroom, and now I'm sitting cross-legged on one side of the bed, while Atlas reclines back on the other. Since I told him about Selena, he's been lost in thought, a stormy look darkening his honey eyes.
We don't say much, but the air is thick with tension and nervousness. I'm still reeling over the fact that I kissed--oh god, I kissed him. I just walked into his house and planted my lips on his. What the hell was I thinking? I could chalk it up to the adrenaline and fear coursing through my body. It was an impulse move.
If I'm honest, though, I'd wanted to do it since the funeral. I guess Selena's appearance provided me with the perfect excuse. Even more surprising is that he kissed me back. I don't know what I was hoping for, but when he kissed me back, it was a warm reassurance that everything would be alright. I hope that's true.
"So, what now?" I ask, playing with the hem of my jeans.
I can't seem to look his way for more than a handful of seconds, so my eyes stay on my lap.
It takes a long time for Atlas to turn to me, slowly blinking as if he's trying to process what I'm saying. Maybe he's wondering if I'm talking about the kiss or talking about Selena, or talking about both. I'm not even sure myself.
"About what?"
I push down my irritation and scoot around to face him. "About Selena? About this mess my brother left me?" Okay, we're talking about that then.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
Atlas' look darkens. "No. I don't. Not yet, anyway."
"Atlas, my life is in danger." I grab my phone. "I should just call the cops --"
"No!" Atlas lunges at me quickly, yanking the phone away from me. "Not yet. Not until I can figure this out. This is my world, Eli, not yours. Calling the cops can be just as bad as not calling them." He sighs and sets the phone beside him. "For now, we lay low."
"I still have school," I argue, "and I have midterms coming up. I'm not going to let this be the reason I drop out of school."
With another sigh, Atlas runs his hand through his hair. "I'm not saying you can't go to school, you idiot. If anything, school is probably the safest place for you since it's public. Jason wouldn't dare try anything around witnesses. Laying low means not doing anything to attract attention. Although you're probably the most boring person, I've met, so that won't be a problem."
His teasing and the accompanying smirk are meant to reassure me, but no amount of playful banter is going to comfort me.
"Right," I mutter, with an eye roll.
"Fuck, you are depressing."
Atlas pushes himself up and moves his legs over the edge of the bed. It amazes me how far he's come with using the chair and not walking, but his agitation is visible. Every time he has to move his legs physically and every time he stares at the chair, his jaw clenches so tight I'm worried he'll crack his teeth. Not that I blame him. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't walk anymore.
