(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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"FUCKING ATLAS,"I mumble, kicking a rock as hard as I can.
It's the same phrase I've been muttering under my breath for the past week—five days of stewing in rage soup. Not even Selena's threat bothered me right now. It felt like a distant problem, one that still lingered, but I couldn't bring myself to worry about. Everyone in class avoids sitting next to me as the anger ripples off me, creating a surprisingly welcomed barrier. Cassandra hasn't bothered me again, although she seems to have a new interest in the boy who sits three seats in front of me. Fine by me. I never struck out to find friends here anyway.
The rock skids through the curling, orange and yellow leaves and knocks against a trash can. I shove my hands deep into my pockets, shoulders hunched as I make my way down the path between campuses. I have two classes left, but I couldn't focus on the first two, so skipping it is.
Atlas hasn't messaged me since Rin's party, and I haven't had the heart to message him either. I'm still so angry. Okay, I'll admit, that anger might be a little unwarranted, but still. It's the principle of the matter. There is no way I can bring myself tumbling down that hole again. Living not knowing where Dan was or what he was on, or if he was safe was bad enough. There were sleepless nights. Days spent scouring the city to find my brother. I've been to countless homeless camps, police stations, filed so many reports before I finally realized that it was all futile if Dan didn't want to be saved. I can't go through that with Atlas.
He told me that Dan believed I thought I was better than him? Did that mean Atlas thinks the same way? Did I actually think that by rejecting helping Atlas?
My path to the bus stop takes me by the Arts Campus, a place I've been actively avoiding. Today, though, my feet seem to have a mind of their own, and soon enough, I find myself standing in front of the building.
It hasn't changed since the last time I'd inadvertently wandered here, but all I feel is a resounding hollowness when I look at it now. The grand exclusiveness is a stark reminder that I'm not privy to what goes on inside the campus and that I might never be.
My fingers twitch instinctively when I allow myself to think about what it'd be like to sit at a piano again and play. To let myself fall onto the ivory teeth of the piano, the music bringing life back into my blood--
"Mr. Diggs?"
As my name echoes through the air, I whirl around, feeling like I've been caught doing something I shouldn't have done.
A middle-aged woman with dark skin and long, thick braids hanging down her back stands a few feet away from me. Her rich brown eyes survey me with familiarity, and it only takes me a moment longer to recall her face. Professor Langdon. The woman from my audition.
"Professor Langdon. I, um, I was just..." I look at the building again as the professor approaches. The memory of the night of my audition threatens to resurface, and I keep it tamped down as a painful knot in my chest.
