(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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BEING HOME IS pretty much what I expected. When I showed up on my parents' doorstep a week ago, my mom wouldn't stop throwing disapproving glares at Desiree and me as we helped a feverish Atlas into the house. Surprisingly, it was my dad who stepped in to take over for Desiree. Together we hoisted Atlas up to mine and Dan's childhood bedroom. We placed him on Dan's old bed, and as I placed a blanket over Atlas, my dad placed a hand on my shoulder.
"I know we've been hard on you in the past," he said, "but I want you to know that you are a good person, Elijah, and I am proud of you. You want to help, but does he want your help?" He glanced at Atlas, whose brow was stitched so tight together it would no doubt leave a mark.
"If I don't help, who will?" I whispered back. June was there, always taking care of Atlas, but she had her son now too.
"Just be careful you don't make the same mistakes that you did with Dan. You deserve some happiness too." My father squeezed my shoulder once before slipping out of the room.
He'd always been a man of few words, always backing my mother. He never really showed how he felt about his kids. His words left me feeling like there was more to him than I gave him credit for.
Desiree hovered in the doorway, shuffling to the side as my dad moved past her. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times as she tried to formulate her words.
"I probably should go," she said, "check in with Rin and focus on my homework..." Her eyes drifted over to Atlas. "Will you be okay with him?"
"Yeah, I'll be alright," I assured her, hoping my tone was convincing enough.
She looked doubtful but didn't push. I think her willingness to help out had been maxed. Not that I blamed her. This was my responsibility anyway. No one else should take care of Atlas but me.
For the first couple of days, taking care of him meant holding the bucket out for him when he threw up, forcing him to drink water and whatever liquids he could stomach, to change his soiled clothes. I didn't have much here save for some of Dan's old clothes, so that's what I put on him. I tried not to dwell on the fact that he was dressed in Dan's favourite t-shirt or the sweats he'd almost worn to rags.
June came by and helped out, though I didn't want her to stick around too long. She must have noticed my insistence on taking care of Atlas, for she gave me pointers and numbers to call if he got any worse. After that, she didn't come by as often, but she called every day for updates.
I stayed holed up in the bedroom for those first two days, unable to face my mom's wrath. She'd been less than receptive than my father, who was the one who left food and drinks for me in front of the door.
On day three, Atlas' fever finally broke. He'd stopped throwing up, so it was only then that I chanced to venture downstairs for some snacks.
"He can't continue staying here," was the first thing my mom snapped. "This is not a halfway house or a hotel."
