I've never had anyone look at me the way he does; I've never had someone want me, but Atlas does. So why am I lying here thinking that this is wrong, that I need to leave?
My heart is telling me I need to stay here, and the power it’s shouting with is beyond anything I ever knew was possible. It calls for him, loud and clear. Yells at the top of its voice. It races when he’s near me, more than any exercise I’ve ever done; and, when he touches me, it tries to punch its way out of my chest, as though it needs to leap towards him to be closer to him than it can be through my skin. It’s as though it has a connection to him, one that can’t be broken and must be held on to. It’s like it already knows him, already loves him. But what the hell? How can that be? Because all I can think about is that I should run. I’m too conflicted to be able to decide, to act in one way or another. I can’t ignore either. Not when thinking of walking away creates a pain inside my heart unlike any I felt when I was in hospital, before I had my operation; it almost feels like my heart is crying when I think of leaving Atlas. As soon as I think of staying, the pain in my chest disappears. The option of staying here is winning.
I look over at the door when I hear yelling coming from outside. I get out of bed and feel how nice the warm, soft, carpet is under my feet, on my way to the door. I stop my hand at the handle because I hear Atlas shouting. But then I hear Beth and Rhys’ voices, too.
What is happening out there?
Slipping out of the room quietly, I make my way over to the staircase and look down at them all; the three of them are all staring at Atlas.
“You need to stop-”
"Fuck you!" Atlas cuts Aiden off.
Atlas brings his hands to his mouth, and I see him blowing smoke from his lips. What happened to him for him to be smoking? I haven’t smelt the smell of smoke on Atlas, the only scents I’ve gotten from him are his cologne and whiskey.
"You need to sleep," Rhys tells him, as he tries to take the joint off him.
"You need to leave me the fuck alone. You think I want to spend my fucking nights awake, and replay that fucking shit?" Atlas shouts back, and Aiden grabs his arm. Quicker than I can blink, Atlas punches him in the mouth.
Aiden takes a step back and wipes the blood from his lips. Beth and Rhys each take a step back, too, and stare at Atlas. It’s like they’ve seen this side of him before and know that taking a step back will calm him; it’s clear they know how to handle him.
“Atlas we know that nights can be... but you can’t smoke this shit and be around Brooklyn-”
"You know that I wouldn't hurt her," Atlas growls, almost shouts at them, and this is the first time I’ve heard him use that much power in his tone. Beth flits her gaze around the three of them, worried for not just Atlas, but Aiden and Rhys, too. I watch her as she narrows her brows together; is she scared of how Atlas is reacting?
Atlas didn't look like he hadn't slept, he was the man I've seen every day, a man full of strength, but I guess that's the difference between knowing him for a few days, and a decade.
“Atlas-”
"I’ll fucking sleep when the fucking darkness..." He stops and shakes his head, and I move my eyes away from Atlas over to the three of them to see Aiden looking up at me. I stayed quiet, because Atlas scared me with the tone he’s used. I’ve never seen him like this since I’ve been here. He just hit Aiden and that’s shocked me. I reckon Atlas must have something significant on his mind for him to be like this with them. But what?
Ignoring that he sees me, I look back over to Atlas as he continues to smoke.
"Atlas, go to bed." Beth takes a step closer to him and says something to him that I can't hear. The moment he looks up at me, I know what she said.
He burns his eyes into mine; I don’t know what he is looking for, but for the first time behind the most beautiful blue eyes, I see scars darker than the deepest recesses of hell.
I can’t take my eyes off Atlas as he continues to lock his eyes with me. I’ve never felt the pounding in my chest hurt so much, the heart is aching like the characters in an Italian opera who long for their lost loves. Sometimes it’s quietly playing in the background, but today, as I continue to look into his eyes, the violins are playing in a sorrowful key. It’s as if my heart is screaming for him to look at me, really look at me, so I can show him that I can fix him. Yet I don’t know how. It's like my heart has turned into a wolf trying to gnaw its way out of my chest, and run to him, leaving me with nothing but the scraps.
This alien feeling is terrifying. In twenty-five years, my heart has never felt like this before, now I'm scared that I’m rejecting the heart; maybe it was never meant to be mine. I need to speak to my doctor, to ask him if I should be feeling any pain. I can hear the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears, because of the worry about what is happening to me; I clutch my chest as the beating increases its speed. It feels like the heart is desperate to be around Atlas; would it be better or worse if I left? If I left, would I reject it completely? If it does want to be around Atlas, should I stay? Does it know its only chance of being near him is inside me? Maybe I’m not rejecting it, after all.
Rhys stands in front of Atlas, breaking our eye contact. I use the opportunity to make my way back to my room.
I have no idea what Atlas is scared of, but he looks terrified. To me, it looks like he’s scared of something he can’t endure; he doesn’t look like he can handle it, he looks too fragile.
Walking over to the dark round table by the window, I grab my drawing pad and make my way to bed. I sit on the floor and lean against the bed. I open the pad to a new page, I close my eyes to recall all the images of Atlas’ eyes I’ve had in my dreams; I’m searching for the perfect one to draw - the ones I feel he put the most emotion into, in my unconscious.
For a moment I keep my eyes closed and just admire Atlas’ soft eyes. Out of habit I run my hand over the blank page feeling the softness of a clean untouched paper, then taking my pencil I begin to draw his blue eyes. But, they're different this time; they are darker than they have been before.
I turn my head when I hear the click of the door being released from the hinge. I wait for Atlas to walk in, already knowing that it’s him.
I watch as he makes his way to the brown leather armchair next to the bed. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t smile, he doesn’t even look into my eyes. It’s like he’s looking at me, but he’s not; he’s looking past me.
I close my pad and turn to face him, then I see him flick his eyes a little and he moves his gaze to my scar. I stretch my legs out in front of me, I watch him, trying to figure out what he wants me to say to him. Does he want me to ask what is wrong, what it is that keeps him awake at night? I don’t know what to do.
He looks so lost today; this isn't the Atlas that stood in front of me before today, the man that takes control of the room.
I move my eyes from one scar to the other on his face, still wondering where they have come from. I’m sure there’s a story for each scar he has: maybe the story of why he can’t sleep; maybe a different story all together. But, there is one thing to say about Atlas: even with scars, he’s handsome.
I want to move closer to him, but I can’t as I’m frozen to the spot; the only words that I’m remembering are, “I won’t hurt her.” They were fighting because he was smoking shit that could make him paranoid, or make him hurt me; but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to touch him.