Chapter 36
Atlas
Why the hell did I admit to them I was queer?
What are they supposed to do with that? They leave tomorrow and I’ll be stuck here for the remainder of what will hopefully be a short life.
There’s a chance I could see them occasionally if I visited Proctus, but those opportunities would be few and far between.
It’s probably been five years since I last paid a visit.
There was foolish optimism that it could’ve been the catalyst to bring them together at last. They can deny it all they want, but their feelings are definitely mutual. It’s obvious to everyone—Conin and Ezra are absolutely ridiculous. (Facts.)
One attainable, positive outcome emerged from my sudden (and ridiculous) outburst. Conin came out as well.
It was not my intention to coerce him, but I could see it was eating him up, so I nudged him to say something because I knew if it were me in this situation, I’d like the truth to be out there.
The number of times he gazed wistfully at Ezra was more than I could count.
It was agonizing to witness after a while.
What happened after Conin’s confession will remain a mystery.
Ezra was dead silent afterward, keeping to himself on the couch.
The evident panic in Conin’s expression, however, painfully prompted him to flee into the bedroom.
Ezra wasn’t going to say anything to me, so I got the fuck out of there and hid inside my room. (I’ve been lying here since.)
Impulses to ram into the wall or repeatedly bang my head against the desk’s surface are prolific. Why is this making me feel weird? Why did I say I’d miss them? Why did I say anything at all?
And why do I care so much?
I’m dying. Is this what dying feels like? I should have asked abu. (God, I’m a horrible, horrible, awful person.) Scratch that from the record. Please. It’s official. I’m going to hell.
The panic raging ruthlessly, crawling through my skin and veins, might very well put me into cardiac arrest. The attempt to stand is worse.
I pick myself up from the floor, my legs shaking vehemently under my weight to the point I almost drop to the floor again.
I grab on to a shelf to steady my (systems-failing) body and wait for the sensation to subside.
This is a whole other level of worry I’m not used to feeling.
If something happens today, if the extraction goes wrong, I’ll feel responsible because I had one job and can’t fail them now.
So, I dress in bland clothes and yeet myself down the steps to the bunker.
Ezra greets me in the kitchen. He startles at my approach but it off with an attempt at a smile.
I’d normally drink this image up, but the reminder comes that if I fail him, this could be the day we lose Ezra Gray forever.
Conin isn’t here. He must be sleeping or preparing for the extraction.
“Are you okay?” questions Ezra as I pace the length of the kitchen.
“Sure. Yeah,” I say.
A jumble of words spills out of Ezra’s mouth. “This is driving me crazy. How am I supposed to leave not knowing what this . . . tether between us is?”
I come to a complete stop. And for some reason, his question angers me.
Because if you don’t, you’ll die.
I sure as hell don’t have the answers.
“I don’t know, Ezra. I can’t leave. My place is here. And you need to go,” I say, but each word is a knife to my own heart.
He flinches. “And if someone discovers you’re a recidivist? What then?”
“It’s never happened before. I’ll be fine.” It’s a lie. The mercenaries are here, and they know Ezra and Conin are, too. By extension, aren’t I in danger as well?
“Then we’ll stay.”
“You can’t. We both know this.”
“Aren’t you curious what this means?”
This is probably the most I’ve heard him speak during his entire visit.
“Yes! Of course, I am! But this . . . this needs to happen. You need to go, and I need to do my job,” I say.
Ezra has a retort tipped on his tongue when my phone rings. It’s a burner number Ambrosia told me to look out for. Without a backward glance, I storm through the steel door, away from discovering our truth.