Julian #4
I… I cannot wrap my head around him enjoying it.
Not only because of how horrifying that thing is to look at—and I would know, I’ve stared it in the eyes—but because Atlas is so small and sweet, reminding me of that precious little bunny I thought of the first time I saw him.
And although I’ve sensed a predatory and borderline insidious feeling from him before, I’m forever surprised that he’d enjoy being taken that way.
That his small body could even handle it.
Which part is his favorite? Would he like it just as much if it came from a different… source?
I can’t help but wonder now if this thing isn’t his curse at all, but rather something he invited in under that guise for pleasure alone. And if that is the case, then what is his real curse? What is this mysterious condition everyone is keeping under lock and key?
The air around me heats further, sweat slicking my skin almost immediately. I can feel the pulse in my throat, my fingers tingling as I clench my eyelids from under my forearm.
The floorboards creak.
It’s just as I feared.
I know it with everything in me at this exact moment: it’s here.
Something cold and clammy drags over my bare ankle for a brief second, and my leg twitches, all of the hair below my neck standing on edge.
The floorboards creak again, this time to my direct left.
I can feel it there, hovering. I can feel the malicious presence and the threatening aura that is telling me, without words, that it wants to hurt me. That it wants to carve into my skin with its nails and own me.
I’m not sure what I’ve done to trigger this monster’s hatred—outside of catching it in the act with Atlas—but I’m not dumb enough to assume I’m safe just because I’m in the same house as the boy it fucks.
My eyes open, staring fearfully at the outline of my own arm. I am so terrified, so full of panic that I can barely breathe.
What will it do to me tonight? Last night, all I was gifted was two harsh scratches across my face. Will it gut me? Will it take me as roughly as it takes Atlas?
As much as I imagine I would enjoy dishing out sex in that way, I don’t think I’d enjoy taking such a violent act of intimacy the way Atlas does.
The fear of not knowing, of being blind to the pain that will soon be inflicted upon me, has me removing my arm from my face.
There it stands, only a few feet from the edge of my bed.
Black hair falls to its shoulders, appearing almost damp, as black eyes peer at me angrily.
Long fingers hang down at its sides, its hard cock proud and prominent where it rests against its stomach, reaching right where a belly button should be.
Its height alone is staggering; the large mouth full of sharp teeth hanging open widely in a way that chills my blood and raises goosebumps along my flesh.
For a moment, nothing happens. I stare up at the thing in front of me, and it, in turn, stares down at me.
Right as I’m starting to believe this is all it will do, its large mouth twists into something sinister. A cross between a sneer and a grimace, it seems. Then a cool hand reaches out and presses down on my chest, heavy and demanding.
It does not speak, but I hear the command clearly.
Do not move.
Moments later, it’s retreating into a dark corner of my bedroom, disappearing as if it were never here in the first place.
That was a threat, a warning.
That thing was telling me I am to stay in this room, or else.
Which can only mean one thing: it does not want to be interrupted again.
Fuck.
Atlas.
I’m racing across Chastain Castle before I can think better of it, dressed in nothing but a pair of navy-blue basketball shorts. The wood flooring mutes my bare feet, and as I approach the door to the west tower, the air begins to rise to the excessive temperature of my bedroom.
I’m starting to realize that anywhere this monster goes, the world around it tends to react. It tends to heat.
I stare at the dark, wooden door.
I know what must be going on up the stairs on the other side of this door, and I know that there’s no use attempting to get help. Just as he did before, Atticus would send me away. And Abraham? Theodora? There is every possibility they will fire me on the spot for invading private business.
I should go upstairs. I should break down this door, run up the steps, and shove that thing off of Atlas right this second.
But I’m fucking terrified. And he likes it, doesn’t he?
I sink to my knees, my forehead resting against the heated wood. Is it possible that he could be brainwashed by this monster? Possessed, even?
And if so, does that change the result of my decision? Am I willing to go up these stairs if the outcome includes dying? My hands shake where they rest in my lap, and I believe I know the answer.
No. I don’t want to die.
A bang resonates throughout the hallway, and I once again know for certain what is happening up those stairs.
“Ugh.”
It comes quickly this time, the sound of Atlas’s voice. Not that I have much of a reference point. But I close my eyes and listen, feeling the guilt and shame as it claws at my throat.
But the fear of being ripped apart by that thing outweighs my jealousy, and Atlas told me himself he likes what it is doing to him.
So, I listen. For a long while, I listen as he moans and whimpers—the headboard slamming against the wall above me as that thing takes him over and over again.