Julian #3
After a minute or two, once I’m partially satisfied, I let him pull his face from mine, panting.
“Julian!” he shouts, glaring up at me. “What the hell is happening? What do you mean by a sacrifice? Surely you don’t mean—”
“I love you,” I blurt, dragging my fingertips over the small of his back, under his shirt. Atlas’s mouth falls open. “I love you so much that I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realize it.”
Something dawns on Atlas, his eyes narrowing as he grips me even harder.
“No,” he demands. “No, Julian. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, no.”
“I just needed you to know,” I tell him. “I needed you to know that I love you too.”
With one final kiss to his forehead, I shove Atlas away from me, sprinting out the door.
The chain is firmly in place by the time his fists hit the hardwood. My forehead takes in each vibration from where it rests, and I let each scream, each cry wash over me.
“Julian!” Atlas yells. “Don’t do this! Don’t leave me!”
He’s crying so desperately that my heart is shattering, even as I know I’m doing this for him. To save him.
“I’m sorry, sweet boy,” I say, placing my hand against the door as if I can reach him through it. “I’ll still be with you. In some way or another, I’ll always be with you.”
“No! God, no!”
But I’m already sprinting down the stairs, then the main staircase, and out the back doors.
By the time I’m standing at the cliffside, my heart is pounding, and I’m panting as if I’ve run a mile. I can no longer hear Atlas’s cries, but I know he’s still up there, screaming and pleading.
But soon he will be free, and that is all that matters.
As I look below, into the violent, crashing waves, the prophecy circles my mind.
“In the violence of the waves, a cure will appear.
From purity and truth, salvation is born.
The boy the incubus keeps will continue to suffer
until the stipulations are met.
Wrongs must be righted; balance must be restored.
Only then can light prosper again.”
Just as Madam Lu said, for the curse to break, for the stipulations to be met, action needs to be taken. Love is the answer. Balance must be restored.
A wrong must be righted.
The life of a Chastain’s loved one was saved, so to restore the balance between life and death, the life of a Chastain’s loved one must be sacrificed.
A soul must be given to account for the one that death spared.
In the violence of the waves, the cure will appear. Sacrificing my life, as the one who is loved by and loves Atlas Chastain, to the waves below, should cure him. He should be free.
It was never a magic potion that would float in from the horizon, all due to his diligence with prayer.
It was a love so pure it overcame death.
And sure, it doesn’t have to be me. I am not special; I am not the missing puzzle piece. I am just someone who loves him—and there are plenty who do.
It could have been any man in my place, here at this ledge; I was just lucky enough to reach him first. To be the one to save him.
A small part of me is screaming to turn back, if I’m honest. It’s looking at this one-hundred-foot drop and shaking with fear. But I’m here now, and two things are keeping my feet on the ledge.
One is the thought of saving Atlas, of being the man he needs. Of protecting him.
And the other is my father’s words, ringing loud and true: Sometimes being a man means doing what you don’t want to do.
The waves are so incredibly loud that I don’t hear the approaching footsteps until it’s too late.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” someone screams, and as I look over my shoulder, I see Atticus glaring at me from several feet away.
“Come any closer, and I jump,” I immediately respond, lifting one of my feet.
Atticus says nothing, does nothing, but continues to glare. Not that I ever expected him to be the one to try and save me. He’s hated me since the moment we met.
“I know how to save him,” I tell him. “Whatever you did, it didn’t work.”
Atticus seems to know this. His eyes dart to the ground, a flush coloring his cheeks.
“I have to jump, to sacrifice myself to balance out the life the incubus saved so long ago,” I continue. “Then, Atlas can be free.”
“Are you fucking insane?” Atticus yells, taking a step forward. “You’re going to commit suicide believing it will save my brother? You barely know him! Are you delusional?!”
I can see the panic on his face, the fear and anxiety.
“I know it will save him,” I say, just loud enough for him to hear me over the rushing wind.
“Julian—” He takes another step toward me.
“It’s his life or mine,” I interrupt. “It’s your brother’s life, or a stranger’s.”
Atticus freezes, his eyes widening. In them, a war begins. One where he fights the morality of letting me jump if it means it might save Atlas; one where he has to decide if he’ll let another human die right before his very eyes.
In the end, moments later, Atticus takes a step back. He does nothing. He has chosen.
Chosen Atlas.
I smile.
Looking back out over the crashing waves, I take a deep breath.
And as I step off the ledge, in my mind, I’m seeing visions of the sweet boy clawing at the door of the west tower.