Atlas
THE SKIN ON MY knuckles split open as I bang my fists against the heavy oak door, my throat raw with each scream that passes through it.
“Let me out! Let me the fuck out!”
But no one is listening. I have no idea where anyone is.
I’m shaking, Julian’s words playing on repeat in my mind.
“Of course whatever Atticus did didn’t work. There needs to be a sacrifice.”
He’s going to kill himself. Julian is going to do god knows what in the name of saving me, and I’m never going to see him again. To hold him.
Julian will never grow old, will never experience life past his early twenties, and it’s all my fault. It might not even work, for Christ’s sake!
I have to get out of here. I have to find a way out of this room so that I can stop him before he does something irreversible.
He loves me. Julian really, truly loves me. And now he’s going to die.
The window! Could I find a way to jump from it?
I run across the room, my knuckles stinging and my eyes blurry with tears. As I reach the window to the right of my bed, my fingers yank at the clasps, but it’s been so long since I opened it that they barely budge.
Then I see it.
Atticus and Julian, standing at the cliff’s edge.
Or, well, Julian is standing right at the ledge, and Atticus is several feet behind him, speaking with his hands thrown out at his sides.
Oh, god. He’s going to jump. Julian is going to jump from 100 feet and drown.
“Hey! Hey!” I bang my hands against the glass, feeling it rattle as streaks of pink smudge across the surface.
Atticus takes a step toward Julian, and my heart skips a beat.
Yes, Atticus! Stop him! Save him!
They continue to converse, and I continue to scream, slamming my hands down over and over again.
I have to find a way to reach him. If Atticus can continue to distract him, to keep him on that ledge, I can find a way down and—
The bell!
Without taking my eyes from where Julian stands, I back away, reaching over my bed to yank repeatedly at the cord hanging from my ceiling.
Oscar comes barreling in a moment later, panting. He must have been in the study with Father, considering how fast he managed to get here.
“Young Master Atlas, what’s wrong?” he asks in a rush.
“Let me out,” I demand.
Oscar’s face falls. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Oscar,” I whisper through gritted teeth, giving him my full attention. “If Julian jumps from that cliff and dies, and you have kept me in here, unable to save him, I will never forgive you. Never.”
My butler’s eyes grow wide, shooting past me to peer out the blood-smeared window. He spots Julian and Atticus, and he freezes.
Slowly, he turns his attention back to where I stand. After a moment, which feels like an eternity, he steps to the side, leaving the path to the open door clear for me.
“Thank you,” I mutter, then I rush from the room.
I don’t bother grabbing a jacket; there’s no time. In fact, in fear that one of my parents or Atticus himself will grab me before I can reach Julian, I sprint out the front door, rounding the right side of the estate to cut through the woods, so I can approach from a different angle.
I don’t have the time to be restrained. Not again.
My bare feet send signals to my nervous system, screaming in pain as I jump over branches and push through tree limbs. I know I’m slicing open my skin, that I should have at least stopped for shoes, but I can’t think straight.
The trees seem never-ending.
I’m panting, crying softly as I sprint. I just need to clear these trees, then I will be on the west side of where they stand, and I can approach silently, quiet enough to snatch Julian up before he can stop me.
I won’t stop running—no, I don’t have time for that—but the wind should cover the sound of my feet against the dried leaves and brown grass.
I’ll run until he’s in my arms, and then I’ll yell at him. I’ll scream and hit and cry and tell him how foolish he is.
My sweet, stupid Julian.
I finally break through the tree line, passing the exterior of the west tower. Over the wind, I cannot hear what Atticus and Julian are saying from where they stand, roughly sixty feet away.
Now fifty feet.
Julian says something, something that makes Atticus drop his arms in defeat.
Thirty feet.
They’re just staring at each other, something passing between them.
Twenty feet.
Atticus retreats a step. Julian turns back to the waves.
“No,” I whisper, forcing myself to push harder, to run faster despite the pain coursing through me. “NO!”
Julian jumps.
At the ledge, I fall to my knees.
I do not see him hit the water. I didn’t reach the cliff in time.
“No,” I repeat, a soft, murmured sound.
The wind around me is cold, biting into my skin. I’ve never been able to feel it before—not truly. Not since I turned eighteen.
But now, my skin cools quickly, reacting to the bitter air. The buzzing in my veins fizzes out, and something like static—something I’ve grown so used to that I haven’t truly noticed it—quiets in my mind.
In the distance, a vicious, violent shrieking can be heard. And then it fades away.
A cord inside my chest snaps.
And I know. I know before a rescue team is called or a report is filed that Julian is dead. Because he was right—and the curse is broken.
I am free.
I would rather be dead.
I know he is gone, yet I still beg, “Atticus, please. Save him. Save him!”
I can feel Atticus approaching from behind me, but he says nothing, as if he, too, can feel the lack of Julian’s life around us, and knows that he cannot save him.
Without a thought, I tip forward.
Atticus grabs my shoulders, shouting. “Are you crazy?! What are you doing?!”
“I have to save him,” I say, but I sound far away, as if I’m in a daze. “Let me go; let me get him.”
“If you jump, you’ll die too!” Atticus insists.
I know he’s right. I know that. But if there is any possibility that I can reach him and pull him from these waves, I have to try.
“Please,” I whisper, turning to look up at my big brother.
Something pained and miserable twists his face as he stares back at me, but all I can feel is a misery so deep that it’s gutting me from the inside out.
Atticus looks away, over my shoulder, and his brow furrows. “What the hell?” he mutters.
I follow his line of sight, spotting a figure on the small, rundown beach a couple of yards away and to the right of the cliffside.
The figure approaches the water and dives in, swimming against the current, right to where Julian had jumped.
“W-who is that?” I ask, frantic.
“I don’t know,” Atticus responds. He begins draping his coat over my arms, but I’m already standing.
“Take me to that beach,” I demand.
“Atlas—”
“Now! Take me to that beach right now!”
Atticus startles at my outburst, but nods slowly, taking my hand in his as he guides me back the way I came.
As we reach the tree line, he takes a left, and I spot a small, barely visible path that leads down a steep hillside.
“That person is probably…” Atticus takes a deep breath. “Those waves are incredibly strong, Atlas. That other person probably died, too.”
“Alright,” is all I say.
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up. The probability of Julian being saved is not high, and dragging a grown man from those waters is nearly impossible. Are you understanding?”
“Jesus! I hear you!” I shout.
Again, Atticus says nothing about my outburst. I think he feels guilty for locking me up, and now for my witnessing the death of the only man I ever loved.
I know I’m taking out my anxiety and fear on him, but I don’t know what else to do.
I felt it when the curse broke. Which means Julian had to have died. But… but miracles happen all the time, right?
“Promise you won’t go into the water,” Atticus says as we reach the bottom of the hill.
“Alright.” I’m definitely lying, but he doesn’t need to know that.
As we round the large bushes that are settled at the base of the path, it appears Atticus is fortunate today. On the beach are two figures.
I will not need to enter the water after all.
Letting go of Atticus, I sprint toward the figures.
“Atlas!” he shouts.
But I keep running. The closer I get, the better I can see, and as I come up on them, I recognize Barfred as he gives Julian’s unresponsive body CPR.
“Barfred?!” Atticus calls from where he’s hot on my heels.
Barfred does not respond. He’s alternating between mouth-to-mouth and chest compressions, his brows furrowed in concentration as he counts quietly to himself.
I fell to my knees on the other side of Julian.
He looks… well, he looks dead. Pale, unmoving, turning purple in certain places. It appears he doesn’t have any obvious, serious injuries, which is shocking—but that doesn’t mean he’s unharmed. Or that he’ll survive.
“Is there a pulse?” Atticus asks.
I take Julian’s wrist and close my eyes, zeroing in on the feel of his cold skin. It’s like ice, and for a long moment, I feel nothing. A broken sob makes its way free, and I squeeze tighter.
Nothing. No pulse, no rise of his chest, no stuttered breath.
“Give it up, Barfred,” Atticus says softly. “There’s no pulse.”
Barfred does not give up. He continues to give a series of compressions, breathing so hard into Julian’s mouth that his chest manually rises.
We stay this way for a minute or two, and I keep Julian’s wrist gripped firmly between my fingers, resting my forehead against his arm.
“Please, Julie,” I whisper. “Come back to me. Don’t die. Wake up and love me.”
I’m crying again, but I can’t seem to stop. Not when Julian has no pulse, and I’m freezing in this wind.
“Barfred—”
Atticus is cut off by a choking, gargled noise. My head shoots up just in time to see a foamy, green liquid begin to spill from Julian’s mouth.
“Move,” Barfred demands, and I scoot back, allowing him to roll Julian onto his side.
Julian vomits as Barfred pats his back.
Julian… Julian vomits.
He’s alive.
“Oh fuck,” Atticus breathes.
We wait patiently for his vomiting to subside. My hand stays extended, prepared to reach for him as soon as it’s deemed appropriate.
Julian swallows roughly, and finally, his eyes blink, his focus blurry.