Atticus
AS I WAKE TO the sun drifting into my room, I feel incredible. Rejuvenated. Unstoppable.
My limbs are light, my mind clear, and my stomach settled. Which is surprising, considering how late I stayed up last night.
I climb out of bed and make my way into the bathroom that Abigail and I share, knowing that with this early hour, the family members who took off for the night won’t be back quite yet.
In the mirror, as I brush my teeth, I take notice of my complexion. Absolutely zero blemishes, bright eyes, a smooth feel.
I’m glowing and oddly satiated, though I still carry a heavy sadness within my chest. I may or may not feel a little guilty for calling Cameron pathetic last night.
But he asked for it: by showing up at my house, begging for forgiveness for something that had no rhyme or reason in the first place, and spouting lies, he fell right into that category.
I mean, telling me that he only bashed me to his best friend—maybe turned lover—because he wanted to keep me? Bullshit. I’m not sure what his plan is, but I don’t believe it for a second.
I can’t… not if I want to protect myself and what remains of my heart.
I shouldn’t have kissed him. It was a huge mistake; a beautiful, intoxicating, earth-shattering mistake. Because now, I can very clearly remember what his mouth tastes like. How it feels when he rubs himself against me, and how his breathy little moans sound.
Needless to say, I messed up.
I should have been stronger, sending him away the moment he shut us in that kitchen alone. I should have screamed at him, shoved him out the door. Instead, I took his mouth the way I used to: as if it belonged to me. And I loved it.
Maybe I’m the pathetic one.
Plus, I missed most of Atlas’s party by hiding up here. I’m sure he’s disappointed, though part of me wonders if he even noticed between shoving his tongue down Julian’s throat and dancing with his new friends.
This guilt drives me to see him, and I head up the stairs to the west tower with hesitant steps.
If I get an eyeful of Julian’s junk, I’ll have to bleach my eyeballs.
Luckily, as I push open the door with a soft knock, all I see is his shirtless upper body, the sheets wrapped around his waist as he sleeps peacefully on his stomach. And Atlas, with his head resting between Julian’s shoulders, his hair adorably rumpled.
He is also half-hidden under the sheets, thank god, because I’m pretty sure they really are naked underneath.
I knock gently once more, and Atlas’s eyes blink open slowly.
“Atty,” I whisper, beckoning him.
When his eyes meet mine, they narrow, and he lifts his head. “Atticus? What’s wrong?”
“Can we talk?”
He nods once, hooking his thumb toward his window as if to tell me, “Go out back.”
So I listen, leaving him to get dressed as I grab my spring coat and walk out to the cliffside I saw Cameron ogling yesterday.
In the dark ambient lighting of the garden, with his blond hair messy in the wind, he looked like an angel. A genuine, certified angel. But I know he’s something else entirely—something evil and man-eating.
Footsteps sound behind me, and I turn as Atlas appears in one of his robes. Not a sheer one, thank god.
“Good morning,” I greet, motioning for him to take a seat in the chair Father put out.
Atlas sits. “Good morning, Atticus. Everything alright?”
He sounds sleepy and slightly hungover, though he physically looks just fine.
“I was just checking on you. Hangovers can suck.” It’s a lie—that wasn’t my intent.
Nevertheless, Atlas takes the bait and says, “I’m fine. Julian made me drink a bunch of water and take some Advil before bed. Though I don’t think he did the same.”
My brother chuckles fondly, wrapping his arms around himself as he smiles up at me.
“That’s good.”
“Mm,” he agrees.
We listen to the waves for a minute. The guilt inside of me keeps growing the longer I’m in front of him, and I’ve never been comfortable disappointing my family, so I crack under zero pressure.
“Actually, I wanted to apologize,” I blurt out.
“For what?”
“Well… for ditching the party. I was only there for maybe an hour before I left,” I admit. There is a hint of embarrassment in my tone, but Atlas just smiles brighter.
“That’s alright. Are you okay, though? Why did you disappear?”
I sigh. “There were people there I didn’t want to see.”
Figuring I owe him some version of the truth, I stick with this. I could be talking about anyone, and it doesn’t have to mean something heartbreaking. Right?
“Julie says you know some of his friends. Is that true? Was it them?” Atlas pries.
Fucking Julian Walsh, always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” I say, instead of answering directly.
Atlas stares at me for a moment longer, assessing and concerned, before he shrugs. “Okay. Sure.” And then, as he stares back out over the water, he says, “You look good, by the way. You’re glowing.”
“Oh. Thanks. I thought so too.”
My brother turns his gaze back onto me, and there’s something weary in it. Something that tells me he’s also keeping something hidden. I just have a horrible feeling it pertains to me.
“What’s with that look?” I ask him. “Is everything—”
“Little bunny?” Julian’s voice suddenly interrupts, and I spin around to see him stumbling out of the back door in a pair of loose sweatpants.
In only a pair of loose sweatpants.
Atlas stands. “Morning, Julie. How are you feeling?”
Julian pouts, rubbing his temples with one hand. “Like shit. Come take care of me.”
My eyes flicker back to my baby brother, and he’s grinning something soft and precious and full of love. It’s adorable and disgusting.
“I’m coming,” he promises his boyfriend. Then, to me, “Sorry, Atticus. Can we talk another time? Julian turns into a big baby when he’s sick.”
“Hey!” the man protests, then winces at his own volume.
“It’s just a hangover,” I mumble, annoyed that we were interrupted.
Atlas gives me a knowing smile, as if he too knows how ridiculous Julian is, and squeezes my arm as he passes me.
“I’m not a baby,” Julian insists as they turn back toward the estate.
“I know, Julie,” Atlas coos.
They disappear inside, and I spend a few more minutes watching the sun rise above the horizon, envious and irritated.
What will I do with my day now?
I close the driver’s side door of my BMW, heading toward the row of stores that make up Port Orford’s only mall. It’s a small strip mall and has various options, but I hardly come.
I can have most things delivered or bought for me, so I see no point. Today, though, I needed something to do, and the add-on gym I asked Father to finally build onto the estate won’t be done for months, so going to buy a pull-up bar for my room doesn’t sound too bad.
It’s windy and a bit chilly today, but not cold, and I feel light on my feet. As usual, I’m dressed in a white button-up and black slacks, unwilling to be seen looking disheveled in public. The only issue? It draws a lot of attention.
Too much attention, if the way the locals are staring at me is any indication.
But I ignore them, entering the sporting goods store with my head held high. No one here needs to know that, mentally, I’m a wreck. They don’t need to know that last night I was weak and uncontrolled, giving in to the most primal of urges when faced with a… certain man.
As I’m turning onto the correct aisle, I run into an unfamiliar face, though they seem to recognize me. It’s a priest, as far as I can tell, in his black button-up with the white clerical collar.
He’s older, like most people in Port Orford, and as soon as his eyes lock onto me, they widen.
Taking a single step back, like I might lunge at him or something equally insane, he huffs out a breath of air.
“Son,” the priest begins. “Are you… are you alright?”
It’s a strange thing to ask, considering I’m as put-together as always and even look especially glowy today. But I nod and smile politely anyway, the way Mother taught us to.
“Yes, sir, I’m fine. How are you?”
The man’s hands are shaking around the basketball in his hands, and I pretend not to notice.
“Fine. I’m fine. My name is Reverend Clark,” he tells me.
“Alright,” I draw hesitantly. “I’m Atticus Chastain. It’s nice to meet you.”
I attempt to give him a polite nod and move on, but he’s kind of standing right where I need to be and not moving an inch.
“Have you… are you going to church, young man?” he asks.
Oh, I get it. He’s recruiting.
“Yes. But we have a private facility, so I’m not interested in converting.”
“I’m not… that isn’t my intention,” the reverend mutters. “But if you have time today, you should have a nice chat with Jesus. He’s always here for you, even if you’ve gotten yourself mixed up.”
With that, he gives me a clipped smile and walks away in a hurry, leaving a wide berth between us.
There’s no way he could sense it on me, right? The deal I made with that demon, the one that cost me a decade of my life? Surely not. Priests are prophets of God, not psychics.
And even psychics are phony.
With a resigned sigh, I look at my options for a pull-up bar. The reverend’s words circle my mind, and so does the reminder that I haven’t spoken to God or gone to church since that night. I’m too startled to see what could happen to me.
“Young Master Atticus?”
The voice draws me from my inner turmoil and from browsing the minimal selection this store has.
It’s Barfred, our cook, and Landon, Julian’s best friend. So I was right.
Landon is standing at his side, arms crossed in a fleece jacket that fits him like a glove. His green eyes are observing me so fiercely that I can practically feel the assault on my soul.
But Barfred is staring at me in confusion, as if he can’t believe I’m here. And that is the first thing that makes sense since I walked into this store.
“Hello, Barfred,” I greet. “What are you doing here?”
I leave out the with him I was originally planning to add, mostly because Landon seems like the kind of guy to snap back or take it the wrong way.
“Shopping for a frisbee. What are you doing here? If you needed something, I’m sure Hannah would have gotten it for you,” Barfred says, and he looks so confused it’s kind of funny.
“I like to get out of the estate sometimes,” I confess, though it’s partially a lie. I wasn’t going stir crazy due to the location I was in; it had more to do with not having anything to occupy my brain.
“Oh,” he mutters. Then, out of nowhere, his eyes narrow. “What’s going on with you? Are you alright?”
What is with everyone today? Outwardly, I look fantastic, so unless I’m wearing heartbroken fool on my forehead, there is absolutely no reason for my brother, our cook, and a priest to be on my case.
Jesus, that sounds like a horrible punchline to a joke. Your brother, your cook, and a priest walk into a bar…
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You look… different,” Barfred explains, his eyes trailing over my body before returning to meet mine. “You look unlike yourself.”
“I feel fine,” I counter.
Landon stands up taller—though it looks kind of adorable next to the towering height of Barfred—and narrows his eyes.
“Let me ask him,” he says, confident and unmoving, as if his grilling me will amount to anything at all.
But Barfred retaliates quickly, shoving his hand into the hair on the back of Landon’s head and tugging it roughly, causing his whole head to snap back.
“I dare you,” he seethes, peering down at the other man with angry, wild eyes.
Landon swallows roughly as his neck and cheek flush, and he gives a small, sharp nod. And says nothing at all.
“Uh, alright,” I offer quietly. “I’m just gonna…”
Gesturing to the workout equipment in front of me, I turn my attention to it, and I don’t look away until I hear their retreating footsteps.
What the hell? The weary look on Barfred’s face, the panic from the priest, and the resigned concern from Atlas… I’m beginning to wonder if this new glow that I have is giving others the wrong impression.
Like maybe they think I’m on drugs or something. Which I’m not, and it should be obvious in my demeanor and also my very meticulous personality.
Me? On drugs? I’m the last person who would be.
What a weird day.
Only it doesn’t really matter how weird it is, because my mind still twists back in Cameron’s direction either way, unbothered by the insane encounters I’m having.
Yeah, it’s official. I am the pathetic one.