Page 54 of Atlas

After they’re back on, he follows me upstairs. Neither of us have said anything, but I’m no longer melting down on the inside.

He walks straight to the bathroom, shucks his shirt and jeans, and gets in the shower. I give him privacy, getting out the basic first aid kit that Lynette was always so adamant that I kept fully stocked.

Atlas shuts the shower off and wraps a towel around his lean hips. For once, I’m not distracted by his body, but I’m always going to be able to appreciate his beauty. He could be in a totally different body but have that same spirit that makes himhimand I’d still find him beautiful.

I cover my mouth quickly when he turns, displaying the torn skin and fresh beads of blood. The cement isn’t exactlysmooth or new back there, and it tore him a good one, right from one shoulder to the other and down along his spine.

When I dab on the antiseptic Atlas inhales sharply.

“Sorry!”

“Don’t be. None of this is your fault.”

I’d never been so afraid in my life as when I touched him and he lost it. There’s no worse feeling on earth than knowing that you’ve hurt someone you love and that you’ve hurt thembadly. I didn’t realize how much tension I was carrying in my muscles until they turn into jelly and I have to lean against Atlas’ broad back for support.

“Have you- ever hurt yourself before?” I don’t know if I mean accidentally, or if I mean on purpose. I hate that I’m even asking. “You don’t have to answer that. Or anything.”

“No.” His muscles ripple all the way down his back as I move to a new spot with fresh cotton balls, creating a new sting. “Sometimes I’ve wanted to because the illusion of pain is that it offers control, but it doesn’t. Some things make it better. The discipline of sports and of working out often takes the edge off, but not always. It’s completely random. That’s the worst part.”

“Are there things that trigger it or make it worse?”

“If you look it up, everyone says stress is a big one, but for me, that’s never seemed to make a difference.”

There’s a small amount of relief in hearing him say that I didn’t do this to him. We’ve had more than our fair share of stress for the past year, with renovating this place, classes, his club duties, and then finding that mother fucking trunk. Plus, I’m the one who pressed for this. For us.

“If it makes it better, I could tell Lynette that we’re together. She’d talk to Bullet. We’re not hiding, but if this is making things harder for you-”

“I don’t think that’s making anything worse. You can tell her whenever you think the time is right.”

I don’t get needy and ask him if he’s sure that we’re even still an us. I know what he was trying to do downstairs. No one wants to be a burden to anyone else. Atlas doesn’t want to be weak. Society tells men that they have to have their shit together and above all, be strong. All. The. Time. He was trying to push me away because he thought it would be better for me, but not having him would be the worst thing I could ever imagine.

“I know that it would be tough, but if we found the right person, do you think you could talk to them? And maybe… try something?” He angles to look at me over his shoulder as I start applying topical ointment to his shredded skin. “No one wants to alter their body chemistry. Drugs, even pharmaceuticals, are scary. It’s hard to imagine not feeling like ourselves.”

“Believe me, I would enjoy that very much some days,” he states without his signature humor.

All I want to do is wrap my arms around him and hold him, but I finish bandaging him up the best I can. It’s awkward, given how big the area is. I only have so much gauze. This is for small injuries, not full body road rash.

“Maybe there’s something you could take when you need it, just when you’re feeling anxious. I had a friend in high school who had major anxiety issues. She got medication and sometimes she took a pill or two a day or a few days in a row, sometimes it was just one pill a month. It was random,but she said that having the power to stop the anxiety before it snowballed was huge. She was the one dictating the terms.”

Atlas is silent until I finish bandaging him up. He picks up his shirt, but doesn’t put the bloodied thing back on. His eyes have so much sadness in them that it crawls inside of me, fracturing my ribs as my heart throbs. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. All this shit. I hate being more like a problem child than your partner.”

I carefully slide my hand to the nape of his neck. He doesn’t shy away or shudder at the slightly possessive hold. “If I was only ever here for the good times, that’s not a partner. That’s not even a good friend. That’s very shallow.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “That’s the last thing I’d ever call you.”

“You can come to me with everything. The good things and the bad. I can promise you that I’m strong enough to take it. I care about you. All of you. Not just the select parts. I appreciate how monumental your trust in me is already, and I know that’s a huge ask.”

He’s the one who bends his head and tips mine up, fusing our mouths together. He’s not kissing me to shut me up or to avoid talking to me. I can taste just how much he needs it. It’s more than just warmth that floods me. Whatever the feeling is, itscaldsme. He leans against the sink and pulls me with him with a strong hand at my lower back. A growl tumbles from his lips and I consume it, devouring his sadness and his anger, his darkness and despair. He kisses me like he wants me to climb inside of him.

My heart breaks just a little bit more at his need for connection and assurance. He wants to drink me in, drown inme, fuse himself to me. He’s broken right now, and heneedsme, even if I can tell that part of him still think it’s a mercy to try and push me away. He kisses like he wants me to stay, but he still can’t believe that I’m not leaving. It’s amazement and sorrow, the broken parts of him aching to be seen and swept up, held together in loving hands, and meticulously pieced back into place.

I can’t do that for him.

But I’ll never give up on finding any and all the ways that he can feel better.

The kiss isn’t the slightest bit sexual, but it is deeply intimate.

“It’s not a big ask,” he groans, breathing harshly as he breaks away. He leaves his hand on my hip, as though he can’t bear to not be touching me.

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