Page 25 of Atone

I’m starting to understand why Patience speaks to him the way she does. Just because he doesn’t say anything doesn’t mean he’s not here. His responses are just more subtle, and I have to dig a little harder for them.

“Seems like a nice place to write. Sunshine. Grass.” I tip my face to the cloudless sky, taking a breath. “Better thanthat horrible air conditioner they always have running inside.”

When I’m done breathing in the rain-drenched morning, I drop my chin to find him staring at me.

Alex nods, tapping his pencil on the page in his journal.

“Can I read what you’re writing today?” I wet my lips, dropping my stare to the eraser striking the paper. “If it’s not too personal, that is.”

I sense it’s all personal, and that I’m inserting myself where I shouldn’t. But he gave me that inch last night when he let me read one page, and now I need more.

Alex taps his pencil a few more times, sliding the journal toward me. And like last night, I only read the page he offers. But instead of reading it out loud, I keep it quiet because there are people wandering around us.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear the bark split—the trunk fall. If no one is there to mourn the loss of the leaves as they wilt and compost. If no one is there to sit upon the bench it has made…

The rot still comes.

The earth still reclaims what was lost.

The ground still feels it.

More riddles. Maybe that’s what it’s like being inside his head, trying to make sense of things lost.

Things rotten.

If I were brave, I might ask him to explain it to me. He wouldn’t answer with words, but he could write it down.

I don’t.

I simply press my lips tight and swallow the urge to ask for more as I slide the journal across the table.

“It’s beautiful.” And sad.

Heartbreaking, even.

Not that I say it. I don’t want him thinking I can’t handle his pain when I’ve had enough of it myself. When his words stir at the emotion swirling inside me.

The earth still reclaims what was lost.

The ground still feels it.

Sometimes I wish I could forget. That I could feel nothing at all.

My gaze lifts to Alex, and I search for something—anything to say. But my heart hammers so loudly it overtakes the chirping birds. His attention is all that sweeps my skin when the breeze tickles the back of my neck.

I don’t understand Alex, and he barely knows me, but the longer he stares, the lighter I feel. The world makes sense in his eyes.

I open my mouth to ask why he trusts me with his secrets when his gaze snaps past me.

Something flashes at the edge of my vision, and Alex moves so fast I don’t have time to process the breeze of movement that rustles my hair when he sweeps around the table.

One second, Alex is sitting in front of me. The next, he’s beside me, twisting some person’s arm behind his back and holding a sharpened pencil to his jugular.

The lead digs into the man’s flesh, blood leaking down a stubbled patch on his neck.

I jump up, putting distance between us as panic swells in the courtyard.

The man’s brown eyes widen, but not in fear. If anything, he’s amused at Alex’s reaction as he struggles against his grip. The man tries to pull away, but Alex twists his arm until he stops resisting.

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