Page 80 of Atlas
Atlas had a dead look in his eyes. “He took her every way he could, unprotected.”
“Was Gwen one of the twenty-eight people that died that night?”
“No. She had been gone for years.”
“Where did you get this video?”
“At the Red Manor. The five of us went back at Christmas. I thought it would help us to confront our past, but we found a hidden room behind his office full of pictures and movies like this one. We burned it all except a few videos that I’ve watched. My father…” Atlas stopped and sighed. “My father was a sick man. He broke people down until they were his loyal puppets. Some of the videos and photos were of young teenage girls. It’s always the same in the videos. He’s like a cobra paralyzing his victims to make them comply. It’s like he rapes their minds with his toxic words before he touches their bodies.”
“That’s a psychopath for you. They will use anything from flattery to threats to get their way.” I turned to him, giving a single nod to the laptop. "So that’s the inner demon that you're fighting? The fear that you're like him."
Atlas looked away.
Placing my hand on his shoulder, I spoke in a firm tone, “Look at me. You're nothing like your father. He was a psychopath. You're not."
"How would you know?" It came out harsh, and his voice shook a little. "It runs in families, and you don’t know the vile thoughts I have."
"Not every child of a psychopath becomes one themselves, and I know for a fact that you're not a psychopath, Atlas."
He shook his head. "That's because I only show you what I want you to see."
I thought about it and stared at the laptop on the bed behind him. “And you thought this is what I wanted to see?”
He didn’t answer.
“Seems to me that you're making a last attempt to push me away.”
“Maybe I am.” The pain in his voice made the hairs on my neck stand up.
“Why?” I breathed.
Atlas leaned his neck back and looked up at the ceiling, his voice still thick with sadness. “Because you deserve better. I'mnota good man.”
My face softened, and I took his hand. “And there is your answer.”
Atlas frowned. "What answer?"
“To whether or not you’re a psychopath like your father. You're putting my needs over yours, and that alone should tell you that you're nothing like him. He had no empathy. You do!”
Atlas’ eyes darted around the room, making him look confused. “I don’t know. People thought of my father as empathetic. Maybe I’m just good at saying the right thing like he was.”
“No, Atlas. There’s a difference. Your father preyed on people. Think about what that means.”
“That he was sick.”
“Yes, but I meant, think about how a predator works.”
“They hurt people.”
I nodded. “True, but one of their finest skills is to wear people down until they’re weak enough to let the psychopath use them. So let me ask you this; when I was weak and crying in your arms, how come you protected me? When I slept in your apartment, how come you didn’t touch me?”
Atlas’ knee was bobbing up and down as if chaotic energy made it impossible for him to sit still.
“Your father was a strong, confident, and intelligent man. You are too. The difference is that he was a predator while you’re a protector.”
With a small snort, Atlas moved back on his bed to sit against the wall. “Okay, so maybe I do have empathy, but it doesn’t take away my gross thoughts.”
"You're overthinking this, Atlas. If you wanted to hurt me, you've had ample chance of doing it already. When I cuddled up against you and cried in your arms, all you did was comfort me and help me. Atlas, you saved my life!”
