Maybe we'll have to see who's left standing after this all ends.
* * *
June brings heat that sticks to skin and a family dinner that feels like walking into an ambush.
My mother's birthday. Usually, it's a celebration. This year, it feels different.
The penthouse thrums with bodies and bullshit. Champagne flows like it can wash away what we really are.
Camille's flown in. It's the first fucking real weekend we'd be around each other for an extended period, and I'm already sick of her persistent need to always be touching me.
Dinner's laid out on the table in front of us, and her nails dig in through the fabric, five little reminders that she'd rather draw blood than let me leave.
Atlas sits across from us, brows perched. There's a twin thing that passes between us. He knows I'll punch him right in the jaw if he even starts.
“Pass the salt?” The words scrape out just to make him move his fucking gaze.
He slides it over. Keeps staring.
The conversation flows around me, Camille yapping about wedding plans that I didn't agree to, and my mother passing a careful eye over me every two seconds.
I kick me foot out, annoyed with the chatter. “Where's Khloe?”
Mom blinks, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “She'll be here tomorrow. Work.”
“—We're thinking fall,” Camille says, and her nail catches skin through the fabric. “Aren't we, baby?”
I don't smile. Swiping my drink, I swallow it in one gulp.
“I need air.” I push away from the table, making my way to the balcony. The city spreads below like an infection. Sometimes I wonder if shit would be easier if I was just like one of them.Moving through the streets with a basic ass job in a basic ass office.
Atlas closes the door behind himself as I reach into my pocket.
“You good?” He asks, coming up beside me, his arms on the railing. Chicago is a windy bitch tonight, but not even her tantrum can distract me from my thoughts.
I bite the joint into my mouth. “Fucking perfection, brother.” Curling my hand around the end, I blaze the end and puff on it enough until the ember ignites. “Can't you tell?”
Atlas chuckles die in his throat as he drags his eyes away from me and out to the city. “Oh, boy…”
“Girl, actually,” I blow out a cloud of smoke onto the end. “Her name's Ivy.”
“I don't care if her name is Mother Teresa.” He moves closer, and suddenly the balcony feels like a cage. “You know how this is going to end. You know it can't—”
“—shut up, Atlas. Why the fuck do you think I'm here, huh?” My eyes land on him. “Ask yourself that before you come marching out here on your high horse.”
He doesn't answer. That's Atlas. Unfuckwithable.
Breathing out a sigh, he snatches the joint. “I don't envy you.”
“Sure you do,” I widen a smirk at my little brother. “You like chaos.”
He chokes on the smoke, passing it back. “Nah, not this kind. What are we gonna do?”
We're quiet for a moment, as I watch Camille laugh at something my mother says.
“What we've always planned to,” I say, jaw clenched.
Atlas follows my eyes. “You know Khlo hates her, right? That's why she's not here…”
