“Of course not,” I hiss. “It would fuck up our friendship.”
“You don’t know that. He probably reciprocates those feelings.”
“Let me figure it out, please.”
But he’s right. I know myself. And I’ll regret it if Ezra doesn’t hear the truth from me before something bad happens to us.
When our awkward conversation tapers into silence, Atlas’s mother ushers us back inside with regret. There’s evidence in her eyes that she doesn’t enjoy this any more than we do, but it’s better to play it safe than be sorry.
“Conin?” Atlas says. He holds a clear glass in hand, raising it so I can give in to his offer. He never pushes, but he continues to ask despite my constant refusal. This time, I cave in.
“Sure,” I say.
Atlas blinks, his lips parted in disbelief.
Ezra turns to me as if I’ve sprouted a new arm and leg.
“Okay,” says Atlas.
He pours three glasses, handing one to each of us.
“¡Salud!” he exclaims.
We toast, clink crystalline cups of tequila together. Ezra has his downed in seconds, with Atlas as a close contender. I’m moredeliberate with my drink, but I finish not far after they do. Atlas pours another round. We toast, drink, and succumb to the mind-numbing effects. I’m a lightweight, contrary to what my belly would have you believe, so even with food in my stomach, it’s not long before I feel the pleasure of being drunk. Time passes at an unknown pace before I’m being offered more tequila. I drink without hesitation and with no thoughts in my mind. It’s nice.
Ezra and Atlas play video games as I attempt to read. The reading doesn’t stick, so I watch them play a more lighthearted game. He hasn’t mentioned it, but it’s clear that Ezra understood the reason for my outburst the other night. There’s a sudden surge of gratefulness and fondness when I gaze into his one blue and one green eye. He’s beautiful. Ezra’s stunning.
Some movie gets turned on and the three of us mind-numbingly watch it. It’s hard to pay attention when Ezra’s right fucking there, looking gorgeous with every follicle of his being. It’s movie after movie in an endless cycle thereafter. I pretend to be attentive, yet it’s the boys who captivate my eye: Ezra and Atlas, both. They’re so attractive, so fucking attractive, I could burst into flame on the spot, and I’d be okay with it. I’d be content. And I don’t know what it means. I don’t think I care to know what it means. I know I find them both attractive. I like Atlas because he treats the boy I love most in this world the way he deserves to be treated, nothing like Dan or the guys or the Grays would. I know I love Ezra with every fiber of my fucking being, so much so that it hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts.
I’m so drunk.
Atlas chooses a vinyl from the shelf and places it delicately onto the record player. Music plays from a band I don’t recognize, but I let myself sway to the beat, get lost in the good vibes and how it makes me feel. I’m having genuine fun. There’s guilt underneath all these layers, but for tonight I don’t care. Ilet it go. I sway and dance and raise my hands into the air like I just don’t care. Because I don’t care. Tonight, I do not care at all.
“Let’s do this again,” I yell.
Ezra and Atlas agree.
“Let’s do this every night!”
We dance and dance until we can dance no more.
I wake up to an unimaginable hangover. My mouth is dry and my throat burns. It feels like death. It feelsworsethan death. I’m sprawled out on the couch. Atlas’s silhouette lies on the carpet, and my tangled limbs entwine with . . .Ezra’s.
I spring away, clutching my knees to my chest, and watch in horror as Ezra slowly comes to. He blinks several times. He must notice the departure of my legs from his own, though he displays not a single ounce of remorse and also no signs that he was fine with the innocent entanglement.
Was it innocent?
Last night was blurry.
Instead, Ezra exudes an impassive expression. He mutters a “good morning” before settling his gaze on Atlas below. Seeing the other boy still asleep with an arm under the coffee table gives him the okay to drift off again. Ezra relaxes, the tension in his shoulders dissipates, and his face untangles from its intense knots.
A quirk in my mouth makes me realize just how happy I am. Ezra’s regaining the ability to trust someone else after years of difficulty. Before, it might have felt like jealousy. Now, I can’t help but feel grateful for how close he and Atlas have been getting. It proves that he’s opening up, taking risks, and growing from the immense pain of his previous life. Ezra has a new friend, someone he can trust and confide in. Someone, perhaps,who can teach him the ropes—help him come to terms with his abilities.
Atlas will be there for Ezra if he needs it. The hope is that after we leave the bunker, the Angelics will show him the path to acceptance. I can feel it. But a tinge of sadness lurks behind the swell of positive emotions. When everything is said and done, what will my purpose be? What will I be to Ezra apart from a childhood friend? The sad bit is I’m not sure I’ll be ready when Ezra doesn’t need me anymore.
So, maybe it’s time I confess. I have nothing to lose, right?
Chapter 34
