“No one was in the hallway, not at first. A staff member came strolling through, and asked what I was doing out ofclass . . . I skipped because I didn’t want to miss the Angelics’ visit. When she spoke, I ran. I ran the mile home and walked in on my panicked grandfather giving orders to the Angelics on where they could go to search. The relief on abu's face made me believe it would be okay, but I knew the others were silently scrutinizing me. They asked what had happened and I told them, thinking it would win me some brownie points. Even when no one witnessed me teleporting into the school, the Angelics still thought it was necessary to wipe away the memories of everyone there. It’s not a large school, so it was easy. I was embarrassed and hid from the Angelics for the remainder of their visit.”
Atlas chokes on his next words, and they stumble one over the other as his eyes develop a glassy sheen. “When the Angelics left, abu took me aside, lifted me, and hugged me tight against his chest. He told me what I’d done had been an honest mistake, that he was proud of me, and that he knew my heart was in the right place. I never thanked him then, but at that moment . . . it was paramount. It helped me as I grew up. Shaped me into who I am, knowing he’d be proud no matter where I ended up and what I did with my life.”
“He sounds like an amazing man,” Conin says. His sentiment shocks me, but that’s Conin. He’s kind and understanding.
“He was,” Atlas choked. “I wish he was still here. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Well, if it’s any reassurance,” I say, “I think you’ve been doing a good job.”
My voice trembles with this complete and utter vulnerability amidst a stranger—except, is that really who Atlas is to me anymore? It’s as if I’ve known him for years.
“Ezra and I are indebted to you. I can’t thank you enough for saving our necks,” Conin says.
Atlas nods and mutters a “thank you.” He blinks rapidly to suppress the tears. “I want to do the right thing and continue abu's work. But I also know I’ll miss you two.”
Had I heard him correctly? I’m as confused as Conin appears. Atlas turns his head, grumbling under his breath when neither of us replies. If I pause to sit and reflect, can I say I feel the same?
“I’ll miss you, too,” I whisper.
Atlas’s eyes dart to mine. In that suspended moment, I know he will forever remain prevalent in my life, a mark fated to stay for eternity.
“I’m queer!” he blurts out.
It’s not Atlas I turn to, but my unsubtle want to memorize and ascertain Conin’s feelings. He gapes, his maw open. He clenches his jaw.Oh god. Oh, motherfucking god. Kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me.
“Oh,” Conin says. “That’s awesome!”
What?
“I’m pansexual,” he tells us.
What? The fuck?
My jaw is on the floor, and I couldn’t pick it up even if I tried. Atlas’s stunned expression is like mine—I don’t think he was expecting Conin’s confession, but maybe he’s not surprised. Maybe, it’s just the sudden brevity of those words. Those two words that rattle my entire world.
Chapter 36
Atlas
Why the hell did I admit to them I was queer? What are they supposed to do with that? They leave tomorrow and I’ll be stuck here for the remainder of what will hopefully be a short life. There’s a chance I could see them occasionally if I visited Proctus, but those opportunities would be few and far between. It’s probably been five years since I last paid a visit.
There was foolish optimism that it could’ve been the catalyst to bring them together at last. They can deny it all they want, but their feelings are definitely mutual. It’s obvious to everyone—Conin and Ezra are absolutely ridiculous. (Facts.)
One attainable, positive outcome emerged from my sudden (and ridiculous) outburst. Conin came out as well. It was not my intention to coerce him, but I could see it was eating him up, so I nudged him to say something because I knew if it were me in this situation, I’d like the truth to be out there. The number of times he gazed wistfully at Ezra was more than I could count. It was agonizing to witness after a while.
What happened after Conin’s confession will remain a mystery. Ezra was dead silent afterward, keeping to himself on the couch. The evident panic in Conin’s expression, however, painfully prompted him to flee into the bedroom. Ezra wasn’t going to say anything to me, so I got the fuck out of there and hid inside my room. (I’ve been lying here since.)
Impulses to ram into the wall or repeatedly bang my head against the desk’s surface are prolific. Why is this making me feel weird? Why did I say I’d miss them? Why did I say anything at all?
And why do I care so much?
I’m dying. Is this what dying feels like? I should have asked abu. (God, I’m a horrible, horrible, awful person.) Scratch that from the record. Please. It’s official. I’m going to hell.
The panic raging ruthlessly, crawling through my skin and veins, might very well put me into cardiac arrest. The attempt to stand is worse. I pick myself up from the floor, my legs shaking vehemently under my weight to the point I almost drop to the floor again. I grab on to a shelf to steady my (systems-failing) body and wait for the sensation to subside.
This is a whole other level of worry I’m not used to feeling.
If something happens today, if the extraction goes wrong, I’ll feel responsible because I had one job and can’t fail them now. So, I dress in bland clothes and yeet myself down the steps to the bunker. Ezra greets me in the kitchen. He startles at my approach but it off with an attempt at a smile. I’d normally drink this image up, but the reminder comes that if I fail him, this could be the day we lose Ezra Gray forever.
