He’s in a flare-up.
“Do you need my help?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Knowing he’s suffering is already a big enough drive, but also knowing that he’s needy and desperate in this moment is sending signs to my own dick like a lit-up bat signal.
But Atlas shakes his head, quick and harsh.
“No, thank you.”
That is all he says, nothing more and nothing less.
I watch as he grabs a random book from the closest case and begins to translate the first page on his cellphone.
I will never understand him or why he’s suddenly decided I’m not worthy of touching him. But on the same hand, I won’t force myself on him or try to guilt my way into his pants either.
We need to finish this so that I can move on. Maybe I’ll find a new job and get the fuck out of Chastain Castle.
“Your father and Atticus came down here,” I say, and Atlas lifts his head with a quickness.
“What? Did they see you?” He’s panicked.
“No. But they were looking for information on the cure, just like we are. Your dad said that the psychic was the one to find this room, and she heard the prophecy in here as well.” I chose to leave out the part where he mentioned Atlas’s crush; I’m unwilling to be rejected twice in one day.
“That makes sense. This room isn’t something my family would utilize normally,” Atlas tells me.
If only you knew, I think.
“Maybe we should join up with them, invite them to help us,” Atlas continues, giving me a hopeful expression.
“I also heard Atticus say he doesn’t trust me,” I add, to which Atlas’s face immediately falls.
“Oh. Never mind, then.”
Silence settles over us as we study our separate books, and as I rework the same page, I begin to feel a bit of guilt. I know I’m only keeping what I know from him because I don’t want to freak him out, and I don’t have all the answers, but if it were me, I’d want to know. In fact, I’d be pissed that it was kept from me.
I take a deep breath; the decision has been made.
“Atlas,” I start, grabbing the book and walking to where he stands. As I set it on the podium, he gives me a wide berth.
“Yes?” he asks, breathless.
“I found this in theBlack Book. It had English writing in it, so I took it to a psychic in town yesterday, and I learned some things.” I say it slowly, nervously, and Atlas looks up at me with wide eyes.
“Why didn’t you take me with you? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Well… I didn’t want to freak you out.” I leave out how I was also pissed that he’s been dissing me. It feels petty now.
“What did the psychic say?” Atlas questions.
So I tell him. From start to finish, I tell him what Madam Lu said about his ancestor, and how I heard nothing of the cure. Atlas’s eyes only widen further, his mouth falling open.
“So, my ancestorsdidplay with dark magic?” he whispers.
“Seems that way,” I confirm.
Atlas shakes his head, peering down at the book but not touching it. His eyes are glassy, and from where I stand a few inches away, I can feel the heat rolling off him in waves.
God, he must be in so much pain.
