Moments later, footsteps can be heard thudding angrily against the floorboards. Then, Oscar appears next to me, his mouth hanging open as he takes in the scene around him.
“…What is happening?” he asks.
He’s in his pajamas and clearly distraught.
“I need you to put a chain lock on the outside of Atlas’s door. He’s planning to run away.” Atticus instructs.
“What?!” I screech.
At the same time, Atlas says, “Pardon me?”
Oscar’s eyes flicker between the two Chastain brothers, an expression of hesitance and misery settling over his features.
“Oscar, no,” Atlas pleads. “Don’t you dare.”
“Oscar, listen to me. It’s for hissafety. If not, he’ll run away with Julian and hisfriends.” Atticus spits the word out as if it’s poison, and I can feel Cassie and Cameron flinch from behind me.
We all seem to hang in limbo as we wait for Oscar’s response. He looks so genuinely conflicted that I sort of feel bad for the guy.
Well, I feel bad for him until he says, “Alright. I’ll be back with my tools.”
“No!” Atlas screams, lunging for me the moment Oscar leaves the room.
I’m moving toward him too, long before I can register it, but someone is grabbing my shoulders, pulling me out of the room.
And as Atticus slams the door shut, closing himself and Atlas inside, the last thing I see is Atlas’s outstretched hands and his tear-soaked face.
“Come on,” Cameron says into my ear. “Let’s go before he calls the cops. Hewilldo it, Julian. We’ll find another way.”
Numbly, I let Cassie and Cameron guide me from Chastain Castle and back toward Cassie’s Nissan. As I climb into the backseat, I can’t help but wonder if this will be the last time I see Atlas.
And now I’m realizing Atticus took theBlack Book,and even if I manage to return to the west tower, I have nothing to offer Atlas anyway.
Fuck.
Atlas Chastain is in love with me, and I failed him wholly and completely.
I’ve never deserved his love. Not for a moment.
Atlas
26
“ATTICUS, PLEASE.” THE WORDSleave me in a whimper, broken and hoarse after having spent most of the night screaming and crying.
He does not respond.
I am fairly certain nobody is actually on the other side of this door because when I look through the minuscule space between the floor and the bottom ledge, I can’t see any movement.
It is just me locked up here: a prisoner in the west tower.
The white silk of my pajamas has faded to a dull black in various spots due to sitting or lying on the ground for an extended period of time.
My eyes feel swollen and sting from how dry they are; my hair is undoubtedly frizzy and sticking up from sleeping on hardwood, rather than my soft sheets.
I could look in the mirror; I could check, but something inside of me is screaming that if I take in my reflection, the first thing I’ll see is the ghost of Julian wrapped around me, giving me that look of pure, unfiltered admiration.
I believe Atticus will keep me locked in here until I am cured of this curse. I believe that, in turn, I will never be set free. I will never see Julian again.
