“Seven weeks ago,” I correct. “And nothing, I guess. Hanging out with the staff? Hiding in my bedroom?”
I plop down on the dead grass below me, trying not to chatter around the cold wind.
“Sounds boring as shit. Are you spending Christmas there too? Or are you coming home?” Susie asks.
“Probably here. Flights are expensive, my dear.”
Susie sighs, and in the background, I hear a door slam. “That’s lame. We’ll miss you if that’s not obvious. And—oh, Lan just got back from the gym. I’m going to be a good roomie and make him some dinner. Talk later?”
“Sure,” I say, something hot and sorrowful twisting at my gut. “Talk later.”
As the call disconnects, I’m overcome with an intense feeling of missing out. Of being excluded, even as it wasmydecision to leave. Or, as much of a decision as I can pretend it was.
And Landon? I miss him. I miss when he’d show up at my house, desperate for my company: whether that meant video games or fucking each other’s brains out. Or when he’d call me just to talk my ear off about his day.
I miss my best friend.
But distance adds an extra strain, and when I left, we were in another awkward phase. One where he wanted more, and I didn’t.
It’d be nice, them coming to visit. I can’t invite them to Chastain Castle, obviously, but I can certainly head into town and see them.
Speaking of heading into town… Port Orford isn’tjustold people, right?
I really,reallyneed to get laid.
A knock sounds at my bedroom door later the next day, as I get myself ready to go into the heart of Port Orford for the first time since we moved here.
Making sure I’m fully decent in my blue jeans and my brown button-up, I head toward the door. Some part of me hopes it’ll be Atlas, though I know that is a ludicrous notion. Not only has heneverfound himself in Hall E2, not that I’ve been made aware of, but I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning, when I caught him in the chapel, crying.
The air in the room was thick with humidity and heat, and I’ve found that it seems to be that way in every room Atlas occupies. Like a walking space heater, I burn up in his presence.
I wanted to fix it. I wanted to heal whatever it is inside of him that’s forcing him to his knees in front of the giant statue of Jesus on a cross.
Now, I’m not a religious guy, but it’s clear that Atlas has some deep-rooted belief that he needs the forgiveness of a higher power. To each their own, I guess. I just wish I could prevent him from feeling so guilty, so bad about himself.
One second, he’s dripping confidence and exuding sex appeal, and now, I’ve seen thenextsecond, where he’s a crumbling mess on the red-carpeted floor.
Could he have come to find me to thank me for wiping his tears? Or maybe he wants… something else? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it—that look in his eyes that screams,“Fuck me until I cry, Julian!”But I could be imagining things.
Because sometimes, when I’m with him, his eyes also seem to be warning me away.
But alas, as I open my bedroom door, it’s just my father.
“Julie,” he says, pushing his way inside. “What are you getting ready for?”
He takes stock of my pressed shirt and the leather jacket I have lying over the end of my bed. My combed hair, my wallet that is sitting on the dresser.
“I was actually about to come find you. Can I borrow the truck?” As I ask, Dad raises a brow. “I’m going to check out the town. Or the port? I’m not sure what they call it here.”
Dad huffs out a small laugh, fishing in his pockets for the keys. “Okay, sure. I can’t believe you waited this long to go out.”
“Well, I’m under the impression that there’s just a bunch of old people here. Might as well check, though.”
“Might as well,” Dad agrees. “Talk to me before you go. How are things? I feel like we never see each other.”
He plops down next to my jacket, moving it out of his way. I lean back against my dresser, sighing softly.
“Things are good. I get along well with Abigail, though Atticus is still cold toward me,” I admit.
