And for that, I don’t loathehim, just what he stands for.
“Cross my heart and hope to die, baby,” Julian promises, leaning into Atlas’s space. “Care to go for a walk with me while Abigail is with her piano instructor? We can talk semantics for your birthday party.”
This man clearly has no concept of what is appropriate and what is not in front of his lover’s family, but I can’t find it within myself to be too angry. Not with Atlas glowing like this, so incredibly happy to be alive.
“Okay,” Atlas agrees, a new flush appearing on his cheeks. “Let’s go for a walk.”
As Julian takes his hand and Atlas waves goodbye to me, I can’t help but wonder if awalkis a code for something, as my brother looks about ready to cry from embarrassment.
I watch them disappear around the side of the west tower, the breeze ruffling my hair and stinging my eyes.
One day, will the part of me that has been left so empty, so lonely, feel less devastating?
Will I ever heal from the damage he dealt me?
I find it hard to imagine I will when I can barely even think of his name without wanting to fall to my knees, crushed under the weight of his distaste, his rejection.
And even if I could finally heal from this, I couldn’t have what Julian and Atlas have. Where they are equal to each other, depending on one another and not only building each other up but supporting each other endlessly, I crave somethingdifferent.
I need a love more intoxicating, more obsessive and hands-on. The desire to be in charge, to have the primary say in every action, every little detail of someone’s life, is far too great to surrender.
I need someone to control, to possess entirely, to keep as my very own prize.
And the only person I’ve ever wanted, more than anything else, found that repulsive. I’m too toxic, too demanding, and I’m far too smart not to understand what this means.
I’m going to die alone.
I spend most of the day completing my normal routine: eating at designated mealtimes, spending a bit of my evening with Abigail, and busying myself with exercise and studying old coursework from my degree.
It is my responsibility to keep my mind sharp, even if Father insists on making me wait to begin my career at Portline Enterprises.
Once the sun has set, I can finally excuse myself, so I say good night to my family as they sit in the drawing room with Julian and Jeremy.
Now that Julian has sacrificed himself to save Atlas, my family treats him and his father as if they’reone of us. Which, just to clear the air, I have no prejudice due to class or status. I’m not that kind of man.
But I do frequently wonder if my parents just don’t care that Julian is stealing away our precious little Atlas, or how odd it is to be doing these things with them when we have never even lounged withOscarbefore.
I think I would much rather take evening tea with Oscar, if only he hadn’t agreed to the long vacation Father offered him.
As I enter my quarters, I sigh, letting the stress of the day fall from my shoulders. Sure, the structure and death grip I keep around my life under the guise ofcontrolbring me immeasurable comfort, butnothaving it? Not having my path carved and every move planned and executed perfectly?
Well, that is exhausting. And having my Father remove me from his office, and the brief period of my workout where my jump rope got snagged on the fountain out front and snapped, most definitely threw me for a loop.
I had to do jumping jacks.Jumping jacks!
With slightly trembling fingers, I begin to unbutton my shirt, pulling it from my shoulders. Before I can walk it to my laundry basket—the one markedwhites—I spot the broken snow globe sitting on the table by my window.
It happened a few days ago, and I’m pretty sure it was Abigail—though she’ll never admit it—because it certainly wasn’t me.
If it had been Atlas, he would have run to me immediately, probably in tears, and no one else would have entered my room without my knowledge.
But I digress. Abigail is still young, and the snow globe should have been trashed years ago.Should have.
It was a gift. A small cottage with a sign readingski lodgeoverhead, surrounded by small trees and mountains covered in snowcaps. The globe itself was big, about the size of my palm, and readGrand Timber Lodge, Coloradoon the base.
I didn’t even receive it from the lodge itself or from someone whowentto the infamous resort. No, it was found byhim, by someone who left it in a repossessed car he was scouring at the junkyard.
He said the trees reminded him of me. That he wanted me to have it, giving it to me just days before that wretched party.
