Page 57 of What’s Left of Us

I trail off, searching for the right way to explain. But the more I search for it, the more impossible it feels. All I can think about is the fact I ruined everything. That I’ve been punishing Atlas for doing the right thing for years. The longer I sit in this quiet, the more my thoughts race, until my tears run in a steady stream down my cheeks.

“I’m a monster.” My words are barely intelligible, but I think Hayden’s heard them because she hugs me tighter. She’s squeezing so hard it’s crushing my ribcage. “I’m just like him.”

“You’re not,” she says fiercely against my ear. “Not even a little.”

“Atlas loves me.” I’m full-on blubbering now, but I don’t know how to stop. “He’s loved me this whole time, and I’ve been awful. Blaming him for something that was my fault all along. Who does that?”

“Shhh.” Hayden’s started swaying back and forth, like I’m an overgrown baby. “Breathe, Violet.”

I can’t. I don’t remember how. My breaths have been reduced to pathetic gasps, intermixed with hideous, wet sobs.

“It’s my fault.” This time, I’m confident she can’t understand me. “It was me. I knew it, and I didn’t want to accept it. So I’ve hated him, and he’s just let me hate him. And I—I⁠—”

“Breathe, Violet.”

I shove away from her. Monsters don’t deserve to be coddled, and they don’t deserve the patient, pitiful gaze Hayden is giving me right now.

“It was me.” The words are caught on a loop, and I don’t fight the panic. I let it grip me until I’ve lost any semblance of control. Until I dissolve into sobs and eventually fall asleep, right there on the couch, with Hayden leaned firmly against me.

When I wake, I’m being carried. I know it’s him without opening my eyes. I don’t want to think about what he’s doing here—or what Hayden must have said when she called. I just bury my head against his chest and pretend to sleep as he deposits me into my bed.

Atlas crawls into the space behind me, tucking me against his chest.

“Sleep, baby,” he whispers. Because of course he knows I’m awake.

There isn’t a single part of me that Atlas doesn’t know better than I know myself. His arm drapes over my middle, and I cling to it, pulling his hand to rest just above my heart. As much as I know I don’t deserve his kindness, I let it surround me, until I once again drift to sleep.

Chapter 25

age sixteen

Atlas and I had never been in a fight. There were a couple I considered fights, which he would consider playful bickering. It was only now that I realized he was right. The time we argued over whether my car was too messy. The time I told him he always smelled like chlorine and should switch body wash. The time I wanted to get Chinese food for a date and he wanted Mexican.

Those were all silly little disagreements.

This was a fight.

“I need to know, Vi.”

He followed me as I stomped into his backyard. Truthfully, I didn’t know where I was going. All I knew was that I couldn’t be in his house for one minute longer. We’d had a nice weekend planned—his parents were out of town visiting his sister at college. We were going to have a spectacular time of fooling around, playing house, and making Christmas wishlists. I fully suspected Atlas already had a gift for me, just like I already had one for him, but this was something of a tradition.

I reached the edge of his back porch. I was barefoot, and though it was an unusually mild winter, it was too cold to be without shoes. A thin layer of snow stuck to the grass, and the wooden slats of the porch felt so cold they burned.

“Where are you going?” he demanded, catching my elbow.

I crossed my arms, letting him stop me, if only because I didn’t actually want to walk into the snowy grass. I didn’t face him. I stared out at his backyard, working hard not to glance toward mine.

Next door, my parents were having the worst fight I’d ever seen—and that was saying something. Nat didn’t come home last night, and Dad was convinced Mom knew where she was. As soon as things started getting physical, I slipped out the front door and came here.

I wasn’t sure why, but when Atlas asked why I was upset, I made the mistake of telling him the truth: my parents were fighting because it was nine in the morning, and Nat still wasn’t home after sneaking out last night.

Of course he wanted to know more. And of course, I couldn’t tell him. That would open doors that could never again be closed. Some things, I knew, were better kept hidden.

“Violet.” Atlas leaned closer, and the warmth of his breath tickled my ear. “Talk to me. Please.”

“What do you want me to say?” I demanded, whirling to face him.

“I want to know what’s going on,” he snapped. It wasn’t like him. He hardly looked like himself, his face all twisted, brow furrowed. I hated that I was the reason he looked like this. Terrified and angry and frustrated. “Where is Nat?”