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I breathe deeply in through the nose, counting backwards in my head, scrolling as I do. As I reach the final number, I let out the breath and glare at my screen.
If it isn’t college sports, it’s politics flooding my feed. I pause with a breath stuck in my lungs on a video of an overweight politician with slick, brown hair, a stern face, and an angry gleam in his eye as he goes on about some immigration reform and his upcoming annual gala like the two go hand in hand or something.
I click the phone off and try to block out all the negativity and shitty people in the world.
Half the time when I’m fixing faces at work, I find myself wondering just who I’m breathing life into. What kind of a person they were?
Were they the thousands of Nathans and screaming politicians? Or were they actually good people?
Do those even exist in this fucked-up world anymore?
If they do, they’re about as rare as a body still filled with life lying on the slab in a morgue.
Five
Atlas
The sun bleeds across the pale blue sky, threatening to overtake the upcoming night. My hand hovers against the cold campus handle, and I can’t explain the sick turn of my stomach. I’ve had all week to dread this day. I peer back over my shoulder. Dozens of people litter the green grass, walking to and from class. Everything is completely normal.
But it doesn’t feel normal.
Nothing does. Honestly, my life before coming here was the furthest thing from normal. But right now... I feel... I don’t know. Like I’m being watched. Judged...
I shake my head at myself. It’s nerves. Because today could be my very last class at Greystone University. Why did I even come? I can see online if he failed me because of last week’s assignment. It’s not like he’s going to give me asecond, second chance.
I blew it. Nathan was a grade A asshole about it, but I screwed up all on my own by not turning the assignment in on time in the first place.
I try to calm the anxiety in my chest and walk inside. I even raise my head high. I’ve been through some tough shit in my life before, and I won’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.
I avoid staring at the front of the classroom as I move up and take a seat somewhere in the middle. Burying myself amongst a sea of several faces always feels like the smartest move. To draw as little attention to myself as possible.
Unfortunately, that means several people have to shove past me to get to their own seats at my sides.
“Bro, did you see the game last week? Fucking insane, man!” Some guy bumps into my desk as he shoves his friend next to him. “Rowan Stone was a beast. A fuckingbeast!”
The other guy is quieter. He has a mustache that’s perfectly manicured and soft, kind features. Straight-cut nose, thick lashes, and dark eyes. He pauses with a smile when he sees me.
“Sorry,” he mouths.
I smile. Or at least, I give what little energy I have left to form what I hope is familiar as a smile. Christ, I hope I don’t look like the killer clown I wrote about in my failed fucking report.
Wouldn’t that be some shit?
“Alright, everyone!” Hands clapping draws our attention to the front of the room where our professor stands behind his desk. “Mr. Bolen will not be passing out papers this morning due to his injuries from last week’s hockey game, so please make your way to the front, and he will find your assignments for you.”
Injuries, you say? My ears perk up as everyone around me shuffles to a stand, blocking my vision of Nathan entirely. Karma is one bad bitch, isn’t she, Nathan? My, my, how things have turned.
I smirk to myself, but it honestly does very little to make me feel better. My classmates herd toward the front of the room to Nathan’s little desk where he hands them each their papers. My smug mood is dampened slightly as I stay seated. There’s no need to humiliate me further regarding this assignment. I already know I’ve failed. No need to announce it publicly to everyone.
I was into it too. I had some great info in there. A professional-level analysis.
And now none of it matters.
Sure, I’m sulking just a bit, but I deserve to mope. God. Can’t wait until I see his fucking face. Maybe that’ll make me feel a smidge better.
I crane my neck up as the line begins thinning. When there’s finally an opening of bodies, my eyes widen at the sight of him.
Injuriesis an understatement. Perfectly put-together Nathan looks like he got ran over by a fucking Zamboni machine and spit out its asshole. His fucking eye is bruised shut. Someone broke his nose. I mean, he needed it–deserved it–because it was a monster of a schnauzer, but damn. They broke himgood.
