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Wren
Iexistedina dark, aimless place. There was no pain. No sadness. I felt nothing in particular, just numbness. There was no time. No…nothing. It was just me, existing in a space I don’t think I belonged in.
But I was so very tired. Weak. And I stayed. I waited.
Sometimes I thought I heard his voice, the voice of the angel who’d saved me. But it was far away and muffled. Less than a whisper. And though I wanted to find my angel, I couldn’t. There was nothing but blackness, and I couldn’t find the way.
I don’t know how long I waited, but suddenly, a voice rang through me. It wasn’t my angel’s voice, but it was loud and clear.
“Go back,” it said. It was strong, but small, like the voice of a child. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. “Go back.”
I wanted to tell the voice that I didn’t know how. I didn’t know where to go or what to do.
“Open your eyes,” the voice said. “Open your eyes and go back. Atlas is waiting for you.”
Atlas.
His name thrummed within me like a beating heart. Atlas. Yes, I wanted to be with Atlas. I wanted to go to him. My chest burned, and I was startled as I realized I did indeed have a chest. Gradually, I became aware of my body, of my aching muscles and my stinging skin and my pulsing blood rushing through my veins. My head pounded and my eyelids were heavy and swollen.
It didn’t work on the first try but eventually, I managed to open my eyes. The room swam into focus. The beeping of machines and the smell of sharp alcohol and stale coffee met my senses.
I was in a hospital bed. I gently moved my toes. They seemed to work as they shifted against the scratchy, thin blankets. One of my arms was wrapped in a cast, but there was a gentle pressure around the hand on my good arm. I shifted my eyes over and down, meeting a head of dark, thick waves. My lips parted in a smile, and I wanted to run my hand through the soft strands that seemed almost as familiar as my own. But he was holding on firmly to my hand as he slept.
“Atlas?” My voice was raspy and barely more than a whisper, but it was enough.
Atlas jerked awake, his head snapping up as he blinked at me. His eyes were bloodshot and delirious.
My heart clenched.
“Have you slept at all?” I asked. He looked terrible.
His amber eyes widened, traveling over my face almost obsessively, his mouth dropping open.
And then his face crumbled, a sob bursting from him as if it had been pent up inside for years. He gripped my hand hard in both of his, pressing it against his forehead as his eyes screwed closed against the tears.
“Atlas,” I said, trying to soothe him though I could barely move. “It’s okay.”
He shook his head and pressed his lips against my open palm again and again. “I thought…I didn’t know…” He shook his head again, as if he couldn’t give words to what he’d gone through.
I hushed him. “I’m okay. I mean, I think I am.” I winced as I tried to shift my body.
This seemed to snap Atlas out of his breakdown. He rose to his feet but kept his hold on my hand carefully.
“Are you in pain? Should I get your doctor? The nurse?” His eyes roamed over my body helplessly.
“Atlas,” I said, gently. “Sit down. I think I’m okay.”
“You don’t need the doctor?”
“No, not right now,” I said. “But I do need you to sit and calm down.”
He lowered himself back down onto the chair pulled up as close as possible to my bedside. We stared at each other, his eyes drinking me in as if he’d been dying of thirst.
And then it was my turn to burst into tears as everything rushed back to me: the basement, fighting for my life, almost dying at the hands of someone I thought had been a friend.
Atlas ran a hand gently through my hair, pushing back the fuzzy, matted tendrils. He whispered words of comfort, leaning down and kissing away the tears.
“I’m so sorry,” I eventually choked out.
