Page 89 of Atlas
Chapter Seventeen
Atlas
Rue storms off, her heels clacking sharp against the floor. My stomach sinks.
I don’t even think. I just move, straight over to Anita, who’s still sitting where Rue left her, staring after her like she’s trying to undo the damage with sheer will.
“What the hell did you say to her?” My voice is sharp, colder than I mean it to be, but I can’t help it. The second I saw Anita cross the room, Iknewit wouldn’t end well.
“I was trying to help,” she mutters, eyes flicking to me and away just as quickly.
“Well, don’t,” I snap. “You’ve done enough.”
And then I’m gone. I catch Rue halfway up the stairs, her back tense, shoulders hunched like she’s bracing for more bad news.
“Wait,” I call, reaching her.
She turns, just enough to look at me over her shoulder, and rolls her eyes when she sees it’s me.
Perfect.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
“Was that down to you?” Her voice wobbles, and I see the sheen in her eyes, the way her mouth trembles. She’s barely holding it together.
I shake my head. “No. It’s my mess, I’d never ask anyone else to fix it.”
She nods once then presses a hand to her stomach. “I feel sick.”
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, reaching for her hand and guiding her the rest of the way upstairs. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t lean into me either. Just follows, shaky and silent.
We reach my room. I push the bathroom door open and flick the light on.
“You don’t drink,” I say gently, crouching beside her as she lowers herself to the tiled floor.
“I was joining in,” she mumbles, already on her knees in front of the toilet.
Her words choke me, that quiet, stupid reason. Just trying to fit in, to belong.
“Can I get you anything?”
She shakes her head, still not looking at me. “No. Leave me alone.” Her voice cracks as she tries to push the door closed between us.
I block it with my foot. “You can’t lock it. Not if you’re sick. I’m staying right here.”
She doesn’t argue. Just bows her head and breathes slow, like she’s trying not to cryorthrow up.
I stay by the bathroom door while she throws up, my hand braced against the frame, listening to the awful sound of her retching. Every second of it twists something in my chest. I hate that I let things get this far. Hate that Anita opened her mouth. Hate that Rue is the one hurting because of our messy, complicated past.
Eventually, the room goes quiet.
I give it a beat before easing the door open. She’s curled over the toilet, pale and damp with sweat, her arms limp at her sides. My heart squeezes.
“Hey,” I murmur, crouching down and pressing my hand to her clammy forehead.
She doesn’t answer. Her eyes are glassy, half-lidded, barely holding on.
Gently, I scoop her up into my arms. She doesn’t resist, just sighs and lets her head fall against my shoulder like she’s been waiting for this all night. Her body’s soft and warm, despite the chill on her skin.
