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One sudden horrific moment shifts the entire trajectory of Atlas and Errol's lives, handicapping both young men in ways they could never have expected. A sculptor without his sight, and a piani...
Longer chapter cause I'm late as all hell with this upload. My bad y'all, love youuuu xoxo p.s., probably errors galore cause I didn't have time to read this through. Also my bad y'all, love youuuuu
Atlas
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"Yeah sure, that's fine..." I replied to Atticus, as he paused to wait for my response.
"Then I'll also put Exhibit 39 on display that night." Atticus added.
"Yeah sure, that's fine..." I mumbled, not noticing how I just repeated my own response verbatim.
"Atlas!" Atticus snapped suddenly, pulling me back into this drawn out meeting.
"Yes?" I replied with confusion laced into my tone. Shit, what were we even talking about? Which exhibit did he just mention?
"Exhibit 39 was recalled per your request, years ago. Where's your head at? Because it's sure as hell not here."
"Shit," I sighed. That was one of Lia's favourite exhibits. I decided not to sell the remaining pieces in case I ever got to see her again... to give it to her. "Sorry," I more or less groaned to Atticus. He was right, my body was physically in my art studio, but my head had nodded off into fucking Narnia.
Today was... Wednesday night? In addition to hitting a burnout these last few days, Errol and I were in a devilish game of phone tag. I hadn't spoken to him since Monday, and though Thursday was literally tomorrow, I was already getting antsy.
I know I know, leave me alone. I was pitiful right now and I wasn't willing to admit this to anyone but myself.
"I promise you my undivided attention," I did my best to reassure Atticus, who was hell bent on getting all these topics covered today. He wanted productivity, and this point I would sell my soul for five minutes of shut-eye.
What time even was it? Atticus was my ride home and I was quickly realizing just how much this was being used against me on tonight of all nights.
Had I somehow found myself in a hostage negotiation? I wondered.
"Good, because believe it or not Atlas, this is your exhibit. The first one in like five years. I both a.) Need you to take this seriously, and b.) Want this to be as personal to you as possible. What's the point of coming back into the art world if we half ass it?"
I wanted to choose violence because Atticus had had us here for hours going over the nitty gritty details, but instead I chose to kiss his ass. Something told me that would be more effective.
"I just trust you and your judgement so much. Who better to put this together than the man that knows me the absolute best?"
I could practically feel the warmth spread through him as I played the one thing that really mattered to Atticus and his work: his ego.
