Lilly's Grave

Silence...

Atlas screamed laying down on the floor hand on the sink gripping so tight Sycila was afraid he might hurt himself breaking the ceramic sink after all they were living in a rented flat with two other roommates who would be there any hour, pick up their stuff, chat for half an hour and be gone for another twelve. Atlas looked away from the light, fighting to hide away and not let anyone see him.

Sycila never pushed for the sight of his vulnerability, nor asked him any questions.

If a stranger would see her, they'd think she was either apathetic or simply numb and dead inside.
But Atlas knew Sycila wasn't numb, if anything she'd stayed up nights nursing another person's wounds, she could not sleep knowing people were suffering alone, so the most she did was stay awake with the person and make sure they didn't feel abandoned, often enquiring if they needed a hug, that is all she could offer.
Atlas knew he dared not belittle that; companionship. He never had that, another soul sitting alongside him, looking at him as he is; a gaze with no prejudice, eagerness to hear him form his own narrative, and lips that wait to say "it's okay, I know it's hard on you."

Sycila was two years older than him, Atlas often looked up to Sycila whenever he felt he struggled with emotions. She was raw and unfiltered, there was no rage and yet her anger was terrifying, she'd stop gazing at you with her all-encompassing gaze, how would you cope with that?
Atlas couldn't, he knew he needed another person to look at him, and simply be with him, to share the eerie silence with him.
He got up from the floor, face drenched with tears, and proceeded to splash his face with cold water.
Sycila looked at him expectantly, the previous day he had splashed his face with such force, the water traveled onto Sycila's arm while she was walking to the kitchen, she wondered how often we are unkind to ourselves in small ways.

She felt her eyes water up remembering how she herself, took a stick when she was struck with sadness, and whipped herself, punishing herself for simply having emotions.
She stayed quiet catching his reflection in the mirror looking at himself with a softer gaze, almost kind, but often conflicting, with the thought "You better not be this weak again."
A sentence often repeated throughout his childhood.

He walked over to where the window sill kept the potted plants, pulled a chair near the window, and sat.

There, he sat, in another person's presence.
The last time he felt another soul's compassion, he was ostracized and bullied to death, simply for being embraced by another boy of the same preteen year as him, holding Atlas as he cried and shook in his arms.
A group of boys had walked into the scene. The two were beaten and spat at, abused within the walls of the boys' locker room. For welcoming the embrace of another soul which offered him a safe place to reside in and wallow his heart out, simply because they were of the same sex, by a group of people trying to be as tough as they can so the world doesn't snicker at them.

Atlas remembers how, the boy has now come out as a gay man, often posting pictures of him walking the pride parade proudly. Here, he was afraid to have the light shine upon him.

He felt lucky to be able to embrace Sycila and drown in her warmth under the pretense that she was of the opposite sex, the most that'd be said would be "they might be dating", for being human wasn't enough. Sycila offered him a warm blanket, and he gracefully accepted wrapping himself up in a cocoon on the chair and drifting off in comfort, and warmth resembling another person's unsullied attention.