The City Of Death

Chapter Seventeen- Macy

"Israel, I don't know what you think you heard, but-"

"So there I was a few nights ago. Rosalie was up all night, getting rid of the last of the shit her cold left in her lungs. I just got her back to sleep when I heard-" 

"Israel!" Next thing I know, Israel is stepping away from me as Atlas tries to tackle him. Israel side-steps easily, but Atlas doesn't seem to be going down without a fight. He tries to tackle Israel three more times, failing each time. Eventually, the roles reverse, and before I know what's happening, the two men are simply chasing each other around. Israel tries to continue the story every time there's a lull in the action, but he never gets more than a few words out before Atlas is back on him. 

I start to laugh hysterically as they each continue to get the upper hand on the other. I don't even care about the story anymore. I'm much more interested in seeing who's going to win. They seem to be equally matched. While Israel is probably stronger, Atlas is surely faster. It's only a question of who is smarter at using their advantage. Israel stops suddenly as Atlas charges him, stepping to the side at the last moment and sticking his foot out. Atlas tries to stop himself, but his momentum keeps him going and he trips over his friend's foot. Israel catches him and wraps his arm around his neck, securely holding Atlas in a headlock. 

"And what do I hear from your tent," he finally continues as Atlas tries to get out of the position. "But you moaning her name?" My laughter dies suddenly in my throat. Neither man notices my silence as Israel starts to rub his knuckles on Atlas's head. Clearly, Atlas was having a particularly enjoyable dream, but who was it about? No, scratch that. I don't care. I don't care. Then why, why does the idea of Atlas having that kind of dream about somebody else put a lump in my throat and a pain in my chest? It makes no sense. Neither of us has spoken it, but we're friends, and that's all we are. 

"He was moaning whose name?" I ask quietly, and they both look at me. Atlas breaks out of the headlock and straightens himself up, brushing some dirt off of his pants. He takes a deep breath, composing himself as he runs his hands through his long hair. It's still as messy as it always is, but at least he tried. He gives me a small smile, but it doesn't ease the ache in my chest. If anything, it makes it worse.

I know we could never be anything but friends, and I'm not sure we can be that sometimes. Not when our friendship is built on lies. My lies. I'm sure he has his secrets, too, but mine would be too damaging if it ever came out. How could he be friends with someone whose sole purpose for coming to the Outside was to destroy his way of life? To destroy his people? Even if I decide not to complete my mission, the fact that it existed would be devastating. 

But even if that didn't destroy our friendship, there was something else to consider. Something that might keep him from going any further. My age. Now, I don't really care about it. I'm an adult and can make my own decisions. But I don't know about him. I don't know if he would ever want to be with someone as young as me. Someone that he knew when they were a child. 

But, technically, this is all a moot point. Clearly he isn't interested in me because he's fantasizing about someone else. And that shouldn't bother me. It really shouldn't. But, for some reason, it does, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. I'm feeling something similar to the emotion I felt when Cassie left, and that's leaving me all sorts of confused. 

"Anyway," Atlas starts, pulling a blade of grass off of his forearm. "Is there anything else you wished to discuss with me, Israel?" The clipped tone in his voice didn't escape me. He was being far too formal, trying too hard to brush off what had just happened. It made the whole situation just a bit more awkward. It didn't escape Israel, either, and he shook his head, chuckling beneath his breath. Thankfully, he was far more relaxed and easily dissipated the awkwardness.