All About Cherry

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

     A t l a s   C h e r r y  woke up with a legendary frown on his face. He regretted going out and drinking last night. He knew it would lead to nothing good but a hangover before lectures. The serious case of cottonmouth and a pounding headache made sure to remind him of the consequences of getting piss drunk on a Thursday evening.

     It was yet another Friday morning, which meant early sociology and psychology lectures and a fight in the ring later that evening. Atlas huffed out an annoyed breath. His body ached, it was a harsh reminder of last weekend. When a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound monster beat the shit out of him in a fistfight.

     The things I do for money, Atlas thought to himself and winced as he sat up in his bed. His ribs were bruised, but thankfully not broken, he'd still be able to fight. Bills were due and he needed the money more than anything.

     Atlas glanced at his cracked phone screen to see how much time he had to laze about in his cramped, one-room apartment. It was just past eight o'clock in the morning. The realization that he would be late for his lecture caused him to curse aloud.

     He stretched his muscles, trying to push the sleep out of them and nearly shrieked at the way his body responded. He was beyond sore and his muscles drowned in pain. The bed creaked loudly as Atlas stood up. "Shut up, you old bastard." He snarled at it, acting as if his bed wasn't an inanimate object.

     Atlas paused to take evaluate his living situation and sighed deeply. There were clothes littered all over the floor, stray cups that didn't quite make it into the sink. He knew that both his life and his apartment were an absolute mess. His apartment had been permanently dark, the sun was Atlas' mortal enemy and thus he kept his blinds shut forever.

     Atlas was a mixture of a hermit and a vampire, now that he thought about it. He hated people more than anything in the world. He avoided direct contact with the sun like the black plague itself. Okay, maybe he wasn't a hermit or a vampire. He was a depressed cave goblin.

     The reflection of his muscular frame in the mirror momentarily knocked the wind out of Atlas. His hair was all over the place, the dark brown, almost black strands of hair scattered in every possible direction. His gray eyes were puffy and red, clearly irritated. There was a faint bruise on his left cheekbone and his lip was split. He looked as if he just got out of a hot, fantasy porn shoot involving rugged, beat up men.

     He continued narcissistically studying himself for a little while longer, he wasn't in a rush. He was already late for his lecture, might as well fuck around. Rushing now would only probably end up in him stubbing his toe or falling face-first into the floor. He wasn't exactly known to be the most sure-footed person in the world. Actually, he wasn't known for anything apart from being a misanthropic douchebag.

     Atlas looked down at his bare chest and flexed his muscles, which came from endless hours of work and boredom at the gym. He ran his delicate fingertips over the bruises that had begun to fade. Brawling in underground fight clubs for cash meant that his skin would be practically permanently bruised. Heck, his bruises had fucking bruises from the last fight he had. Atlas shuddered at the memory of the meathead. At least he put on a good show and got some good cash out of it. He left the guy unconscious and bleeding on the floor. A satisfactory smirk crept on his face, suddenly all the pain was worth it.

     Atlas pried his eyes away from the body-length mirror and went into the bathroom. He decided that showering before going out to university was probably a smart idea. He reeked of alcohol and sweat, he didn't bother to wash up before plowing into his sheets.