M A R S
The planet fourth in order from the sun and conspicuous for its red color.
T O T H E
M O O N & B A C K
IT HAS OFFICIALLY been twenty-two days since I made the decision to rid of my pills entirely. Therefore, I have spent—as I calculated multiple times—five-hundred and twenty-two hours without them in my life. I mean, I think it's been that long. Time has become meaningless, more meaningless than it was before.
A day feels like a year for me. When I'm on the pills, a day can even feel like an entire decade, and I use the exaggeration extremely lightly. It's like pure and utter bloody torture. And now, I have too much energy. There are no days, no weeks, no night and day, because every passing minute all blurs into one mass amount of time, allowing me to do anything and everything I want because, ironically, time has become timeless.
And if time becomes timeless, it also becomes meaningless. And if it is meaningless, then what is the purpose of it? When we pass, no one will remember us eventually, and if no one remembers us, then were we ever really here?
Fucking hell.
A knock sounded at my door but I couldn't stop writing on my laptop. I just couldn't, I was drowning in every fucking word that I was typing. I'm a fucking genius. I should become an author—a fucking journalist, I don't know. I'd be the best writer in the world, without a degree. I don't need a bloody college education to prove I can do something.
At this very moment, I know I am brilliant. I know I am far above everyone else. My mind—what I'm tapped into right now is so far above everything else. What I am doing is phenomenal.
I heard the hinges attached to the door squeak as I lift my head. Pandora stands in the doorway, warily. She has three boxes in her hands as she kicks the door shut and walks over to where I resonated—and where I have remained for the last eight hours—at the kitchen island.
"These were at your door?" she sounds confused as she analyzes the cardboard boxes. "You hate shopping online. What are these?"
I open my mouth to speak, but quite frankly, I don't have a single fucking clue. I bought heaps of shit off this website last night and every time I'd check out, it would tell me that if I spent fifty dollars more, I could save fifteen percent, so I kept going.
I don't bother to answer as I turn my attention back to the Word document displayed on my screen. Four-thousand words and I've barely started. I don't even know what it is that I am actually writing about. It started one way, and now it is about something entirely different.
"Are you high?" I shake my head and she laughs. "Right, dumb question. I'm asking the kid that's always fucking high."
For once I'm not. All these emotions, pure, heavy, and raw, are real. I'm feeling. I'm feeling so much and after feeling nothing for so long, it feels so fucking good. Like taking meth for the first time and being high for hours on end, except without actually injecting myself.
Suddenly, a manicured hand presses the lid of my laptop shut and my nostrils flare as I snap my head in her direction. Dark painted lips lift into a smile, her two-toned hair tied into a tight ponytail, lifting her features, making her eyes fox-like. She looks conflicted.
I'm conflicted too. I don't know whether to kiss her or tell her to fuck off.
"So," she begins, hoisting herself onto the counter. "I was thinking—what if we go find that little slag from second period and, like, I don't know scare the shit out of her or something. Pretty sure she lives across the hall from Nash. Well, that's what he said, anyway."
I listen to her rambling, barely, before shaking my head. "Who?"
She sighs dramatically. "You know, that girl that told the entire class that you had coke in your bag, which for once, you did not." she toys with the dainty gold necklace around her neck. Right, her. "Juliet?"
I nod. "Yeah, I remember." barely. And then, I shake my head. "Nah. Not in the mood. She can fuck off."
Pandora sighs, shoving my shoulder slightly. "Aw, c'mon, baby." the pet name makes my expression turn sour. Baby is so fucking overused at this point. "When did you get so boring?"
I stare at her blankly and I know that it makes her nervous. She hates being judged, and I so happen to be her biggest judger. "I didn't. I just don't care for some cunt with no life." I say. "She only said that because I wouldn't sell to her one fucking time."
I feel a mixture of emotions bubbling beneath my skin and the longer that she is here, the more I feel myself feeling confused. I need to be alone and isolated. That way, nothing can bother me. I can block everything out and keep writing. But even now, I think I want to move onto something else. Maybe I could attempt to fix the lock for the guest bedroom.
I don't usually like fixing things. I'm not good at it. But maybe today I can be.
"Okay. . .you're being weird." she trails off, her eyes slowing moving to the door as if planning a quick exit, but I couldn't care less. If she wants to leave, she can fucking leave. Because I don't need her. "If you don't want to have fun, then I'll leave you to your. . .weird activities."
An idea sparks in my head about how I've always wanted to go back to this observatory just a half-hour drive from Hastings—near Brighton, therefore just over an hour of driving, depending on the traffic.
The last time I went there was not long before I discovered what was wrong with me. I was in my early teenage years, early enough that I actually enjoyed going out and hadn't discovered how amazing it can be to hide beneath blankets in a dark room all day and stare at a blank, porcelain wall as though it's a television.
It was one of the few trips we—me and my dad—took without my sisters. It just him and I. No Mercy, no Alula, and no Everly, most importantly, no mum. She stayed home with her other children because she refused to hire a babysitter, and dad and I are the only ones that care about the stars and planets. To them, it's just blackness and glimmering lights. So it was just the two of us.
We made a day trip out of it and we attended the stargazing event once the sun finally had set. I remember it so well. Dad had blonde hair back then and he looked so young—like me. There's you and me he said as he pointed to a big star next to a significantly smaller one. Me and my little man.
As I observed those two dainty stars, sparkling in the night sky, I imagined there was a thin white line connecting the two, creating a constellation, and when my father ruffled my hair and asked do you wanna go look through the telescope? I eagerly nodded. The line didn't suddenly feel imaginary, it felt literal. Real. We were our own constellation.
Ever since, I've wanted to go back, but my days and weekends are filled with a specific time consuming routine. On weekdays it's school—if I feel like it, which is rare—then work, then sleep. On weekends it's parties, sleep, work, sleep. And somewhere in between all of that, I have to take my medication—which is no longer an issue, thank fuck—and manage to eat.
"Do you want to go somewhere with me?" I ask and suddenly the door looks even more inviting. "I'll grab my keys, I'll get my wallet and we can go to this place—it's, like, an hour drive. I can take you to see the planets and the stars, and we can stay there forever."
She stares at me blankly and soon after she says: "What?" I realize that she didn't hear a word I said.
"We can run away together." I propose and her dull eyes light up. "Yeah. . .I'll go pack my things right now and we'll go. Just you and me."
I expect her to be on board quicker but she seems wary and she nods, narrowing her eyes. "You want to run away?" she asks slowly, so fucking slow. And I nod. "With me?"
Yet again, I nod. Please, come see Saturn and Mars with me. She nods and I sigh, dropping what I'm doing as I hurry into my room. It only takes me seconds to find the duffel bag I used to take to soccer practice but haven't used since, and when I do, I stuff it with clothing from each and every corner of my closet.
All shades of black material spill out the top of the bag and I almost break the zipper trying to force it shut.
When I exit my room, Pandora is typing erratically on her phone and paranoia sets in. Dropping my bag, I rush over to her, my blood boiling as she averts her gaze to me. In an instant, she places it down on the counter and forces a tight, fake smile, her dimples deepening.
"Who are you texting?" I ask sternly.
She stares at me as though I just proposed murder. "No one." she says but it comes out sounding more like she's asking me if it's no one.
Her phone buzzes and we both reach for it at the same time, but per usual, I'm much faster. She begins to speak—ramble, more so, but I block it out as my vision closes in on the eight words thank you for telling me, be there soon.
"You texted my sister?" I exclaim, holding her phone up in the air, gripping it tightly. When she doesn't answer, I get closer to her. "You texted my fucking sister."
She shifts anxiously, looking so small as I tower over her. When she continues to remain silent, I aim her phone at the wall and throw it, screaming out in anger. "Do you not want me to be happy?" I ask.
"I do—"
I shake my head, ignoring the tears in her eyes. "No, you fucking don't." I seethe through gritted teeth. "I am—I was happy and you just fucking ruined it."
"Atlas," she reaches for my arm, her fingers shaking vastly, so much that her movements blur together, but I move away the words don't fucking touch me on the tip of my tongue. "you're pale. I can tell you haven't eaten. You seem dehydrated. You look ill. I don't know what drugs you do when I'm not around. I can't lose you."
For once, I'm not on any drugs. Not acid, not coke, and not even the ones for my problem.
"I was going to run away with you." I say more calm this time and I think I hear the shattering and cracking of her heart in her chest. "I was actually going to run away with you. Consider the opportunity missed because I'm never fucking speaking to you ever again you worthless piece of shit."
Tears fall down her cheeks. "I hate you!" she screams so loud that her voice begins to sound raspy and weak. "I don't know what's wrong with you but I hate you. I'm sick of trying to fix you!"
"I never fucking asked you to fix me!" I shout back even louder and she cowers away.
I reach out to grip her shoulders. "Stop you're—"
"What? Stupid? Crazy?" I cut her off. "I don't give a shit about what you think because you're all of those things too. Except I have a fucking reason, what's yours? Desperation?"
She shakes her head, choking on a sob. "You're hurting me!" she finishes.
I snap back to reality, the hazy glaze over my eyes fading away as the anger continues to boil red and hot beneath my skin, but I back off, and when I do the door flies open. My sister walks in quickly, her phone dangling from her hand, her skin pale as she looks at me as though she had just seen a ghost.
Pandora hastily rushes over to retrieve her phone, smashed, before accidentally shoving past Alula and leaving my apartment. My breathing stops and my heart pounds obnoxiously in my ears as the world, finally goes quiet.
At least my pills are gone.
That's all that matters.
In the background, I faintly hear my sister talking to someone. I don't know who, but I hear her say something along the lines of my brother needs help and please hurry. Before I know it, she's walking over to me with her arms wide.
I walk into them, craning my downward as I cry. Her hands move to the back of my head, stroking me softly in a comforting manner as she hugs me and I tighten my grip around her, but this time, I don't hurt her.
"I hurt her, Lula." my voice muffles as I cry into her, shaking. "I hurt her and—"
Alula comforts me and for a moment, due to the vanilla scented perfume, height, and voice, it feels like I'm with my momma. "You didn't mean to." she says firmly. "You would never hurt someone intentionally, Atlas. It's okay."
A U T H O R ' S N O T E
hi everyone!
how are you? this is my forth update this week ;) have y'all checked my new story "cross my heart" out yet? if not you definitely should! it follows the story of four teenagers much like my characters from loving lakyn. it's very much pretty little liars meets riverdale vibes (but only the first season lmao the rest is questionable) so go check it out!
anyways i hope you enjoyed this chapter. remember people that suffer from bipolar aren't bad people, neither is atlas. when you suffer from a manic episode someone helping you can be an instant trigger. nonetheless please remember to vote, comment, and follow me, as well as read "always atlas" by Gemma_Grace_ for rorys pov.
see you soon. i love you <3