Page 7 of Equilibrium
Just like in the room, he studied me for a second before he turned around and walked away without a word being said. I felt like I was under the microscope, and I was usually the one dissecting people, not the other way around.
I stared at his retreating form, unable to move from the spot. How fucked up was it that merely seeing happy faces on these pictures burned my chest? God, I was pathetic.
“Come on, Ophelia!” he yelled. “We don’t have an entire day, and I have shit I need to do.”
A retort was on the top of my tongue, but I bit it down and strolled toward him. He was nice so far, even if I was technically kidnapped. Funny thing was, I didn’t even think about trying to find the nearest exit or the way to get out of here.
Fuck, was I developing fucking Stockholm Syndrome?You weren’t here long enough to develop Stockholm Syndrome, you idiot.
“There’s someone I want you to meet, and I hope you can play nice,” Atlas said as soon as I reached him. “She isn’t like you and I hope you won’t hurt her.”
Oh great. He was going to ship me off to some sweetheart, and I was going to become stabby. Look, I had nothing against girls who led normal lives and weren’t involved with the violent side of this business, but every single time I would talk with them, it would end up either with a disgusted look on their faces or with me wanting to bash their head on the nearest wall.
We just didn’t fit well together, and I stopped trying to be something I wasn’t.
Yeah, I killed people. Fucking deal with it.
“If you’re gonna drop me with some sunflower, don’t bother. She’s gonna run away screaming.”
The fucker started laughing while I was obviously scowling at him. Did he really think that it was a smart idea to irk me now?
“Something funny, Atlas?”
“No, no.” He feigned innocence. “Nothing at all.”
“Good, because I want to talk to Storm.”
The migraine I woke up with earlier seemed to be taking a hold of my entire head, and I knew I was going to need to sit soon. Getting one too many concussions was catching up with me, and that whole shitshow in the church wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Not to mention the lovely gift Storm gave me with that whole knockout shit.
“He’s, uh.” I glared at him as he tried to find the words. “He’s kinda busy right now.”
Atlas was obviously uncomfortable talking about Storm and I wanted to know why.
“Busy doing what exactly?” I propped my hands on my hips and scowled at him. He refused to look at my face and instead started staring at the ceiling, his mouth moving as he muttered something.
“Atlas!” I roared. “So help me, God—”
“I can’t fucking tell you, Ophelia!”
His chest rose and fell with each breath he took, and I knew I was hitting a nerve with these questions.
“Why not?” I stood right in front of him. “What could be so important that he couldn’t even get his ass here to meet me?”
“Ophelia.” He almost moaned. “I can’t.”
“You can’t or you—” And then it dawned on me. That motherfucking son of a bitch.
“He’s getting his dick sucked somewhere, isn’t he?” Atlas flinched as if I physically assaulted him and it was all the confirmation I needed. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest, and even though I knew I had no right, that icky, green monster hugged me from behind, reminding me why I refused to even think about the opposite gender in this way.
With those two forsaken words, Storm had managed to revive the part of me that slept for almost four years. And I believed him. I almost believed that the possessive way he looked at me meant something. Some part of me wanted to believe in it, because I wanted to cling to the possibility of happiness.
“Oh no.” Atlas cringed. “You’re getting crazy eyes.”
“I’m not getting crazy eyes.”
“Yes, you fucking are. Those are I-am-going-to-cut-off-his-balls eyes.”
“I don’t have crazy eyes!” I yelled. “And I don’t give a shit what he’s doing.”
