My hand goes to my mouth. My mind starts to race just as fast as my
heart is racing. I instantly start thinking about the what-ifs. What if he
would have been honest with me? Told me how he’d felt? Where would we be
now?
I want to ask him why he did it. Why he didn’t fight for me. But I
don’t have to ask him, because I already know the answer. He thought
he was giving me what I wanted, because all he’s ever wanted for me
was happiness. And for some stupid reason, he’s never felt I could get
that with him.
Considerate Atlas.
The more I think about it, the more difficult it becomes to breathe.
I think about Atlas. Ryle. Tonight. Two nights ago. It’s too much.
I stand up and make my way back to the guest bedroom. I pick up
my phone and grab my purse and go back to the living room. Atlas
hasn’t moved.
“Ryle left for England today,” I say. “I think I should probably go
home now. Can you drive me?”
A sadness enters his eyes and when it does, I know that leaving is
the right thing to do. Neither of us has closure. I’m not sure we’ll ever
get it. I’m beginning to think closure is a myth, and being here right
now while I’m still processing everything that’s happening to my life is
just going to make things worse for me. I have to eliminate as much
confusion as possible, and right now, my feelings for Atlas top the list
of most confusing.
He presses his lips tightly together for a moment, and then he nods
and grabs his keys.
- • •
Neither of us speaks the entire drive to my apartment. He doesn’t
drop me off. He pulls into the parking lot and gets out of his car. “I’d
feel better if you let me walk you up,” he says.
I nod and we wade through even more silence as we ride the
elevator up to the seventh floor. He follows me all the way to my
apartment. I fish around in my purse for the keys and don’t even
realize my hands are shaking until my third failed attempt to open the