G A L A X Y
A large grouping of stars. Galaxies are found in a variety of sizes and shapes. Our own Milky Way galaxy is spiral in shape and contains several billion stars. Some galaxies are so distant that their light takes millions of years to reach the Earth.

T O  T H E
M O O N & B A C K

I ROLLED OUT from beneath the car that I was currently working on, oil covering my hands as I stood up, wiping my palms across the fabric of my pants, then swiping the sweat from my forehead. 

"She done?" my boss asked as he entered the garage, a can of Coca Cola in his hand.

I nodded. "Yeah, I fixed their exhaust leak but this things old, I think it's fucked." I offered my opinion, glancing over at the nineteen-sixty-six Toyota Corolla. "It needs a shit ton of stuff done to it. By the time they get it all fixed, they may as well buy a new car."

Raven nodded, swiping his black hair out of his face. Despite being in his mid-fifties, he didn't look a day over forty. "Yeah, I think it's sentimental or something." he replied, walking over to stand next to me, analyzing the brown painted car. "The owner was saying it was his grandma's car. Better off taking it to the wrecking yard if you ask me."

I nodded in agreement. He wasn't wrong. Fuck sentimental value, it's useless. With the money they will end up spending on the exhaust leak which I'm sure is going to break again, their broken brake lights, not to mention the overall functioning of the car—or lack thereof—they could purchase a cheap, second-hand car.

"They're fucking stupid. Next time they come in here I'll give them my professional opinion and—"

Raven cut me off with his loud laughter. "Your professional opinion comes off a bit harsh most the time, son." he continues to laugh. "But you are your father's son after all."

Everyone that knows my dad always says that. Apparently, I am just like my father was when he was my age—both looks-wise and personality-wise—I see it in the physical features department, but my uncle Hale told me about all the times my dad fucked my mom over and how he did some really fucked shit as a teenager. Good to know that he got better though, I don't really see that in the books for me.

I think Raven knows that too. He's the only person around here that doesn't treat me like glass. He knows I'm fucked. Just as he knows that the only good distraction that I have is fixing up cars for him. I don't have any qualifications that should allow me to work here but I'm good at what I do and he knows that, besides he's known me since I was a child because he's married to one of my mother's good friends Sabine, so he trusts me and lets me work here part-time.

"Close up for me, will you?" he pats me on the shoulder and I nod. "See you tomorrow, good work today, mate."

He leaves and I am left alone. This is the only place that I enjoy being. There are cars, it's quiet and big, no one can find me here unless I tell them. I can smoke here, do whatever I want.

I cleaned up all the tools that I used today, closing up the garage before walking upstairs to the loft which overlooked the mechanic portion of this place itself, cascading over the cars and countless tools, seating myself down on one of the two couches.

I reach into my back pocket, pulling out both my phone and the little zip-lock bag, placing my phone down on the surface of the glass coffee table, then opening the small, transparent bag, and tipping a decent amount of white powder onto my screen.

Using a business card for Raven's Car Garage, I divide the sugar-like substance into three small lines, then holding one nostril closed, I sniff it up my nose, and then the next one, and then my phone lights up, vibrating loudly against the glass and I groan as my mother's name lights up on the screen. Quickly snorting the third and final—for now—line, I slide the answer button across and hold the speaker to my ear.

I lay back against the couch, my eyes rolling back as I become consumed by an instant, euphoric bliss. 

"Atlas?" I hear her voice and I smile. "Did you go to class today?"

I nod but then realize quickly that she can't fucking see me. Dumbass. "Yeah, I did." I reply.

"Good." she sighs. "Remember that Mercy's flying in tonight. She'd love to see you."

I roll my eyes at the mentioning of my big sister. Don't they wish I was like her. "I'm sure she would." I reply sarcastically.

Mercy and I have a typical brother-sister relationship. We bicker constantly and find it almost impossible to get along, mainly because she's miss perfect and I'm just the fuck up with bloodshot eyes. I think that my parents try to keep my problem private but I'm sure she knows anyway.

"Don't start." she sighs into the phone.

I laugh. "Sorry." I apologize. "I'm so sorry." I repeat sincerely.

"You're sorry?" she sounds shocked.

I hum in agreement. "Yeah. So sorry." I say happily. "I'm just so. . . so happy right now." I say, my eyes closed as feel my entire body relaxing.

"You're high, aren't you?"

I snort. "Me? High?" I gasp. "Never."

The sound of heavy breathing erupts through the speaker followed by sniffling. "I can't do this right now. I'm at work." her voice shakes. "I hope you enjoy the next however minutes you spend feeling happy because of whatever poison that you just put in your body but remember, it doesn't last. Think about the after-effects, Atlas. Everything good comes with a price."

Smiling, I open my eyes, staring intently at the ceiling. "Nothing lasts forever."

I find comfort in that. I think I would rather die than to experience something forever. Life, humanity, I'm glad it all has an expiration date, as do I. If drugs don't kill me—which they probably will—it's good to know that I'll die somehow no matter what.

I hear shouting through the speaking but I am easily able to block it out. I'm happy, I don't give a fuck about her or what she's saying. I'm better than her, her words don't mean shit to me. I'm a fucking king and she can listen to what I say, not the other way around.

A few minutes later, I snap out of it and hang up, cutting her nonsense short. I snort one more line before shoving the bag into my pocket and sending a quick text to Pandora, then walking back downstairs and locking the garage once I exited, getting into my car and beginning the twenty-minute drive home.

I manage to get home successfully without speeding too fast or getting pulled over and I park my car before getting into the elevator which thankfully just got fucking fixed, pressing the button for the fourth level, then leaning against the metal wall as I wait patiently, swaying side to side.

The elevator dings and I walk down the hall, reaching my door before inserting the key, fumbling with it for a moment, before shoving my door open and walking into the kitchen, tossing my keys on the bench.

Stabilizing myself, I grasp the edge of the counter, laughing as my fingertips tingled.

The sound of my door creaking sounded and my eyes shot over to it, expecting it to be my mother, but it was Pandora, who came in wearing a long-sleeved, tight dress which reached her mid-thigh. Her long hair with thick blonde streaks was straightened, her lips coated with a bold, red shade of whatever that shit is that people use on their lips, and overall, she looked so fucking sexy.

Feeling myself go hard, I walk over to her, place my hands on her broad hips and press my lips to hers, one of my hands instinctively moving to her behind, slamming my hand against her skin harshly, earning a squeal which just made me even more fucking turned on.

The next however many minutes are spent with my hand wrapped around her throat as I kiss her fiercely, wanting to fuck her so bad, but instead, she shoves me onto my couch and pulls down my work pants, then my boxers, exposing my aching length.

She wraps her lips around me and I lay my head back against the couch, biting down on my bottom lip as I enjoyed two forms of highs. No more than five minutes later, I feel the tension building in my spine and I close my eyes tightly as I release myself to the back of her throat, holding her head down as I come undone, fucking her harder as I get off on the sound of her gagging as I hold her head down.

Seconds later, she stands on her feet and wipes her mouth, her eyes watery as her cheeks turned crimson. As she exits my living room and walks down the hall to head to the bathroom, I go into my bedroom and get changed, taking my work uniform off and throwing on a white t-shirt and grey trackpants before searching the pocket of my previously worn pants, only to find the bag empty.

I don't remember having that much.

My dealer doesn't get on until later tonight and it's fucking six. Thirty-minutes wasn't enough, I need more.

I exit my room, entering the living room, watching as Pandora proceeded to tidy my kitchen, wiping my dirty counter. She always does this after we fuck or touch anyway, she cleans. Whether she is organizing the shit on top of my coffee table or putting my dishes away, she always does something. I think she's hoping that her doing something nice for me, will make me want her to stay, but it doesn't.

She's just like my fucking mother who comes around constantly, just to clean my apartment. She hates how filthy it can get but I couldn't care less. Don't get me wrong, I love my apartment, I love how big it is, how minimal it is, and I used to be a very clean person, but now even making my bed is a struggle.

"What are you doing?" I growl as I walk over to the counter.

She gasps, clutching her chest as I seemed to have startled her. "God, don't sneak up on me like that." well, you are in my apartment. "I was just putting some things away, I—"

"Do you have any pills with you?" I ask, not caring about her rambling about fucking cleaning.

Her lips purse together as she goes silent before reluctantly shaking her head. "No." she answers and I clench my jaw. Fuck. 

"What about Rion? Or Solar?" I ask, grabbing my phone before opening my many unread text messages, finding two from the both of them, each one along the lines of when do you get on we have nothing. Great. Just fucking great. "Never-fucking-mind."

Pandora looks slightly frightened as she walks around the kitchen island, standing next to me, placing a comforting hand on my back and I flinch, shrugging her hand from me. "Lula might have some." she suggests.

I shake my head. "I'm not talking to her." I'm still pissed about our argument at the hospital. 

"Look, let's just go to Delilah's and get something to eat until—"

She stops speaking the instant that I grab my phone and throw it forcefully at the ground, surely cracking the entire screen, before banging my fists against the table. "Fuck!" I shout. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I shove the vase from the counter, knocking both that and the white roses—courtesy of my mother—onto the ground, the ceramic material cracking against the tile.

My vision blurs and I pant, staring blankly at the wall as I zone out, feeling my mind detaching from my body as I thought about how bad I'd love to walk out onto my balcony and just fucking leap off. 

"I'm calling your sister." Pandora announces.

I snap my head to the side, glaring at her. "Do that and I'll fucking kill you." I threaten her.

I didn't mean it literally but I want to.

Her eyes widen as she slowly lowers the phone from her ear. "You messaged me. I came over and I fucking sucked you off and this is how you treat me?"

I roll my eyes. "I never made you. You did that on your own accord." I state knowingly. "Just fuck off. I want to be alone." I declare.

She lets out an exasperated sigh, stomping her way over to the door. "Next time you get hard, find someone else to fuck!" she shouts to the top of her lungs and I watch her laughing which just pisses her off even more before she slams the door shut. 

"I will!" I retort, needing to have the last word and even from down the hall, I heard her scream out of pure annoyance.

I only call her because she's easy. Anyone else wouldn't come so fast, she does.

I stand up, walking back to my room, then slamming the door shut. I turn to look at myself in my free-standing mirror and I despise what I see. My blue eyes which once portrayed galaxies, now hold no life, my messy brown hair was in desperate need of a haircut, my skin disgustingly pale. I didn't recognize the person staring back at me. He's sad, broken. He doesn't know how to look after himself. He's killing himself slowly because he's too fucking scared of ending it himself and failing again.

No matter what I try; pills, cocaine and alcohol, speeding, fucking slitting my wrists, nothing ever works. I just can't get out. I'm trapped. Attempt after attempt and I'm still here. My mother says that I'm still here for a reason, but I think it's just the universes way of punishing me for being a fucked-up human. It keeps me here when I don't want to be, so I have to suffer until, eventually, one day, it stops. But I don't know if the suffering ever will truly stop.

I brush my parted hair out of my eyes, fixing my part, so that it wasn't all going in one direction, a long strand dangling over my forehead. 

I close my curtains and walk over to my bed and lay down, burying my head into the pillow as I attempted to fall asleep.

I love sleep. My life has a tendency to fall apart when I'm awake. But I can't sleep. I can never sleep unless I have something to help me, so whilst I wait for sleep to take me into its arms, I lay in bed for hours, alone in the dark, thinking about every possible thing I fucked up in my life. It happens often, when I'm sober, like now. The depression hits me like a bullet and swallows me whole and that is when I realize that I have no one.

I'm just another worthless being on this planet that is plagued by their own mind. Their own mental illness. I wish that I could be normal, so that I could graduate and make my momma proud. I wish that I could do something more than being a lousy mechanic. I wish that I could be soft and kind. I wish that I could be anyone but me. Not because I want to, but because everyone else does.

I'll never be the person that Pandora thinks that I am. I'll never be the son that my parents wanted. I'll never be the brother that my sisters remember me once being. I'll never be okay. I'll never stop feeling this fucking overwhelming sadness, it fucking hurts and I can't handle it.

It consumes me until the point that I can't breathe. Like now.

I don't know how much time passes, but I am pulled out of my dark thoughts as my door creeks open and someone flips the light switch. I didn't know who it was and I didn't care. I just laid in place, shaking as I prayed that it was an intruder, so that they would kill me. Unlikely, but still possible, nonetheless.

"God, Atlas." my twin sisters voice says as I feel the mattress next to me dips down. "What have you done? Do you want me to call mu—"

In an instant, I cut her off. "No." I answer gruffly. "Fuck, no."

A heavy sigh passes her sighs. "Okay." she answers. "Move over." 

For once in a blue moon, I wasn't in the mood to argue, so I rolled over slightly, laying on my back as I squinted, my eyes not adjusting to the sudden light all too well.

"Pandora called me." she whispers. "She told me that she's gonna cut your dick off. That girl's psychotic."

I snort but I couldn't be bothered speaking. I know that she is. Everyone does. Alula has known Pandora just as long as I have because both Alula and her boyfriend since year nine, Pandora, and I have all remained within the same group since the beginning of high school. And then there's Rion but he's still in his last year of high school but I met him when I was near graduating. He's three years younger.

I remained silent and she sighs. "Do you even acknowledge how you treat people when you're like this? Pandora is crazy but she loves you." I know. I just don't care. "I don't know what to do. You don't want to be sober, you don't want to alive, but so many people want you here."

That's selfish, though. If I lived for everyone else, I would be in even more pain. I can't exist for others, I just can't. Wouldn't they rather me happy—even if that happiness is from a drug—rather than existing in a reality where I'm depressed? I guess not.

"If I—" she pauses. "If I give you something. . .will you talk to me?"

I knew instantly what she was going to give me but I couldn't promise anything in return. I don't like talking, sometimes. . .during days like these, speaking pains me. Even uttering a single word feels exhausting, I physically feel myself panting after speaking. It's just hard sometimes, especially when everyone only sees their side. I'm nothing but a selfish junkie that doesn't consider anyone but myself and I chose this life. That's what they say.

They're right in some ways, I am selfish. But I didn't exactly choose this. No one forced me to get addicted, no one forced me to keep up these habits, but in secondary school, if I said no, then suddenly I was a pussy and I gave in to peer pressure.

No one understands that I know what I'm doing, I'm aware of it. I'm not completely oblivious to how fucked I am, I just don't care. And that might suck, but it's the reality. Besides, wouldn't they rather me tell the truth rather than pretending I'm better and giving them false hope?

Alula helps as much as she can but at the end of the day, she knows she's going to lose me no matter how hard she tries not to.

"Okay." I answer, barely able to get that word out without straining myself.

She's a pushover. She always gives in like this. She can't handle me when I'm sad, no one can. So, she'll come over, try and speak to me, and then she'll give me something to make me feel better. Truthfully, sometimes I play on that. I know without a doubt that she will do whatever it takes to send my pain away, even if that means providing me with something that causes her pain by my doing.

She sits up for a moment before turning and passing me a white, circular pill with a snowflake imprinted on the surface of it. Molly. Thank fuck.

With a shaky hand, I take it from her and open my mouth, placing it on the tip of my tongue before swallowing it. I know that it won't kick in for thirty minutes to an hour but just swallowing it, caused me relief despite the effects not taking place yet.

"I feel like shit for doing this." she lays back down next to me. "I just want to see you happy, Atlas. I know you hear it all the time but I hate seeing you like this."

I keep quiet. I don't care. All I can think about is how sick I feel. How empty I feel. How bad everything hurts.

"What will it take?" she asks softly. "To make you better, I mean. Because you have people to talk to—people that care. You have money and a job, a nice car too. What more will it take to make you happy?"

I shake my head, tensing my jaw. "Nothing." I answer. 

My sister sighs heavily but she remains patient, nonetheless. "Do you need to see a therapist again? Because I can talk to mum and dad if you—"

"No." I seethe. "I've seen therapists, I've seen professionals,