P R O T O S T A R

A protostar is a very young star that is still gathering mass from its parent molecular cloud.

T O T H E
M O O N & B A C K

TODAY I MADE the executive—and borderline fucking genius—decision to flush my pills. Every single fucking one. The sedatives, the mood-balancers themselves. Every single one, down the drain. And yes, realistically and scientifically, I do need them to survive, but I've done it before and I'll fucking do it again.

Why? Because nothing can fucking hurt me. Only myself.

Now I can take drugs and drink as I please without having to worry about fucking myself up even more. Not that I care, but when reality hits—which is rare—I'd rather not hate myself anymore, existing already fucking kills.

Now I don't have to worry about taking those bloody pills every morning just so that I can function as a, quote on quote, normal human being, as my doctor had said to me when I was sixteen.

Now I can go through the day without feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion, spending every breathing moment fantasizing about going to sleep. No napping remember, Atlas. Otherwise, you won't sleep through the night properly, my mother would say. The pills make you tired, but your body will adjust with time.

Fuck the pills. And fuck my mother. You know what? Fuck everyone. Everyone can go fucking fuck themselves because the pills are gone and now, I can finally feel the slightest step closer to being someone that is normal. I just want to be normal.

I want to be normal how my parents are, living in a big white mansion in Fulham, or normal how Alula is with Solar. Just normal. I want to take drugs; borderline exist and be fucking normal. But so long as I have bipolar, I will never be normal.

Now that I didn't have to worry about taking my medication, I can worry about other things.

I closed up the mechanic two hours ago. Now, the four of us—that being myself, Alula, Rion, and Solar—were sitting upstairs on the couches which had lost most of their springs. My dealer stopped buy and I bought a few tabs of LSD, amongst several other things, and now they're all seeing sounds and hearing colours. I just smoked some pot. Nothing exciting.

In terms of drugs, I mostly do everything and have done everything. During secondary school, I didn't take any hardcore drugs, mostly just pills and shit, nothing too life-threatening, but when I started college, between going to parties and being in the city, I was introduced to more intense drugs. More addictive drugs.

My friends may be a group of deadbeats—excluding Solar who only does weed—but they stay away from the hard stuff, for the most part. It scares them. And honestly, it used to scare me too.

"Atlas!" Alula shouts, bringing me out of my thoughts and I snap my head toward where she sat, her head leaning on Solar's shoulder, whilst her leather jacket-clad arms wrapped around him. "Earth to Atlas? Are you deaf?"

I shake my head, furrowing my eyebrows as she pulls herself off the couch, straightening her jacket. "What?" I ask, irritated.

It was then that I noticed Rion was gone, leaving just the three of us.

"It's mum's birthday, remember? We're going over for dinner." fuck. "Solar's coming too. Dad just messaged me and said that he wants us there by six."

I wish that I could get out of having a stupid dinner with them, but I know I'll never fucking live it down if I back out. Besides, I've made my mother cry enough, I can suck it up for one fucking night and try to be nice to her.

I nod, standing up as I grab the keys and head downstairs, the pair following closely behind. Once they exit the garage, I close the door and lock it, before getting into my car. I had expected Alula to ride with Solar considering he is coming, apparently, but instead she gets into the passenger seat of my car and slams the door shut.

I spare her a glance. "What are you doing?"

She clicks her seatbelt. "Can I not spend time with my favourite brother?"

I scoff, shaking my head. "I'm your only brother."

Alula laughs, pulling down the mirror as she uses her ring finger to run along her waterline, smudging the thick black liner further. "True." she admits, pulling a miniature transparent plastic bottle out of her pocket and drops the liquid into her eyes. "Look, I know you hate family dinners just as much as you hate your family, but it's a special day for mum, okay? Mercy is back in Italy and Everly is in Canada. We're all she has."

I don't hate my family.

I nod, so that she doesn't continue on. And thankfully, my nod is enough for her to keep quiet for the remainder of the drive. Almost half an hour later, I pull up alongside my childhood home, parking the car. And as I exit the car, I couldn't be more relieved. Alula kept turning the fucking radio on and it was driving me crazy.

As I step onto the footpath, about to head for the front steps, she stops me by placing her palm on my chest. I give her a dirty look and she rolls her eyes, passing me the eyedrops and just to shut her up, I use them, before tossing them back to her.

A car door slams shut and seconds later, Solar is standing next to us, a tight smile on his lips. "Ready?" he asks, slinging an arm around my sister's shoulders.

It was at that moment that I noticed a medium-sized pink box in his spare hand, wrapped in an obnoxious red bow. Fuck. I didn't just forget about her birthday, I forgot to get her a fucking gift too.

As if Alula can sense my frustration, she sends me a pointed look, shrugging her faded pink hair off her shoulders. "Don't worry, idiot, it's a conjoint gift." her tone is degrading and I feel even more guilty but I deserve to feel this way, so it's fine. "One of us have to remember." she mutters as we ascend the steps.

Considering she lives here, it's unnecessary to knock, so instead, she opens the door and steps right into the warm open space, and I follow her, closing the door after Solar. She kicks off her combat boots and hangs up her jacket and then I follow her into the hall and through the living room like a child would their mother.

As we enter the kitchen, I stop. Time moves in slow motion as I take in the sight of my perfect parents. Mother stood before the counter, wearing a young, baby pink dress. Pin straight hair cascaded down her back, whilst my father wore a far more casual choice of attire, staring down at her in pure adoration.

Despite her turning fifty-something, she barely looked a day over thirty-five. Same with dad, but he looks slightly older than mum. I know she has invested in a decent amount of Botox because nothing horrifies her more than the concept of wrinkles, but other than that, she's had nothing else done. If I didn't know her, I'd think considering her age that she'd have had more intense procedures to remain so young looking.

Even though their children entered the room, they don't move apart until Alula passes her the gift and hugs her, followed by Solar. I simply lean against the doorframe, watching as she pulls the bow loose and takes the lid off the box, seconds later, she reveals the gift which was an enormous book filled with photographs of our family through the years. From what I can see from a distance, she even wrote little notes beneath each picture.

With watery eyes, my mother envelopes her daughter in a tight hug and I feel a scrutinizing gaze on me. Shifting my gaze to where my father stood, I notice him watching me with a blank expression, confusion wrinkles my forehead when I release that I had been smiling.

I roll my eyes, frowning as I look down at my shoes.

I zone out for a while as my mother repeatedly thanks Alula and Solar chats with my father. I just stand alone until Alula sits down at the kitchen island with Solar and begins to flip through the pages with him, my father claiming he was going to go and pick up dinner, which left my mother and I alone, finally.

When I turn my attention toward her, she already walking toward me but before she can hug me, I hug her, tighter than usual. "Happy birthday, momma." I say, rubbing her back as she presses her ear to my chest, almost as though she is checking if there are any remnants of a heart left in there.

She basks in the unfamiliar affection that I give her for a while before stepping back, her manicured hands lingering on my arms. "I'm getting old." she sighs. "It feels like just yesterday I was your age. Thank you for putting that gift together with your sister, sweetie. It means a lot. Truly."

I force a tight smile, for her. And knowing I had not a single ounce of effort or say in the gift, I nod. "It's okay." I say.

Her blue eyes sparkle with excitement, and for a moment, she looks like a little child. So happy and innocent. "Your father got him and I plane tickets to visit Mercy for my birthday. We're going mid-June. Apparently, she and your father have a whole trip planned. I can't wait." she says eagerly. "It's been so long since I've left the UK."

I nod. "Sounds fun." I force myself to say.

"If you want to come—seeing as you have completed all your school work, of course—you're welcome to." she says and I make my decision not to go instantly. "It could be good for you."

I scoff. Being trapped in the same country as Mercy? No fucking thanks, being related to her already sucks enough.

"I can't. I've got work and shit." I say and the excitement in her eyes dull, but not for long, as my dad enters the room with multiple bags in hand and we begin dinner.

For as long as I can remember, my mother has adored this little Italian restaurant down the street. And it's always been tradition to get our food from there for special occasions; birthdays, anniversaries, etcetera. So, when dad serves the food, everyone feels nostalgic. The food is, admittedly, really fucking good.

We're halfway through our meal, when my father speaks up. "Remember when you kids were younger, you set up a whole concert for your mum. Atlas, you choreographed this whole dance and Alula did the singing." he recalls the memory, and I do too. We were ten and we spent days making the entire concept perfect. "You sung happy birthday to the tune of her favourite song. And then Mercy threw a tantrum because she forgot to do anything."

I remember. I remember waking up at six to rehearse, then telling my father to bring mum downstairs. She came downstairs in a pink robe, Everly resting on her hip, and then dad pressed play on the instrumental YouTube video on the television. By the time that we finished, she was so overwhelmed with joy. She hugged both of us and later that day, my dad took Mercy out to get mum something, just so she'd stop crying.

His walk down memory lane was meant to be nothing but that, a past memory being bought to light, but it felt like a subtle dig at me, like he was indirectly telling a story about his child that is now unrecognizable. But maybe that was just my guilt reminding me that I'm not the person that they want me to be.

I wish I could still be that happy little kid. Not for me, but for them. But I can't. I don't know who he is anymore. I lost him a long time ago.

Once dinner was finished, I was ready to leave, but Alula offered that we watch a movie. I hate movies. Mum doesn't really like them either, but we all sat down, nonetheless. Solar and Alula snuggled up on one end of the couch, and my parents on the opposite end, leaving me awkwardly seated in the middle.

Prim—my dad's golden retriever—sat next to me, and I spent half of the movie petting her rather than actually paying attention to whatever Alula chose to put on. Unless it's Fast and Furious, I won't watch it.

I cracked my knuckles, feeling fidgety as I relentlessly shake tap my foot on the ground. Feeling unbelievably agitated and sick of the glares being directed toward my leg, I stand up abruptly and exit the living room, jogging up the stairs quietly, so that no one would hear me, before entering the bathroom.

Once I'm done shooting up, I head downstairs, inhaling deeply. Fuck, that feels fucking amazing. Within seconds, I feel the full effect. All of my worries slip away as I become consumed by an overwhelming sense of euphoria. It rushes over me like a steep wave. I love the rush that it gives me.

Not wanting to go back downstairs yet, I walk into my old bedroom just down the hall. I sit down on the edge of my bed, my head spinning and I almost feel like I could pass out, but I grip the edge of the mattress to prevent myself from falling.

I spend a few moments sitting there, focusing on my breathing before exiting my bedroom and heading downstairs. As my father turns the corner, I attempt to stabilize myself, grasping the wall. I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I run a sweaty palm over my face.

He stops before me and I force a smile, walking past him, and he doesn't move as I sneak past my family still watching the movie, and enter the kitchen, resting my elbows on the kitchen island, composing myself as I focus on the sound of my heart beating abnormally erratically and loud.

Feeling extremely light-headed, I rest my head on the countertop, closing my eyes I see galaxies and protostars and darkness. I feel the closest to space I had ever been, despite this version being a false reality, it was the nearest eight-year-old Atlas will ever be to going to the moon.

"Are you high right now?" my father's deep voice sounds and I feel my body stiffen.

I wait a few seconds, before daring to look up at him. Unlike my mother, he shows very little emotion, so seeing him look this visibly disappointed was foreign coming from him. "No." I laugh, shaking my head.

He rests his elbows against the marbled top, mirroring my actions as he stares back at me, and for a moment, I see myself in his features. Clear blue eyes, pale skin, light brown hair. I wonder if he sees himself in me too. I hope not.

"Atlas," he inhales deeply. "I'm going to ask you one more time—"

I cut him off abruptly, slamming my hands down on the counter with a loud thud. "I'm not fucking high right now, dad!"

He stands up straight after I do. My voice echoing and I ball my fists, my face burning red. I swear to God if my mother and sister don't mind their own fucking business, I'll lose my fucking shit.

Amidst this feeling of pure bliss, I become stressed as I feel my humanity peeking through with this heavy, dreadful sadness, but the euphoria conceals it, just. I don't know what to feel. I don't care about any of this but I do at the same time.

"Don't lie to me." he barely shouts, but he doesn't need to. His tone is sharp and intimidating and even in this state, it makes me feel as though someone has just put a plastic bag over my head and tried suffocating me.

I avoid eye contact, clicking my tongue. "I'm not."

"You know," he begins, his tone emotionless. "there are times where I look at you, my little man, the kid I raised, that I thought I knew inside and out, and I wonder who you are."

Maybe he doesn't see himself in me after all.

For a few seconds, which feels like far longer, he stares at me blankly, so blankly that I almost feel like he is looking straight through me, searching for that boy he talks about but no longer knows. His son, his best friend. I'm just not that kid anymore.

"You're just embarrassed because you created this amazing thing, you know?" I use my hands as I speak, my voice accusatory. "I had a scholarship offer, I was captain of the soccer team, my grades were great. I was everything you couldn't be in high school. And now, well, you don't like who I am now." my words seem to hurt me more than they did him.

It sucks knowing that everyone around you wants you, just not the version you are now. They want the old version. The one I destroyed and broke and burned into a million irretrievable pieces. The one who spent his weekends watching the Science channel and building cardboard rockets, planning my trip to Mars where I envisioned myself finding life and creating a new world. One better than this one. I still fantasise about that idea sometimes.

But the truth is, that person is scattered amongst all those burnt-to-the-butt joints in the trash, all of those disposed syringes in the college restrooms, all of those crushed up pills, sliced with my credit card. He is taken away by lithium and prescriptions, covered up by therapist appointments and NA meetings.

He is simply gone. And he is never coming back.

The sooner people grieve and move on, the better. People keep treating me a certain way in hopes of me one day waking up and miraculously being the person I used to be, but that isn't going to happen. Even if I were to—which will never fucking happen—quit all drugs, get sober, and take my bloody meds, I will not even be half of the person I used to be. Just a shell, like I am now.

"Yeah?" he raises his eyebrows, creasing his forehead. "Well, who are you then?"

I shake my head. "This is me, dad!" I said exasperatedly. "This is who I am now. This is me."

After few moments of remaining in a heavy silence, he finally manages to look at me, just. And his blue eyes hold misery, pain. But also hope.

"It'll pass. It always does."

I sigh. "What does?"

"That feeling of loneliness. Feeling like the entire world is against you."

I shake my head, laughing slightly. "Yeah, I don't really see me feeling anything anytime soon, dad." I say. "The world isn't against me. I am against me."

The world is as well, but the world didn't give me bipolar, the world gave me an annoying bitch that uses me for sex, the world gave me a big apartment that only I live in, the world gave me the pressure of needing a job to live and having the responsibilities of eating, sleeping, going to school.

It's all just fucking miserable.

Most people want to live. That entire concept of wanting to exist is so foreign to me. I cannot physically wrap my head around the fact that everyone surrounding me—for the most part—wants to keep living. At times, I want to be good and do good, I want to work and create a life for myself, but there is also this part of me that is just so dissatisfied with everything. Sure, my sister is twenty-two and still lives with her bloody parents and Pandora's life suck and Rion is still in fucking secondary school, but they still want to live. I don't get that.

They found a reason to keep going. I haven't. And I don't think I ever will.

I understand that it is normal to run into shitty situations and move on from them, but I can't. For me it just feels like one fucking kick after the other. I've been down for so long, shoved into a dark, cold corner, and I don't have the strength nor the heart to stand back up and fight back. Which is yet another division between myself and everyone else. They'd get back up, I wouldn't. I can't.

"I was too, at your age." he reminisces and I find myself rolling my eyes. Here comes the typical in my day speech. "When I was your age, actually even younger, I used to use drugs too. To sleep, to ignore my thoughts, to give me the courage to go to school, and when I thought I was too far gone? I found your mother. She saved me. Its cliché but she showed me I was worthy