C H A O S

A distinctive area of broken terrain.

T O  T H E
M O O N & B A C K

I EXIT THE hospital with droopy eyes and a hungry stomach. Alula stands by my side with little space between us, just as she always does when things like this happen. Mum and dad are walking ahead, his hand enclosed around hers as we make out way to the car.

Considering I'm over the age of eighteen and I didn't admit myself into the hospital—Alula did—they did a psychiatric evaluation and watched me for a few hours and, now, the following morning, I was allowed to go, mainly because it's up to me. And I fucking hate hospitals, so there's no way I'm staying. One night was already far longer than necessary.

In extreme cases, where I'm putting myself and others in danger, I can—and have been—hospitalized for days to weeks, but for once Alula kept her mouth shut and didn't say anything about what I had done to Pandora—how I hurt her. I didn't mean to—I barely remember, but I didn't mean to hurt her.

She should have never come over.

Mum said I have to see Doctor Rinn again and she wants me to come home for a few days and be with family. I love them, but family is the last thing I want or need right now. I just want to be alone in the overly large, cold apartment that I call home, though barely. Just the thought of going back there makes me shiver like I was surrounded by snow rather than bland thoughts and gloomy skies.

I don't have the energy to say no, for once. They switched my medication and forced me to take it after hearing my complaints. It makes me feel tired. I feel dead. It makes me feel awful, like life's not worth living, which, quite obviously, it isn't, but it seems as though every time I'm close to the edge, I'm tugged back. It's like missing a train over and over again and you try to make it on time but just as you get there, the opportunity is missed and there goes the fucking train, and then you're just left standing there like an absolute bloody loser.

When we got home, mum took me upstairs, tucked me in like a child, and I stayed in there for three days. I couldn't eat, speak, move. It was like being paralyzed entirely, except my body was still functioning, my brain wasn't.

Mum gave me a bath and washed my hair. She bought takeout home every night but I didn't have much. Alula kept me company during the days whilst my parents worked. I didn't talk to her but she tried to talk to me, and when she got tired of talking to a wall, she would just sit at my old desk in silence. She would read, go on her phone, or whatever.

Tonight I still felt dead but those navy-blue walls were beginning to close in on me and it's a Friday night, of course, everyone is doing something. My mother and father almost cancelled their date night for me, I told them not to. I would just be in my room anyway.

I was in the house all alone and though I should have been relieved, I just felt bored. I didn't want to move but I didn't want to stay here either, so when Rion messaged me asking if I was coming to the after-party for his soccer game—which he won—it didn't take much for me to say yes. I need a fix, of anything. I haven't a single hit of anything in three days, almost four and that's probably another reason why I feel like absolute fucking shit, but I couldn't go find anything because I couldn't leave the room without needing my mum. I doubt I will find anything there, but watching people makes fools of themselves might help.

I still feel tired and numb but my need for something good right now is stronger than the overwhelming weight of exhaustion.

As I drove there quickly in attempts of gaining some feeling, I quickly realize I feel nothing but pain, and not even the adrenaline I would usually get from going a hundred in a sixty zone is enough to change that.

These last few days I've cried a lot, to the point that my entire body is crying and my heart aches worse than if a knife were to pierce through my chest, and I can't breathe.

Now I'm at some secondary school kids party, leaning against the wall of what used to be a living room, watching people dance and drink, reminding me exactly why I fucking hate secondary school parties. There is nothing but cheap alcohol, people overdressed for no good reason, and the house is absolutely packed.

I almost want to leave but I'm unsure whether here is worse, or being at home.

"Hey, man." I turn my head to the side, met with Solar. "Lu know you're here?"

I narrow my eyes at him huffing as he shakes his head, trying to move the heavy curls from his eyes. "Does she need to?"

He shrugs, scratching the back of his head nervously. "Not really, she just said you weren't coming. That's all." in other words, yeah, she does need to know, and but I don't want you two to fight, so I won't say anything.

I don't say anything after that until Rion comes over, still in his dirty soccer uniform, an obnoxious smile on his annoying fucking face, and when he reaches me, he hands me a shot. I squint my eyes, shaking my head.

"What a fucking fun sponge." he rolls his eyes, passing it to Solar, who also shakes his head. He never drinks. "When did you turn into such a pussy?" he shakes his head in disappointment, downing the shot before tossing the plastic shot cup on the floor.

I cock an eyebrow but I don't say anything. I've never not been fun, I just usually go along with whatever. But considering I'm already dead inside due to the pills, alcohol will only make it worse right now, I feel nauseous as it is. Maybe in a few days. But it won't be alcohol.

I run a hand through my thick hair, sighing as I tense my jaw. If I don't want to drink and there are no drugs here other than cheap vodka—which is technically a drug, but barely—and PGR shit, then why the fuck am I here? Almost everyone other than Solar, Lula, and I are below the age of eighteen, so it's boring as fuck.

I can't fuck anyone—not that I want to—I can't drink and I certainly can't snort anything. When I went to secondary school, I used to crush up Panadol and the cheap chemist brand of Ibuprofen put it into tiny Ziplock bags and sell it to the fuckwits in the grades below me. I made fucking hundreds and it was hilarious because they couldn't do a single fucking thing about it once they realized. They couldn't tell on me and they definitely couldn't bloody take me out.

One time I made the mistake of selling literal salt to someone in my grade, though. That didn't end well because he could take me, but it was pretty even. I thought it was funny because I was already in enough trouble for being involved with a fight, so when Principal fuckface called us into the office and asked what it was about, I told him the truth. I sold salt—which was meant to resemble cocaine—to the idiot with the bloody nose and empty fucking wallet, and guess who got in more trouble? For once, it wasn't me.

"So, where've you been, man?" Rion asks, standing in front of me as I lean against the wall, completely and utterly bored. "Haven't heard from you in a few days. I was beginning to think you were dead in a fucking alleyway somewhere."

I wish.

I snort, shaking my head. "Fuck off, Rion."

He offers me a tormenting smile, but I don't let it bother me. "Gladly."

Thank fuck, I think as he turns around and walks away, toward the other side of the room. He begins dancing with some blonde girl that looks like every other girl here. Blue eyes, tanned skin. But then my eyes drift over to the couch and I see someone that doesn't look like every other girl.

Red.

She's sitting there, legs parted, and she looks exactly how I do: bored. Her short hair is tucked behind her ears, her countless earrings glimmering beneath the erratic lighting in the room. Her body is concealed by layers and layers of black clothing, but on her feet, she wears high-top sneakers, different from the scruffy old Converse she usually wears with my name written on the side.

I notice she's chipping at the nail polish on her nails, focusing intently on each finger. I couldn't see her eyes, though, because black-tinted glasses sit on the tip of her nose as she peers down at her lap, her hood on. I consider going over there, but I resist. She already looks bored out of her mind; I'll just make her even more bored.

Not that I really care how she feels, I just don't feel like talking.

If it weren't for that vibrant stripe of blood-red hair poking out from under her hoodie, I wouldn't have recognized her. As I said, everyone here looks the same. Except for her. She doesn't hide how she feels. Everyone here appears to be having fun when in reality, they aren't. No one wants to be here. I sure as fuck don't, and I know that Rory doesn't either. She doesn't bother hiding it. I like that about her.

It makes me wonder, what is Rory's interpretation of fun?

I almost go over there and ask her but suddenly a familiar figure seats themself down next to her, filling the only spare seat.

Alula purses her lips, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she searches for the words to say. Her blonde hair is pin-straight, tucked behind her ears like always. Her piercing green-blue eyes look even more striking with the heavy amount of dark eyeshadow around her eyes. With the way her hair is styled and her make-up is, she looks like a spitting image of our mother. For some reason, that makes a strange yet familiar feeling swirl around in the pit of my stomach. Guilt.

The last few weeks for her have somehow managed to be harder than it was for me. Some people in this world are destined to be amazing parents and she is one of them. Almost anyone can birth a child and care for it, but not in the way she has me. Four children and she still manages to love each and every one, but for me, the more challenging child—she will never admit it, but sometimes I think she loves me a little extra.

Amidst having a family, being the most well-known fashion designer in the world currently, and up-holding friendships and relationships, she never cedes. I wish I could be more like her.

It sounds selfish and cruel—because, in a way, it is—but if I ever had a child—which isn't in the books for me. Nothing really is—I would never have the patience to make so many hospital visits, care for a mentally ill child and see them near death so many times.

I wish that I could stop putting her through it. . .I wish I could stop putting myself through it. I wish I succeeded the first time. She would have been upset, but my first attempt was years ago. She would be over it by now.

Someone bumps into my side, startling me and I tell them to fuck off before turning my attention back to my sister and Rory, but when I do, I am met with an empty couch. I furrow my eyebrows. Where did she go?

My question is answered as I see Alula stringing along Rory from the kitchen, I think, her fingers linked around her pale wrist. They barely walk in a straight line and I don't if that's due to the mass amount of people in their way or the fact that they're drunk.

Despite knowing that the two would make the right pair, I still find myself wondering why on earth they were talking.

Alula tends to be one of those people that consist of nothing but the relationship they obtain. She doesn't go anywhere unless Solar is with her, she doesn't wear something if Solar doesn't like it, she doesn't make friends because Solar is her best friend.

Alula delicately sits back down where she had been, whereas Rory sits down with a thud in the least graceful way humanly possible, accidentally spilling some of her drink on her jumper. She cringes, her eyes searching the area before her to see if anyone noticed, she almost looks relieved before her dark eyes land on me and instantly her expression turns sour.

One side of my lips uplifts into a faint smirk as she rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, analyzing something portrayed on the screen, but by the way she's not-so-discretely looking up at me through her eyelashes, I don't think there is anything on her screen.

Sliding her phone back into her pocket, she slowly, hesitantly, looks back toward me and when she sees that I'm still looking she has to bite down on her lip to prevent her from smiling, but I still see the corners of her lips fighting to break out into a grin.

She turns toward my sister, engaging in a meaningless conversation. Almost three minutes pass before she spares me yet another glance.

Yes, love. I'm still watching you.

This time she can't hide the smile on her lips and I don't bother to either. Crossing my arms over my chest, I run my teeth over my bottom lip, pulling at the tiny piece of loose skin, going over it and over it. She finds this gesture tentative, her eyes unknowingly—or maybe she did know, she isn't one to conceal what she does and does not like—gravitate down to my lips, watching my movements.

Her eyes move back to mine and I grin, amused by whatever unspoken game it is we are playing.

She smiles, too.

We hold our gaze for almost an entire minute before she gives up and I win. I always win. Irritation clings to her features as she pulls her black-tinted sunglasses—which serve no purpose except to look good—back down over her eyes, sticking her middle finger up at me and I smile.

"Fuck you." she mouths and I tilt my head back as I laugh.

Maybe tonight won't be so incredibly boring, after all.

She's just annoyed that she can't seem to tear her eyes away from me, but that's okay. I can't either.

Alula realizes that her new little friend is no longer paying a single ounce of interest nor attention toward a word that she utters, and she huffs, following Rory's line of sight, before finding me amongst the crowd, next to Solar.

Instantly my mood is killed as she narrows her eyes into slits, shaking her head as if to say are you serious?

Yes, she told me I was not allowed to come. Yes, she told me to rest and she would be back later. But she should have known better. I'm not going to listen to her, especially when I've been on house arrest for what feels like decades. She doesn't want me out because she knows that I'm depressed. But at home in bed or amongst a crowd at some pathetic party, I'm still depressed. There is absolutely no use isolating me.

Solar pats me on the shoulder. "Sorry, man. Can't save you with this one." he says in a muted tone as his girlfriend—my angry sister storms toward us, as he steps back but doesn't leave entirely.

I push myself off the wall, uncrossing my arms as I prepare myself for the utter bullshit that my sister is about to speak, all of which I have more than likely heard over a million times in my life.

She comes to a halt before me, her nostrils flaring as she balls her fists against her sides, looking like an angry child preparing to throw a tantrum. Her eyes are glassy and red, informing me that she is in fact, absolutely fucking waster. Her forehead is covered in a thick layer of sweat and even from here, I could smell lemon and tequila.

"I hope that someone put something in my drink when I wasn't and I'm just hallucinating because if you really are here after telling you multiple times not to leave the house, then I swear to God—"

I roll my eyes, scoffing. "You will what, Alula? Tell mum?" I feign shock. "You're here, Solar's here. Everyone is here, so why can't I be?"

She squints, thinking of what she wants to say next, and she's trying to be careful too with her wording. Moments pass before she finally speaks. "Because," she says lowly, so low that I can barely hear over the obnoxious music playing—which is far from the pleasant music that Rory listens to—and the people surrounding us talking unnecessarily loud. "You aren't like everyone else."

I snort, nodding. "Because I'm an addict? Because I'm fucking bipolar?" I shout and I see her wince. I feel Solar's hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. "You're no better, look at you. Drunk at a little party full of year thirteens' whilst your boyfriend—who's sober, might I add—watches you chat to some waitress."

Usually, I wouldn't speak a word about my mental illness in a public setting. But Alula and Solar already know and I doubt that anyone else is listening, so I couldn't care less right now. I know that she just wants to protect me, but it's hypocritical. Look at her. She's almost just as bad as me, except I'm sick, she isn't, so that makes me some fragile fucking snowflake.

"Calm down." she sounds worried. Sensing my anger, she steps back. I won't hurt her. I would never. Is she scared of me? "I know I'm not perfect. What I mean is—what I'm saying is, I don't want anything triggering you. Believe it or not, I do love you Atlas."

I nod, disbelievingly. In other words, Pandora's here. So are other things, but I'm not tempted right now.

She drunk and her voice begins to irritate me with every word she slurs. I shake my head, sending her a glare before she walks into Solar's arms and begins to cry. I roll my eyes at her sensitiveness, before storming away.

My eyes linger on the door momentarily before I make a turn for the couch and sit down to her. She stiffens when noticing my company. We sit in complete silence as I breathe heavily and she watches the people dancing just a metre away.

"What do you think their deal is?" she says, pointing to three people. One boy is dancing with two girls, all of them disgustingly affectionate with one another. "I think. . .friends with benefits, maybe? Or he's dating the blonde one, but the brown-haired girl is the one he's fucking."

I snort at her observation. "Nah," I say. "I think the two girls are fucking and the guy thinks he's gonna get some. Look at them."

She watches the way the two girls stare at each other hungrily and then she hums in agreement. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm always right." I state and she rolls her eyes. I scan the crowd of moving bodies, searching for our next victim, before spotting a blonde girl with her arms wrapped around some girl that looks as tall as me with curly black hair and dark skin. "What about them?" I point.

She shuffles slightly in her seat as we watch the two, our knees touching as I slouch more in my seat. Warmth spreads throughout me. "I think," she says knowingly. "That's my best friend kissing some girl to try and make me jealous."

My eyes widen and I stifle a laugh. Fuck. I barely even recognize her in this setting. I've only ever seen her at Delilah's in uniform with a snobby look on her face. I know notice that Ophelia's eyes are locked on Rory's, amusement the only emotion present with in them.

Quite obviously the relationship between them is more than best friends, otherwise, Rory wouldn't look so irritated and Ophelia wouldn't be kissing a girl specifically to make her jealous. It's quite entertaining, really. Watching her hide how infuriated that she is.

"Atlas?" she says and I decide that I love the way she says my name. Each syllable, every letter.

I cock an eyebrow when seeing her mischievous expression which reeks of chaos. "Yeah?"

"I need you to kiss me."