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B I GΒ  B A N G

The theory that suggests that the universe was formed from a single point in space during a cataclysmic explosion about 13.7 billion years ago. This is the current accepted theory for the origin of the universe and is supported by measurements of background radiation and the observed expansion of space.

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

I LICK MY lips, feeling intoxicated just from the mere proximity of her. Her knees straddle my lap as she presses her palms to my chest. I can feel the coldness of her skin even through my jumper. Her eyes look redder than that dyed strip of her hair, and her eyes look droopyβ€”almost as though those faux eyelashes her weighing her eyelids down, but I think it's actually due to her being drunk.

I can barely remember how we got in this position, it happened so fast.

She chews on the inside of her cheek nervously, shifting slightly and I suppress a groan. "Are you sure that I should really be kissing you whilst you're drunk, Rory?"

When I say her name, I swear she groans, but it's hard to hear properly in this setting.

"It's just a kiss. Who cares." a playful grin places itself upon her pale red lips. "Just a meaningless kiss, Atlas." she puts emphasis on my name as though she was teasing me.

True. It's not like I'm fucking her. And even if she did allow that, I wouldn't go that far whilst she's like this, even if it was just meaningless.

I lick my bottom lip, the world around me turning silent for the first time since I was twelve, and because of that, I decide to take things slow. I want to enjoy every second of this before everything hurts again and the intrusive thoughts come back even worse than before.

None of her skin is exposed, so I spend a moment deciding where I should touch her. Despite her neck being decorated in countless necklaces, I decide it won't hurt to add another. I reach out, watching closely as her lips part as I place my hand around her neck, my fingers digging into the hair on the back of her head, whilst the pad of my thumb rubs the sensitive skin just beneath her jaw.

Her eyes almost roll back, but she resists. I still notice, though. It makes me wonder, does she like how my touch feels? Or is she simply deprived of affection? Because I can feel her melting beneath me, turning to complete liquid.

She's just so cold. Everywhere.

My other hand moves to hers, which are still pressed against my chest, and I wrap my fingers around her wrist, moving it to my shoulder and she mirrors my hand placement once I let go. Her thumb stroking me, her fingers don't quite reach the back of my head. She grins as if to say look, I'm doing what you are doing, and I almost crack a smile.

I pull at the hair on the back of her head slightly and she tilts her head back, moaning softly, and I have to use what little self-control I have left, to not cover her neck in kisses and bruises. But I don't for the aforementioned reasons. That and the fact that she didn't ask me to kiss her neck, she asked me to kiss her. I could be a dick and kiss her everywhere and claim that she wasn't specific enough, but I won't.

Not this time, at least.

We gaze into each other's eyes and she mirrors my expression with a mischievous grin. I have only met her a handful of times, but I don't think I have ever seen her smile quite like this. Usually just seems coldβ€”both in the literal and figurative senseβ€”and broken. Not even broken, necessarily, just damaged. Beats me, though. I'm a fucking train wreck.

"Fuck it." Rory says and before I have time to process her words, she presses her lips to mine.

I tense up for a second but quickly relax as I begin to move my lips against hers. They feel soft and longing, but I know they don't long for me. My fingers tug at her soft hair even more, and I feel the intense urge to slide my hands up her thighs and around to her ass, but I don't think she would appreciate that. She just asked for a kiss.

Needing her closer, my hands move to her hips and I jerk her forward, eliminating what little space was left between us. She moans against my lips, biting down on my bottom lip and I smile before she laughs lightly, her hands entangled in the hair on the back of my head and I groan, her mere touch making me feel as though the stars were dancing across my skin. Fucking hell.

My lungs beg for air and I decide not to ignore them, this time. I pull away, panting and Rory whimpers.

In theory, the big bang is what created the world. But I don't think I have ever truly lived until now. I have never felt alive like this, and I know it won't last. Grounds shatter, humanity dies and replenishes, and we remain right here. She is my big bang. I think young Atlas would be envious because he always dreamt of going to space, and I've got the stars and all the planets seated right here on my lap.

"Needy little thing." I mutter and she doesn't bother hiding it as she scoots forward again, gripping my shoulders.

That felt way too fucking good.

She rests her head against mine, her hot breaths fanning across my face as I dig my fingers into her hips, overwhelmed by the intensity that is her stare. Dark eyes portraying lust and excitement. Usually, they hold nothing, just dullness and boredom.

I really want to fuck her right now. But when she's sober.

"Atlas," she pants, her eyelids fluttering shut momentarily. "That was fucking amazing. And I really wanna kiss you again."

I smirk slightly, not because I feel complimented, but because I know that the alcohol running through her veins is clouding her judgement right now, and tomorrow she will be back to hating the mere sight of me.

I hate her too. I hate everyone. But I hate her differently. I don't even know if I hate her. Admittedly, I am intrigued by her. She's like the moon, in all of its phases. She's always hiding being a hoodie, layers of clothing, using her hair as a shield, or whatever it may be. Like she's insecure, hiding her true self from the people around her. But right now, she portrays the moon at the end of the lunar cycle. The new moon.

Her hair is tucked back, her hoodie has fallen down and her glasses sit on her head, pulling all of her hair away from her face. I can see exactly where her thick eyeliner begins, pointed at her inner corner, and where it ends, flared out near the tip of her eyebrow. I can see the faint faux freckles scattering across her nose bridge and the tops of her cheeks. I can see the depth within her dark brown eyes which resemble the surface of Mars.

Her fingers tighten around the hair on the back of my head, reminding me that she isn't just a frozen art piece I can observe forever, but instead a living, breathing human staring at me intently as if she was trying to read me. But she can't. She wants to know what I'm thinking as I look at her.

I break the silence, finally. "Me too." I admit, knowing she won't remember.

Seeming as though a sudden wave of insecurity had been swept over her, she retracts her hands from behind my neck and holding them to her chest. Fingers covered in dainty little drawings, stained to her skin for eternity catch my eye as she tightens her fists.

"What are you thinking?" I furrow my eyebrows as she averts her gaze to her hands. I want to know what is going on inside that pretty little head of hers.

She chews on her bottom lip and I shift beneath her. Fuck.

Her eyes narrow as silence settles between us. She spends far too long contemplating what her next words are going to be. She doesn't seem to be one to lie but she also doesn't seem to be necessarily forward, either. But nonetheless, I continue to stare at her, hoping that if I do it long enough, she will cave, come closer, and empty every thought, letting all her words seep into my mouth.

"What're you thinking?" is her response and I glare at her.

I shake my head. "You can't avoid my question by asking me the same question."

"I'm not avoiding your question." she declares, her words coming out slowly as she smiles, looking at me. "I just want you to answer first."

In other words, she wants reassurance. She wants to know what I'm thinking, before she tells me and potentially says something that isβ€”in her eyesβ€”stupid.

I shake my head again, not giving in. "I asked you first."

"I asked you second."

I nod. "That you did. Which is why I get to answer second."

She groans impatiently, narrowing her eyes into slits as she sends me a death glare. I almost smile. "You're so annoying."

"Likewise."

She caves, rolling her dark eyes as her eyes involuntarily dart down to my parted lips. "I'm thinking about. . ." she trails off and I come to the realization that I don't think even she herself knows what is going through her head. "How strange it feels to feel again after so long."

I almost laugh. How ironic. She's the girl who feels nothing at all and I'm the boy who feels too much.

Being sick like me is just that. Your emotions are a rollercoaster and sometimes they go up and in circles, and other times the rollercoaster just stops altogether, and nothing happens for a while. There are certain emotions I don't feelβ€”or if I do, I don't recognize themβ€”like excitement, happiness, all of the good ones.

Guilt is the only human emotion I am familiar with. I never used to know what the reasoning for the heavyweight on my chest was nor the churning in my stomach. I never knew why I would pace and bite my nails until they hurt, after doing something wrong. It was because I felt guilty. When I first pinpointed this specific feeling, I almost felt comforted in a fucked-up way. Not because I was proud of myself for doing something bad, but because I was convinced for the majority of my life that I was immune to human emotions, so to be finally feeling something beyond numbness was an achievement far bigger than any soccer scholarship or trophy or score on a test.

I think sometimes that's why I do bad thingsβ€”because when my emotions get out of control or I feel the ice beginning to freeze over my heart, I sought out that familiar feeling of guilt. So, I hurt myself, or sometimes I hurt others. But nonetheless, it's something.

"Your turn." she says, panting as though she had just run a marathon. Why is she so out of breath?

I shake my head, resting it against the couch as I sigh. "Not a chance."

She narrows her eyes, looking absolutely pissed. "That's so unfair. Don't be a dick." she punches my shoulder and I don't mean to sound degrading in any form, but I didn't feel an absolute thing. "Tell me."

"I'm not thinking anything." I say, my tone clipped and monotone.

I'm thinking too much. If I told her my every thought, it would scare her away. I'm not ready to watch her run away from Atlas the monster just yet. Soon, just not quite yet. But then, part of me feels as though even if I told her that I had murdered someone, she wouldn't run. Not because of me, but because I think she is intrigued by dark things.

"Bullshit." she spits and I cock an eyebrow. "Come on, Atlas."

She shifts forward again on my lap, but this time she does this subtle little movement with her hips and I smirk. "Are you teasing me, Red?"

I expect her to be embarrassed, but she just smiles. "No, not at all." she feigns shock, her eyes glistening as she speaks like a child that had just been caught doing something naughty but completely worth it. "So," yet again, she moves on my lap, putting more of her weight on me and my crotch is lined up with hers. "What're you thinking now?"

Mischief tugs at the corners of my lips as I shrug. I use my finger to tuck her hair behind her ear, leaning forward, I bring my lips near hers, so close that they brush against hers, but I don't kiss her. "You really want to know what I'm thinking about?" I whisper, running my tongue along my bottom lip, and she nods pathetically. "I'm thinking about how you are the only girl that I've ever wanted to actually fuck and impress."

I swear she whimpers, leaning forward, she attempts to close the space between us, but it seems as the imaginary bubble that had been surrounding us the last fifteen minutes has been popped as Rory is removed from my lap, landing on the floor at my feet with a thud.

I furrow my eyebrows as she yelps, sounding as though that short fall had caused her a lot of genuine pain. My eyes dart to her blond supposed best friend standing there with an infuriated expression on her face. Did she just fucking push her?

I notice Rion standing just a few feet away, watching amused as Rory pulls herself off the ground. The two begin to bicker and I take this as my sign to leave. I've had enough of tonight. Before I can walk away completely, just to fuck Ophelia off even moreβ€”seeing as she is pretty clearly fucking jealousβ€”I step between the two, blocking her way to Rory as I grab the back of her neck with my hand and press my lips to hers. She doesn't even waste time reacting, it was like she knew exactly who I was the moment my lips press to hers.

The kiss is chaste and quick, but no less needy and deep than the previous one. Before she can ask me what the hell I'm doing or her friend yells at me, I stalk my way toward the door and exit. Instantly I'm met with the cold air and as I exhale, fog passes through my lips.

I walk down the few steps, sitting on the third one from the bottom.

The music fades as I stare down at my shoes, the laces wrapped around my ankle and tied at the front. I stare at the house across the road as the lights flicker on. The wrap-around balcony becomes dimly lit by the inside light shining through the glass doors and windows. A middle-aged woman sits on a seat and who I'm assuming to be her husband sits down next to her, wrapping a blanket around the two. I almost don't notice the baby being cradled in the woman's arms.

I pull a munted joint I found stashed in my sister's drawer from the pocket of my jumper and light the twisted tip of it. I inhale deeply, holding my breath for a few seconds, and then release. When I look back up at the family, I see eyes on me, but they move back to their original place on the midnight sky rather quickly.

She's probably thinking about how she prays that her child never smokes, because what parent wouldn't? Scientifically, weed is literally harmless. It's a naturally grown fucking plant. It's the addiction that makes it lethal. Same with fucking heroin, meth. All that shit. It only kills us as humans because we don't have the fucking strength to fight the addiction until we are nothing but hollowed out bones and scars and rotting teeth.

So, yeah, depending on how you view the world, drugs do fucking suck because they kill people. But the way I view it: anything can kill you. It's whether or not you give it the power to. I give it the power because I hope that maybe if I let them drain me enough, there won't be any saving me.

Every time I try, I wake up in that hold fucking hospital room with pristine white walls and floors that reek of sanitiser. I see my family filling those chairs, with thin blankets supplied by the hospital that resemble cardboard. I see their tear-stained cheeks, and every time, every fucking time, I think am I dead? If this is hell, please don't keep me here. And then I lie there until someone wakes up and notices meβ€”usually Alulaβ€”and I realize that maybe even dying won't save me.

And then the endless cycle resets. I listen to the endless fucking crying from my mother, the shouting from Alula, the painful silence from my father, and then I return to my apartment with a hospital bracelet tied around my wrist.

I take my meds for a few days, the bracelet comes off, I become nothing but another part of my bed for weeks, and then I start again. The drinking, the crying, the smoking, the everything. And it's fun, almost. It's like I've gotten through the most depressing part, and now I'm just enjoying the time I have left before the cycle begins. Again. When I'm readyβ€”or sometimes it's unexpected--I give it the power, and it washes over me like a thick, warm blanket, and I finally don't feel cold anymore.

And then there I go. Back into the hospital.

I'm pulled from my thoughts as the door behind me slams shut, so harshly that it rattles on its hinges. I screw my face up, prepared to yell at whatever fucking dickhead thought it was okay to close a door that bloody loud, but before I can, the culprit sprints down the stairs, her gaze focused as she rushes away from the house.

I sigh, standing up as I follow behind her.

You're fucking killing me, Red.

A U T H O R ' SΒ  N O T E
hi everyone!

i hope you're all well, sorry for leaving you with that cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter, i hope this makes up for it. please let me know what you thought.

anyways please remember to vote, comment, and follow me, as well as read "always atlas" by Gemma_Grace_ for rorys pov.

i love you all. see you soon <3

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