πŸ‘πŸ– | 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫π₯𝐒𝐠𝐑𝐭

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S T A R L I G H T

The light that is granted from the stars.

T O T H E

M O O N & B A C K

I FOLLOW A few meters behind her as we walk up the street and I shake my head. She isn't mad at me. She doesn't hate me. She loves me. And I fucking love her. I don't understand the word or the meaning behind it, or maybe I do, but I know that I love her.

When she reaches her front door, she holds her hand up to me, as if saying wait. I stand still in my place as she leans forward, peering inside, then turning toward me, quick, she mouths.

Jogging toward her, she looks over at me. "He's upstairs."

I nod, understanding the routine after all this time. I walk in, she closes the door quietly. She rushes to her bedroom door; I follow closely and silently behind. She shuts me in her room, leaves to get Archie from outside, and returns with him.

It's always the same.

I sit down on the edge of her bed, lying back, my legs dangling off the side of her bed. Shortly after, I hear the faint creaking of her door as she enters again, Archie's heavy pants are heard as he happily makes his way over to his fluffy bed on the floor.

Seconds pass before Rory steps between my legs, staring down at me, I sit up, grabbing her hips with my hands. She stares down at me, her porcelain complexion somehow even paler, the tip of her nose and her ears red. Grabbing her hands, I wince at how cold she is, despite being inside with the heat on.

"You're freezing," I whisper, pressing both of her palms together, enclosing my hands around hers in an attempt to grant her some warmth.

Forcing a smile, she shrugs. "It's cold today." not that cold. "I'm gonna go have a hot shower. Won't be long," she says, leaning down before pressing a kiss to my lips, and then, like a ghost, she disappears.

I lie back down, shuffling back so that I'm in the centre of the bed. I close my eyes momentarily, enjoying the sound of rain ricocheting against the roof and just followed by the mere thought of being so far outside of the city, bringing me the littlest sense of peace.

The sound of Rory's phone going off causes me to open my eyes and I groan irritatedly, glaring at the lit screen which rests at the end of the bed where she had mindlessly tossed it before. I ignore itβ€”considering it is her phoneβ€”and attempt to close my eyes again when it begins to ring. Annoyed, I sit up, reaching over to grab it.

Ophelia's name flashes across the screen and I press decline. The ringing stops and her name disappears and countless text messages appear across the screen, coming through quicker than I could read.

So, he can ghost you for almost a month and you run back to him like it never happened?

Aurora, I know you're with him but have some self-respect, will you?

Atlas is bad news. You should hear some of the things that Orion has told me.

I roll my eyes. Like Rion is some fucking saint. At least I never claimed to be.

I place her phone on the nightstand before lying back down.

My mind begins to wander. Are she and Ophelia friends again? Did they ever stop being friends? What has happened since I stopped seeing her? She doesn't seemβ€”she doesn't look like herself. She just expressed her love for me but even still, she somehow feels so distant.

Standing up, I walk toward the door, lingering there momentarily as I contemplate waiting for her or going to check on her. She has been in there for far longer than usual.

Grasping the cold doorknob, I turn it and quietly open the door, checking my line of sight before closing it behind me and heading down the hallway slightly, eyes widening when Rory's father exits the kitchen, walking over to the living room, thankfully not sparing a glance toward me as I silently open the bathroom door and slip inside.

The yellow lightbulb illuminates the small room. A moth swarms around the light, buzzing. The wallpaper seems to have peeled even more since last being here. From the little I have seen of the Kingsley's Residence; it appears that this house is falling apart at the seams, though I am not one to judge.

I suppose in a way, my parent's sheltered me from this lifestyle. And I don't know whether to be thankful or angered by that. And I do not mean that they never introduced the concept of lower-middle-class people. What I mean is, that I was bought into a big, happy family. I never had to hear my parents argue. I am not a part of the demographic that includes having divorced parents. I never understood that some people's biggest fear is the person who bought them life.

Until now.

To Rory, this is normal. But to meβ€”from an outsider's perspective, none of this is okay. I want more for her. I wish she didn't have to live in the garage because she used to share a room with her sister, and now it makes her too sad to sleep there. I wish that she didn't have a drunken mother and an unlovable father. I wish that her walls weren't darkened from cigarette smoke and her dog didn't have to sit outside in the rain all day to prevent her father from shouting at her.

I suppose that is yet another reason I know that I love her. I'm selfish. If I can't be happy, I want others to suffer. I like equality and to me, fighting for my life every day, bones straining with every movement, heart aching with each exhale, whilst other's last thought before falling asleep at night is how in the morning, they get to wake up and live another day, to me is unfair.

I don't get to live for tomorrow. I don't want to live for tomorrowβ€”not when I feel like this.

But, Rory. God. I want her to have tomorrow, the day after that and every tomorrow for eternity. I want her to have the best tomorrow in the entire world. Because even if I feel this way, I want her to feel so much more because she is so much more. I would give my last ounce of happinessβ€”and believe me my happiness has been running dry for yearsβ€”if that meant making her feel okay.

"Rory?" I call her name not too loud but not too quiet either.

She doesn't respond and I assume that she simply doesn't hear me over the shower, but her shower isn't all that loud.

Warily shoving the shower curtain open, I am met with emptiness until I look down, met with Rory's bare body, her eyes closed and her pale skin bright red and splotchy all over, the purple-blue hue of her veins so vibrant that I can make out every single one on her body. Her arms and legs sprawled out awkwardly around her.

Reaching out, I turn the faucet off, killing the water before touching my hand to her head. Even despite the heat captured between the four walls of this room, she still feels cold to the touch.

"Rory," I whisper-shout, lightly shaking her shoulder as I kneel down.

Her body moves but she remains unresponsive, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow and inconsistent. Anxiety wraps its fingers around my heart and tightens, restricting my breathing. The walls of my throat close in, making every exhale a strained effort.

I grab the edge of the bathtub to pull myself up. Rolling my sleeves up to my elbows, I reach down, sliding my hands beneath her arms to gently lift her out of the tub. Her body lifts with ease, almost as though she is completely weightless.

Adjusting her figure in my hands, I press my back to the door, sliding down as I place her bare body sideways between my legs, dangling her wet, cold legs over mine. Cradling her, I reach over to rip the towel from the metal rack attached to the wall and drape it over her.

My eyes dart down to her sides where my hands just were and despite my careful effort not to harm her, my fingerprints turn her porcelain skin dark.

What is happening to her? Is this my fault? Is she sick? Is she just over-tired?

Fuck.

The side of her head rests against my chest and I stroke her cheek with my thumb, her skin so dryβ€”almost like every ounce of hydration had been sucked from her skin. Even her hairβ€”despite being damp, appeared tangled and brittle.

"Love," I whisper. "Please wake up."

Please.

She is naked and I shouldn't be here. If I have to go out there and explain to her father that his daughter is passed out in the bathroom, he will assume that was my doing and I doubt her lack of consciousness will barely be a problem when he realizes that Iβ€”a boy, am in his house.

Fuck it, I think as I reach into my pocket, struggling to grip at my phone whilst manoeuvring around her legs, I finally manage to pull it out. Using my face recognition, I unlock my phone and then go to my contacts before tapping on Alula's name and pressing ring.

Putting it on speakerphone, it rings and rings. Fucking answer.

Suddenly, the ringing stops. "Atlas?" her familiar voice sounds and I sigh in relief. Thank fuck. "Did you butt dial me by accident? Because you haven't called me inβ€”"

"I need help." I cut her off in a panic.

I hear her inhale sharply. "Are you okay?" she is quick to ask.

"It's not me," I say, pausing as I stare down at her pretty little face as strained and shallow breaths pass through her parted lips. "It's Rory. I found her passed out in the shower and I don't know what happenedβ€”she's freezing and her skin is red and she won't wake up." my voice grows shakier and shakier with every word.

Alula sighs. "Has she been drinking enough? Eating enough? Sleeping enough?"

Angrily, I groan in annoyance. "I don't fucking know. I haven't seen her in weeks."

I should have paid more attention.

Again, she sighs. "Look at her now," she says sternly. "You--You love her, right?"

Is it that obvious?

Closing my eyes tightly, I whisper, "Yes."

"Then look at her. You know her."

Pressured, I analyse her and begin to list everything that I have noticed. "Her skin is dry. Her lips are chapped. Her nails are brittle. Her skin starlight." I list, eyes sweeping up and down her face and body as I search for anything else. "She looks. . .thin. She feels even thinner." I say the last part quietly, not wanting to offend her despite her being unconscious.

I know how fucking annoying it is to be told that you are too skinny. Or too anything, really.

"Atlas. . ." she says with a tone that I cannot decipher nor even begin to. "Just--she should wake up soon. Try and get her something to eat, even if it's only something small. Don't let her leave your sight, okay? If she isn't awake soon, call me."

I nod, then realise she can't see me, before sighing. "Okay." I agree. "Will she be okay?"

I sense her hesitancy as her silence makes my ears ring. All emotion drains from my body, making me feel ill and lifeless. Shaky. When she then stirs, her eyes open slightly, squinting and the sick feeling leaves me.

Without saying another word, I abruptly hang up the phone, dropping it onto the ground as I cradle her face with my hands, finally able to breathe again.

Her eyelids flutter open and she squints, staring up at me, her forehead creased with confusion. "Atlas?" she sounds half as disoriented as she looks.

I exhale a breath of relief, hugging her bare body tightly to mine. Thank fuck. "Rory," I pant, my bones aching with anxiety. "What happened to you while I was gone?" even though I was never really gone. Almost, but not quite.

Drowsily, she looks up at me with dead eyes and a ghost of a smile which tugs at the corners of her chapped lips. "You know what they say," her tone is monochromatic and she feels so distant. "When you leave someone it's not always the same person when you come back."

A U T H O R ' SΒ  N O T E

. . . . .jndewfnjekrngjrtgt

HI GUYS!!

i've missed you all so much, im actually crying. i could go on and on about how much has changed and how much is yet to come but i'll leave you with atlas and rory for a little longer since you've waited for so long. . .Β 

i love every single one of you to the moon and back and then again.

their story isn't done just yet.

check my post on both instagram and wattpad for more details + rambling about how glad i am to be back.


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