Legendary // H.S

35.

'Being me can only mean feeling scared to breathe

If you leave me then I'll be afraid of everything'

*

Harry

Atlas is cleaning. No, she's scrubbing. The sponges and cloths she's using aren't doing much, just simply spreading the blood around her and staining the wood further while scratching it, but it's not like she cares. The more she rubs at the floorboards, I notice the silent tears that fall as her hands shake. She's falling apart, and I'm not sure how to help her.

This is something I have been accustomed to for a long time. Violence. Since I was a kid I've known how dangerous the world can be, especially when I've partaken in it. I've been both the victim and cause of it so many times that I'm almost desensitised to it. During the height of it, I wished for nothing more than to stop feeling guilt when I involved myself in it, but these days I cling onto it to make sure I don't resemble those that made me like this.

Atlas doesn't deserve to be sucked into this world, but I did it to her. I was naïve to think that she wouldn't be involved in it when I recruited her. Stupid to even consider that I could shield her from it. I am the problem here. I am the villain in her story. Not Hugo or Santine, or even Joe at this point. It's me. She just had to shoot someone that she cares about, all because of the life I selfishly gave her.

I'll spend the rest of my life repenting for this.

I cautiously walk closer, kneeling beside her on the floor. My hands reach out for the sponge gripped in her palm but as I grab it she pulls away, not daring to look at me. She continues her movements, aggressively rubbing the floor that is still saturated in crimson. Her whole body is covered in blood, too, most of it still not dry considering the volume that landed on her. The clothes for wears are probably ruined; no amount of detergent will get these stains out. As for the wood, she'll need a large rug to cover it. I'll sort that out tomorrow so she doesn't have to see it every day.

Instead, I grab one of the discarded cloths, soaking it in the bowl of water in between us that she brought over with her, then moving it to the floor below. I mimic her actions but remain gentle with my approach. I can't focus on anything but her shaking body, though. Every time a tear falls her body jolts in a sob, convulsing in pain. No apologies will undo this.

Once again, I try to take the sponge from her but this time she snaps, falling back onto her legs as they fold under her. She pushes some of the hair out of her face but most of it is stuck there by the blood. 'Don't fucking touch me!' she yells.

I sit back too, copying her stance and watching her with concern. I don't know what this feeling is, but when I look at her I'm afraid. Not of her, but of how she'll see herself after this. How she'll see me. The way that she's reacting to the events of this evening indicate how broken she is by them. I am solely responsible for that. Yes, Joe was the one that entered her home, something we'll have to discuss once she's calmed down, but this all came about because of Hugo's sick game to ruin me. Each card he deals becomes more difficult to counter but seeing Atlas in the state she's in only encourages me to continue fighting.

Her eyes finally move up to my own, but behind them all I see is sorrow and regret. Her heart is too pure for this. She's not capable of hurting people. Now that she has I'm not sure she'll be able to again. 'There's too much,' she finally whispers, more tears falling in a quick succession down her cheeks. I didn't think it was possible for someone to cry this much.

I sigh, slowly placing a hand on her thigh, praying she doesn't push me away. 'Let me help, I'll sort it,' I ask of her, rubbing a small circle on the fabric of her jeans.