To The Moon and Back

𝟐𝟒 | 𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲

L U M I N O S I T Y

The amount of light emitted by a star.

T O  T H E
M O O N & B A C K

I DIDN'T DRINK much at all. In fact, unless you count the residue from the tequila being in my mouth but not swallowed, then I didn't really drink at all. Rory decided to give up after three and now I'm having a shower.

I left her in the living room and headed to the bathroom because my hygiene has been lacking lately—not purposely, I just can't get out of bed—but even she told me to go shower, to relax. She said she didn't mind, she made herself comfortable on the couch and so I left.

Part of me wanted to ask her to come with me. To be with me. Not for sex, though. I would just like to have her close; to clean her and touch her, to watch her. But I didn't ask her because I know she wouldn't be ready for something like that—something so intimate. Showering together is something people in love do. And Rory and I—I don't know, I don't love her but I think she's the person I hate the least in the world right now.

I don't know why.

Whilst I shower, I think about the second letter that Everly wrote. It was dated exactly a week after the first letter, which means, if these letters are becoming a consistent thing from her, I should be due to receive another one in a little under a week, on Thursday. 

How are you, Atlas? She had written. I asked mother how you were but she changed the subject. Are you okay? I don't have the heart to tell her I'm not. Her second letter wasn't as frightening as the first but she did mention that she had a doctor's appointment and she can't deny 'it' any longer.

Rory and I scrunched up countless pieces of paper in an attempt to write back to her. The first one felt too formal, the second was too Rory, the third was too honest, and then the fourth. I explained to Rory that Everly doesn't know about my addiction, and Rory doesn't know that I have bipolar—I want to keep it that way—so, it was difficult to write.

Maybe that's why I feel so comfortable around them. Addiction and bipolar are two parts of myself I hate the most and if they both lack knowledge of one out of two of those aforementioned subjects, it makes me feel like less of a failure.

And so I proceeded to write. How are you, Ever? I asked. How is college? How is Harlow? Are you two madly in love yet, or still platonic? Is Canada better than home? Do you miss home? I told her about the few good things in my life; like Rory, but she didn't know about that part. I told her I met a girl and we're just messing around, but it's fun. I told her about the petrol station. I told her I'm still working at the mechanic with Raven and that was as much as I could say because there isn't anything else. Everything else is bad and I'd rather her just know the good. And then I ended it. Talk soon. Love, Atlas.

I exit the shower and feel freezing instantly. The heat fogs up the mirror and I swipe my hand over the reflective surface, and then I see myself and I feel ill. So pale, so void of life. My eyes are so lifeless, the blue irises which once held such life, now look two-dimensional. Just. . .empty.

I exit the bathroom with the towel around my waist and walk into my bedroom before dropping the towel and slipping on a pair of boxer shorts, then grey sweatpants. I grab a sweatshirt and hurry to exit my room. My teeth are brushed and I scrubbed my body clean. Every single inch. Twice. I feel slightly better already.

As I exit the hallway, I notice Rory standing near the window. She's still watching the rain. I feel my lips twitch with a smile. There really are people like her. People that can find beauty in the little things. I can almost feel the adoration radiating off her as she looks at the dull sky. She likes the rain. I once did too but living here forever makes you wish for the sun.