𝟑𝟑 | 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥

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F I R E B A L L

An extremely bright meteor. Also known as bolides, fireballs can be several times brighter than the full Moon. Some can even be accompanied by a sonic boom.

T O  T H E
M O O N & B A C K

I CLOSE THE garage up, locking the door before heading toward my car, pressing the unlock button and getting into the driver's seat. I place my keys into the ignition and wind my window down, then open the glove-box and shuffle around the unnecessary crap until I find the joint I rolled during my break and shoved in there.

I place the end between my lips, flicking the lighter as the orange flame lights the twisted tip. I inhale deeply, the smoke rushing into my lungs, and I sigh in content. 

It's been the busiest day that I have had in a while and I'm not sure whether that's because I simply haven't been working enough lately to properly understand what the term busy entails, or if it's because it was just me most of the day. Raven was upstairs doing paperwork all day and Onyx left early.

It was good being distracted. It was good having somewhere to put all of this energy to use. But now I feel burnt out. My hands hurt, I'm abnormally tired, and I have a migraine from having to speak to people all day. I haven't spoken this much since I was a child and actually enjoyed the concept of talking.

Now it's a chore.

My eyes feel like they are moving in slow motion as I gaze over to the space next to my car and toss the butt of the smoked joint onto the concrete, then lie back, my head resting against the chair as I tap the pads of my fingers against the steering wheel.

My phone begins to vibrate in my pocket and I pull it out, raising the screen to meet my glassy eyes when I see Rory's name on the screen. I slide my finger across, answering before holding the speaker up to my ear.

"Atlas?" 

Her voice sends a shiver down my spine. "Hey, baby." I reply, a faint smile on my lips. "How was school?" I ask, my gaze flicking to the time being portrayed on my radio. Four-O-two PM.

"Shit, like always." she answers and I snort. "Principal fuckwit gave me one-hour detention for wearing the wrong shoes even though I've been wearing them all year and no one noticed. And do you know what's even worst?" she rambles, but I continue to listen. What's even worse, Rory? Tell me. "Orion had the wrong shoes on, too and he didn't get in trouble. Bloody sexist if you ask me."

I laugh ignoring the sickening feeling that subdues my stomach at the mentioning of Rion's name. "The entire school is sexist."

"You just get me, Atlas." she says sarcastically and I roll my eyes. "Have you finished work?"

I nod, then realize she can't fucking see me. "Yeah. Finished two minutes ago."

"Could you pick me up?" 

I smile at her question, only because she went from fearing cars, to asking me to take her anywhere and everywhere. I don't mind, it just means that I can see her more often. I feel proud knowing that she can ask me to get her from school without being afraid. She's getting better.

Besides, our schedules aren't too far off, so it's convenient. She starts school around the same time that I begin work, so I can easily drop her off, then continue to work, and on nights where I finish work late, she catches the train and meets me here, or sometimes she has a shift at Delilah's, so it works out.

It's only been three days but it already feels like we have been doing this set routine forever. My mother always insisted on me having a specific routine to follow each day because she said it would help me knowing I have a purpose and schedule to follow when I awake in the mornings. But I never bothered because my days only consist of sleeping, work, and school when I feel like it—which is rarely—and I'll eat and shower if I remember.

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