Steady Ground | ✔

12 | Do you have a plan now or something?

"Would you rather me be dead?"

Atlas could feel an unwarranted anger surge up into his throat. Maybe anger wasn't the right word. He wanted Chaos to freeze time again, so he could scream at him; that was for sure. But that wasn't possible. He was forced to stand there, and look at the pain on his mother's face.

He tightened his jaw, and all he could even think to possibly do was wrap his arms as tightly around his mother-like figure and squeeze her close to him.

Her body felt as real as it looked. There was heat, the touch of fabric on his hands. Whatever he was hugging was real and human and it just made him hold her tighter, because screw it he didn't rather her be dead, even if she was fake.

It felt like a chance to make up for not hugging her the day she died.

For that, he couldn't say he was exactly angry, because if anything, Chaos helped him right then.

Atlas felt his mother touch his shoulder, and he let her go. "I wouldn't rather you be dead," he said. "Why would you even think that?"

I'd rather you be alive. But staying there wouldn't make that true. Nothing in this world was true, even if it was real.

Maybe that was a better way to think about it. It was all real, not fake, but it wasn't true.

No, that didn't make any sense, still.

"Then don't fill out that photobook," his mother said. "Stay here. I know you noticed how this world healed you. You'll never feel hungry. You have friends here, and me—"

Atlas retreated a couple steps. He'd never stay in a world that made endless fun of his mind. "How about we go back to the table. I'll stay for a drink before I go."

~

Atlas was surprised that worked. She reluctantly stopped, walking behind him with her head out to the side like she was pouting. She'd start going at him, soon, if he didn't distract her. If she really was like his mother, anyway. She already seemed to have fluttered in and out of character, like Chaos didn't know how to interpret her from the memories he had at his disposal.

It made saying no to his mother like that so much easier, he realized. His mother never pleaded. That was never her thing.

Despite the undercurrent of anger—maybe he could call it dismay—that still balled up in his throat, he almost thought it was funny that his own wild-card mother's personality could baffle an ethereal being. Dismay sounded right. It was like being punched for the first time. More shock than pain, more betrayal than anger. How could anything ever do such cruel things to someone?

Atlas took his spot back at the table, where the perilously full glass of wine sat.

August nudged him. "What was that about?"

He once more feigned a sip of his wine. The sweet taste touched his lips and made him almost want to drink more, but he didn't want to know what it would do to him in this world. He placed it back on the table. "Do you still want to help me fill the photobook?" Atlas asked, his voice not quite a whisper.

"Hah! I never wanted to help you, but you'd be long dead if I didn't!"

It seemed he was back to his normal self, now that Chaos was gone. He eyed his photobook, which his mother was once again hiding from view, leaning onto the table on her elbows.

"You're not wrong!" He somehow managed to also feign a smile. "Can you help me again?"

His friend shrugged. "Anything to get away from these two."