Chapter 7

[Atlas]

Cordelia pushes past us as she rushes up the stairs. A few seconds later I hear the sound of her door slamming. I could tell that Sydney’s presence was causing her pain.

Maybe I should go upstairs and apologize but I was feeling petty after our argument this morning. 

Sydney coughs. For a moment I had forgotten the guest I invited over that I hadn’t meant to invite over. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that. My wife and I…” how do I phrase this without giving too much away. “she can be a bit…well dramatic.” I settle on a word. It doesn’t feel fair, but it also fits. 

Sydney shrugs as if none of it matters. “Um…where should I put this,” she indicates my oversized suitcase. I ask her to set it down near the stairs and I notice that she has a slight limp. 

Cordelia must have pushed her down harder than I thought.

“Hey, wait,” I stop her before she can reach the stairs. Taking the suitcase from her, I bring over a nearby chair and instruct her to sit while I take the suitcase and put it away. “Rest your leg.”

She grimaces, giving me a small salute. Taking that to mean she understands and will comply, I haul the suitcase up the stairs and stash it in a nearby closet. 

I can hear Cordelia sobbing as I pass the door to her room. I pause, my hand above the doorknob. Should I enter? Will she even listen to me if I try to explain myself? It feels like I’ve made a mess of things and I’m not sure what should happen next. 

Angelica would have wanted me to take better care of her sister than this. I owe it to her to at least try and be her friend. 

When I make it back downstairs, Sydney is nowhere to be found. The front door is slightly ajar, so I open it the rest of the way. 

Looking down the path, I see her holding a small suitcase. When she sees me, she waves and trips over a paving stone, landing once more with a hard smack. 

I rush over to her side. “Stupid shoes,” she laughs, looking down at her dented and scratched pink heels. “I’ve been such a clutz today!” 

Shaking my head I help her stand. “If you had just stayed put like I told you to, you wouldn’t be hurt right now..”

“I guess so,” she shrugs dismissively. “But then I wouldn’t have my things,” she lifts her suitcase to show me what she managed to get from her car in the brief moment that I was away. “I keep this in my car just in case.”

She starts to stumble a bit as we walk back. “Here. I give her the support of my arm, inviting her to hold onto my waist as I guide her back into the house. 

When we get inside, I see a problem immediately. There is no way that she is going to make it up those stairs, even with assistance. “Hold on tight,” I instruct her as I sweep her into my arms bridal style and begin climbing the stairs. 

“This feels silly,” she giggles, her body jostling with each step. “And nice. You are very strong, Mr. Steele, I mean Atlas.” Her cheeks go pink as she looks away, avoiding eye contact.

I’m sure it must be embarrassing for her to be so helpless.

“Will you keep me company?” she blinks at me with her large, hazel eyes, looking defenseless and small and I have this overwhelming urge to protect her. “I’m not a bit sleepy and if I’m not allowed to walk around…”

“How about this,” I compromise. “I’ll eat dinner with you but then I want you to rest your body. Maybe read a book,” I suggest. 

She pouts. “Sorry to be such a bother. I’m sure you’re too busy to hang out.”

I feel a little guilty. Her injury is partly my fault. If I hadn’t sent her here with the suitcase, she wouldn’t have run into my wife and gotten injured in the first place. The least I could do was spend a little time with her. 

By the time I return to the room, Sydney is sitting up, lying with her bruised side in the air. She had changed into an oversized t-shirt and shorts which are barely longer than the shirt. Her suitcase is still open next to her. In the suitcase is a bottle of wine. 

“Do you usually carry wine in your overnight bag?” I raise my eyebrow curiously. 

“You never know when it might come in handy,” she explains weakly. “I mean, what if I get stuck somewhere and I need a way to relax? In fact,” she reaches down to pick up the bottle, “I thought maybe we could have a little with dinner.”

She hands the bottle out for me to open, but I stop when I recognize the label. 

It is the same wine as last night. The same label, the same year. 

My hand slips right as she releases it from her grasp. 

I try to reach the bottle in time but instead, the back of the couch hits the wall with a smash as I fall over, trying not to land on Sydney, releasing a small moan as my head hits the wall. 

Sydney shouts, “Oh Atlas!” as the bottle crashes to the ground. She reaches down to grab some of the glass and cuts herself. “Ahh…Ahhh…” she begins to freak out as she watches the blood pouring from her hand. 

“Uh,” I grunt, stumbling backward as I try to avoid the glass. “Stay right there,” I order Sydney. Grabbing a towel from the nearby bathroom, I get it wet with warm water and gently clean her wound. “Hold onto this while I go get a dustpan to clean the rest of this mess.”

By the sounds of things, there is a slam of a nearby door and a set of fast, rapid footsteps. 

Cordelia? Where is she going at this hour?