Atlas' POV
I've been staring at my hand for ten minutes, the same one she touched three days ago. It's ridiculous, but I can still feel the ghost of her fingers, like they branded me, leaving a mark that won't go the f*ck away no matter how hard I try. Maybe it meant nothing to her... but for me, it stuck.
It's been only three days since I moved into Trina's house, and I already know I made a huge mistake. When she asked if I could keep an eye on Quincy while she was away for work, I hesitated. I came up with excuses meetings, deadlines, travel but she shut all that down with one line: "You're the only person I trust with her."
I said yes. Of course. The f*ck was I supposed to say to that? She's my late best friend's wife. I owed him that much. But I should've said no. I should've tried harder to say no.
Because the truth is, I feel things for Quincy that I shouldn't. Things I've been trying to ignore, suppress, bury-anything but feel. And being under the same roof as her again is bringing it all back to the surface.
It didn't start this way. For years, Quincy was just Trina's daughter. Sweet, polite, full of energy. A little wild, stubborn. Quincy? She was always there. A bright, unpredictable presence. Open, warm... but hard to read sometimes too. That's the thing about her she gives a lot of herself without really giving anything away. I never knew what was going on in her head, not really. Still don't.
The first time I noticed her differently-really noticed her, was maybe five months or so ago. She came home from school one afternoon, clearly upset. Something petty had happened, teenage drama, the kind you forget about the next day. But not her.
The house was quiet, which was rare around here. Trina had gone out to grab a few things for the weekend snacks, beers, whatever she felt was missing from the kitchen. She told me to keep Quincy company, but I figured she would stay out late or hole up in her room like most teenagers do on a Friday. I was halfway through a basketball rerun, sprawled out on the couch with a cold drink in hand, when I heard the front door swing open.
Footsteps-quick, uneven ones followed. Then came the unmistakable sound of a bag hitting the floor, harder than necessary. I glanced at the time. Just past four. She was home earlier than usual.
From where I sat, I could barely see the staircase, but I caught a glimpse of her head down, backpack sliding off one shoulder, her jaw tight like she was holding back more than just frustration. I didn't call out. Figured maybe she needed space. But I noticed. I always noticed when something was off with her.
A few minutes passed. I heard the thud of her door upstairs, then silence. I went back to my game.
Maybe ten minutes later, I heard her coming down again, quieter this time. She walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, then the cabinet. The way she moved told me she was trying too hard to act normal.
I gave it another beat, then stood up and followed. She was by the counter, reaching for a glass. Her eyes were red. Not puffy, not dramatic just a little off. Like she had been holding back tears all day and was losing the battle.
"Hey" I said, leaning a hip against the doorway, arms folded across my chest. "You good?"
She froze, just for a second. Then she nodded without looking at me. "Yeah. I'm fine."
'Sure,' I thought. "You don't look fine." I say out loud.
She gave a little shrug, poured herself some juice, and avoided my gaze. I walked over and opened the pantry. Pretended to be looking for something.
"You know," I said casually. "I'm not just here to eat all your Mom's food. I'm a decent listener too, in case you forgot."
Quincy let out a breath, almost a scoff. "I didn't forget."
"You want to tell me what happened?" She hesitated. I saw it in the way her fingers tightened around the glass.
"It's stupid." She mutter.
"Yeah, probably," I smirked. "But stupid stuff gets under your skin too. So tell me anyway." She was quiet again. Then, finally, she leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest like armor. Her voice came out small.
"There's this girl at school Amanda. She's always had something to say about me. I usually don't care, but today she told some people I only get attention because my dad died. That I'm milking it for sympathy."
I blinked. Then blinked again. She was looking away now, chin tilted up like she was trying not to cry in front of me.
"And it's not even just what she said," she went on, voice cracking.
"It's the way people laughed. Like it was true. Like... like I'm a joke." There was a pause. Just the hum of the fridge between us.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm too much. For people." She said quietly. "Like I'm either invisible or... too loud, too emotional, too weird. I don't know I didn't think it would get to me, but it did." That's when I saw the tears fall and something in me shifted. Not out of pity. Not out of duty to Trina. But something deeper, something I wasn't ready for. I didn't say anything right away. I just stepped closer and gently took the glass from her hand so she wouldn't drop it.
"Look at me." She hesitated, then met my eyes. "You're not too much," I affirmed, voice lower now "You're not invisible either. And anyone who can't handle all the things that make you you they're just not worth your time." She blinked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. I reached up instinctively and brushed it away with my thumb. It was a small touch. Barely a second. But it lit something in my chest I didn't want to name.
I didn't see a kid anymore.
I saw a girl no, a woman-standing there with a cracked heart and so much fire behind her eyes, trying to be strong even when she didn't have to be. And I wanted to hold her. Protect her. Not like an uncle, not like some family friend. As a... man.
And that terrified me.
"Your Mom would have decked that girl for saying that," I said while pulling back, trying to make her smile. "Guess it's a good thing I'm the calm one."
Quincy laughed a little, wiping her face. "You? Calm?"
I shrugged. "Calmer than rich, at least."
She smiled, soft and grateful. "Thanks, Arty."
And that was it. That was the moment.
I didn't kiss her. Didn't cross a line. But my heart did. Quietly, and without permission. And ever since then, I've been pretending it didn't happen. But afterward, when I was alone, it hit me hard. That moment flipped a switch I didn't want flipped. I started noticing things after that. The curve of her mouth when she smiled. The way her laugh lingered in a room. How she would look at me sometimes. I started thinking about her too much. Looking too long. Wanting more than I had any right to want.
And, I hated myself for it.