Atlas Landen

  Through all my life, I was surrounded by cheaters. Maniac cheaters, guilty cheaters, and unapologetic cheaters.

  Dad was the first in the category. Fucking bastard cheated then abused mom till the core, so she couldn't move on and marry another guy. He had damaged her bones down to her skin by pushing her down the long porcelain staircase.

  The nurses quickly shuffled across when they saw me, I leaned against the wall and waited for the doctor to finish the usual tests for mom – my brother was supposed to be here looking after mom, but the fucker had an underground illegal match. Calista Jones entered my mind like a ruthless poison, and I was annoyed. I fucking hated every second I saw her, a casual reminder of what my dad did.

  As if the world had a twisted prank on me, my phone flashed my best friend's name. Another memo of the ex-popular vixen.

  "Yes, Jake?" I said as I tightened my hold around the edges of my phone.

  I was in a bad mood and Brandon made it worse. I had zero social skills and I wanted to fucking bash everything into the sickeningly white hospital walls. I had enough of everything lately and my life was taking a tumble downhill.

  "Where are you? The boys are waiting for you at the party."

  I breathed harshly through my nose.

  "Just go without me."

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't fucking want to." I snapped; a couple of scowls directed themselves at me from the patients.

  "Call me when you get your shit together."

  I rolled my eyes after I closed off my phone and ruffled my hair agitatedly.

  Brandon, my brother, came with an elastic roller bandage on his right hand. The patients around us threw over cynical glances at us, but if there was one thing similar between my older brother and I, it would be the zero fucks given. We were hot headed like that.

  "You're late." I muttered, stone cold tone that made Brandon smile.

  "Better late than never, dear brother."

  He was in a black leather jacket with a rugged look and silver studs. Underneath, he had a faded band tee with a bold graphic. His skinny jeans were dark and slightly distressed, held up by a studded belt that he paired with black leather boots wear. A few rings on his fingers and a silver chain around his neck. His hair was wet, and he had faint bruises around his jaw.

  Brandon Landen had a grudge towards dad more than I did, he lived more than me to see the assault he had on mom back when I was young, they hid from me, but Brandon saw it all. He saw the pain in mom's eyes, and he had to drop out to get money from Death, the underground fighting pit, he was skilled enough to get qualified and he was under Blake's guardianship. I knew all about it when I snuck out to follow him. If it wasn't for Blake, I would have died because Death didn't like new visitors.

  Dr. Alan came out, my mom's assigned doctor, with lowered eyebrows and dejected eyes.

  "What is going on?" I asked.

  "We are going to have to go for physical therapy, her legs are weak and there is no progress." He announced.

  "It's been a whole year, and you didn't do anything." Brandon always blamed Dr. Alan, he thought that he wasn't doing his best. I was also running out of patience, but I couldn't see mom.

  "We are doing our best." The doctor glared at Brandon and walked away.

  "Fuck this shit." Brandon kicked the chair and paced with his fingers pulling his hair out.

  "Brandon, stay with her. She's waiting for you." I ordered him and he stopped, then he faced me, his breaths mild against mine.

  "You're coming with me too." He seethed.

  "The last time I came, she freaked out on me." I strained out, he bunched my shirt and neared me closer to him.

  "You should tell her that it wasn't your fault."

  "I did and look where that fucking got her. She doesn't believe me – she thinks that I pushed her." I exploded on my brother, the security guards approached us, and Brandon pulled away as he rubbed his face before he gave me a sharp look.

  "If you fight one more time, we are getting you both kicked out." We knew the guards that worked here and by the looks on their faces, they were tired of our brutality in front of patients. I didn't give a fuck about that either when I gave them a brief nod and they went back to their previous positions.

  Brandon went inside and I exhaled off the tension in my throat. I didn't know my fists were clenched until I looked down at my dotted underside of my palms. I was bushed after the football practice, and I wanted nothing than to sleep. But I knew I had to wait for my brother.

  I snuck a peek over to mom's lanky figure, her blonde hair in a bun and she had hollow cheekbones, tired green eyes and cracked lips. She looked the same, but older with fatigue. Her sickly wrinkles were more prominent, and it made me motivated to kill dad.

If only I knew where he was.

  I decided to sit down on the wooden chair and crossed my arms, my head against the wall as I stretched out my long legs.

  The girl sat beside me observed me minute by minute, and I was irritated when I narrowed my eyes at her. Her little thoughtful blue eyes just kept staring blatantly at me.

  "What?" I barked out at the child.

  "You have something here," She pointed to the place between her eyebrows, and I checked myself on the screen. "Momma says that angry people have this line." She stated the moment she tilted her head at me.

  "No shit sherlock." I retorted. I had low intolerance when it came down to kids.

She gasped, her hand on her mouth.

  "You're not supposed to say shit."

  "Then, fuck?" I asked her and she gasped louder. I was amused deep down at the reaction she radiated towards me, she frowned and shook her head.

  "That is a bad word." She chastised and I was running short of patience.

  My eyes checked out the red lines on both of her wrists to the wounds painted on her arms.

  "What did you do to get that?" I questioned, she followed my line of vision and her eyes widened before she covered the area with her other hand.

  "Nothing." She whispered, she ignored my lingering gaze before she got up while an old man came and grabbed her, throwing me a disdained look before they rushed out.

  The girl turned her head over her shoulder to look at me. Her eyes screamed for me to help her, my instincts ignited when I took full strides to reach her, my arms carried her out of the man's hold and the guards followed me.

  "What do you think you are doing? Leave my daughter alone." He hollered, the cars surrounded the hospital and by the looks of his professional attire, he seemed like a mafia or a killer.

  "Atlas, I gave you a warning." Velle, a well-known security man, gave me a pointed look.

  I got her down and she whimpered when I raised her arm for Velle to see. He frowned, then looked over to the old man.

  "He did this to her." I burst out.

  "No, you don't have any proof, young man. I suggest you back off or else, I will report you to the police." He spat in his gruff voice.

  "Did he do this to you?" Velle crouched down to the girl in pigtails, her lips trembled, and she shoved her face on my jeans, her hands around my leg. It was enough of an answer, she wanted to cower away from her dad's scalding sneer.

  "Take him." The chief guard commanded, and they got a move on to take the burly man away.

  "You'll see." He threatened in between the armed men, the other men in the cars backed off. I knew he meant the threat, but at least the little girl was safe for now.

  "Thank you." She told me with a bright smile on her tear-stained face.

  Velle gave me an appreciation nod, somewhat surprised that I had humanity in me, I nodded back, and the two figures faded off into the hospital.

  "Where the fuck did you go? I looked everywhere for you." Brandon showed up with stern stormy eyes.

  "I had to smoke and get some fresh air." I answered with a lie. The last thing I needed was one of his tough love lectures.

  "Let's go. I have a match in two hours." He said while he strapped his helmet, his strong figure on his purple Harley Davidson motorcycle that he bought with his law-breaking money. I got into my red one and we raced off the busy streets.

  I decided not to fight with him, I had a long fucking day and I wanted to be with Rage, my golden retriever.

  Our house felt empty, as if we barely lived there. We lived in the suburbs of Chicago, and I got used to the gunshots at nights. Brandon went off to Death and I longed for a good shower.

  The air carried a restless hum, a mix of distant sirens and the occasional shouts of discontent. Playgrounds in local parks stood silent and rusty, an echo of better days, while broken swings sway lazily in the breeze. Graffiti covered walls and alleys, a raw, unfiltered aura to the disconnection and frustration that simmered within. It was just like me in a way.

  I took a few breaths before I came in the house and locked the door. Fucking rascals were everywhere in the dangerous areas around us. It was what we could afford. Brandon's money only got us motorcycles and my education, in which he was adamant about. He wanted me to finish my studies.

  My phone endlessly pinged and I saw the photos from the party, others from Linda in a tight mini dress with drunken smiles around – it made me fucking pity them. Especially, Linda with her desperate hints. I quickly glanced at her questioning texts and threw the phone on the couch before Rage greeted me when he sat on my lap, and I played with his fur.

  He licked my palm, and I hugged him tightly, hiding my face in his soft skin.

  "Me too, Rage, me too." I took him to the kitchen for his food. "Good boy." I murmured when he ate quickly, as if he waited for me for a long time.

  I laid down on the couch, my hand behind my head at the same time my brain rummaged through today's events. The fucking cheerleader and her fucking innocent smile, like she didn't break hearts. I had to calm Jake down when he was about to kidnap her from the party. I was the one who stopped him, the reminder of my best friend's punches on my face only told me how much he wanted her.

  He was stupid because he chose to be with the biggest heartbreaker, it turned me off how she went about her ways. I never saw a girl as bold as her and the steely determination to give her a taste of her own medicine just jeered me to know all about her weaknesses. The hate in her eyes when she was in the janitor's closet didn't affect me one bit, it only made me love the revenge even more. I wanted her to feel how messed up she was.

  I was going to show her what it was like for Jake. My childhood's closest friend.

  This time, two birds in one stone. Calista Jones and dad.