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❝The seas and skies

envied their eyes.❞

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♚ I am particularly proud of this chapter, and I worked really hard on it. I hope it sent the message I was hoping yo send, and I hope you felt the feels that I felt. Vote if you did. Xx, MD ♚

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GIVING THE SILENT treatment to someone that angered you is something that any child would do. Sometimes adults can do it too, but just for the sake of harmless fights. I, however, see no fun in my mom giving me the silent treatment.

"Mom," I try again with a sigh.

No answer.

"Dad, come on, can I at least explain myself?" I ask him, exasperated.

He purses his lips and gives a tiny shake of his head. "India, you really went too far this time."

"I didn't do anything," I say, throwing my hands in the air angrily. Dad gives me a look, and I close my eyes, calming myself. "I told you, I was just there at the bonfire with Phoebe, Heidi, Jeromy, and Ruby. I didn't know that there were any drugs at that party. If I'd known, I would've never. . ."

I furrow my eyebrows as I see my dad looking away. Mom stands up and throws the empty low-fat yogurt cup in the garbage bin.

"You guys really think I'm that kind of person? That would go to parties to do drugs?" I blink, surprised.

"I don't know what kind of person you are anymore, India," mom says for the first time since yesterday.

"Maybe if you'd spend more than three hours straight in our house," I say, my voice getting louder as I clench my jaw. I stand up so abruptly, the chair falls back with an angry clank, "maybe if you'd ask me, 'hey, India, how's your today? Is everything okay?'"

Mom sighs and runs a hand down her face. I bite my lips to keep them from quivering. Not from sadness, but from anger.

"Maybe if you just cared a teeny bit more," my voice cracks as I bring my forefinger and thumb close together. It's funny how she wasn't here for any of my recitals or science fair projects, but she wants to jump in when I make a small mistake. I let out a strangled, soft laugh. "Maybe if you cared a bit more, and tried. . . maybe then, you'll know what kind of person I am."

I lick my dry lips, and grab my backpack, leaving them both in the kitchen.

They don't follow me or call my name.

--

I stab my salad with the plastic fork in my hand, ignoring the stares coming from our whole table. Pushing the fork in my mouth, I look up at them sourly. "What?"

They all look away -- except Jeromy -- and I roll my eyes.

"It's just -- you're always pissed off, but today something's really wrong," Jeromy explains.

"I'm just spectacular, Jeromy," I say blankly.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Clearly."

The lunch period ends after a while, and I'm the first to get up to throw the scraps of my food in the garbage bin. Algebra, I think with an internal groan, that's what I have now. I take my time as the thick mass of people slowly push through the hall until I reach my locker. After getting my books, I shut my locker, and, unfortunately, jump back into the crowd.

Someone's feet land in front of mine, making me stumble and almost fall face-first on the ground. Almost. A pair of hands catches me in time. I look to find Hunter next to me -- he must've been the one who tripped and caught me.

"Watch it," I growl, shifting my books from one arm to the other.

"What's got you in such a sour mood today?" He scoffs. We haven't spoken all day even though I sat across him during lunch and shared two periods with him.

"Leave me along, Grey," I mutter loud enough for him to hear.

He continues pushing anyway. "Trouble in paradise?"

It takes me a second to realize he's talking about Ethan. I remember his change of attitude when Ethan half asked me out, and feel my heart lift a little. Don't be silly, I scold myself. He has Phoebe now, and after all that went on between us, I doubt that his change of attitude meant anything. He was probably just upset because of the fact that he was in a jail cell. "There is no paradise, I just met him the other day."

Satisfyingly, he doesn't answer but walks by my side along with everyone else.

"You know, for someone who talks a lot about my relationships," I say, giving him a sideway glance, "I don't see you doing well with yours. Why haven't I gotten any news yet?"

His expression doesn't give away anything, but I see a slight undertone of annoyance. "Because I haven't either. I told you she's very-"

"Yeah, I know, I know," I roll my eyes, "she's very smart. But you have to at least have something, never mind it being small."

He breathes out through his mouth before presses his lips in a grim line, looking around us. "We can't talk here."

I realize he's right and nod. Luckily, one of the school's entrances is close enough to us. I fasten my pace and wrap my fingers around his thick arm, pulling him ahead and to the right. Ignoring his protests, I push the doors open so that we are finally outside and away from the noisy crowd.

I close my eyes and tip my head back, enjoying the warm sun on my skin and the state of peace. It's a nice day out, not as hot as usual, but the sky is still a light cloudless one, with the sun persistently shining in the middle. Lazily, I open my eyes again to find Hunter staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. After a few moments, it gets uncomfortable. I shift from one foot to the other and clear my throat, snapping him out of his gaze.

"What do you have?" I ask, crossing my arms.

He shakes his head to himself and runs a hand along his jaw. "You know how Phoebe's parent's relationship has been running on thin ice, right? Well, apparently, they already filed for a divorce last week."

"And?" My patience is beginning to run out. After all this time, Hunter has got to have something better than that. Married couples get into fights and divorces all the time. This isn't something that's really going to help me.

"And the custody battle is coming up. She thinks her dad is going to win, and if so, she's going to travel to New York," he finishes.

A bee buzzes by as I scratch at my bare collarbone, my mind whirring. "When exactly is the custody battle?"

"Tomorrow."

My eyes widen. "And you didn't think to tell me sooner?"

His broad shoulders lift in a shrug as his response. It frustrates me; the way he sees this as something small, not the new piece of information, but the whole matter.

"Hunter, did you think I was joking when we made that deal?" I ask, infuriated, taking a step closer. "Do you think that I'm just bluffing? You and I both know very well that I'll do whatever it takes to get what I want."

"I'm trying, I really am. You're not hearing me out," he says quickly, taking a step forward as well, "that night. . . I'm sorry for what I did, I know it was awful and-"

"NO, YOU DON'T!" Like a rubber band, I finally snap. All the emotions beeing kept up in that small bottle of me are being let loose; the bottle has exploded. "You don't know how it felt that night and you never will! What you did wasn't awful, it was. . . "

I will the memories to come back, I try to grasp as much of what happened on that goddamn colossal night, but I can't. Every time I'm close, every time I feel the memories on my fingertips, it all slips away from my grasp. That is the night that I only remember a quarter of. Everything else is erased from my memories. But that one quarter. . .

I cradle my head in my hands, letting out a frustrated, strangled scream. Strangled; that's exactly how I feel now. I want to shatter glass; throw something across the parking lot; break a window. I don't do any of that. The urge to cry becomes overwhelming, but I keep it all in. I can't cry in front of him.

My head snaps upwards when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I don't know when it happened, but Hunter is now three inches away from me.

He softly grasps my chin, making me look up to him. A couple strands of blonde hair fall away from my eyes. "India-"

"Tell me what happened. Please," I plead. I try to reach out to him with my eyes. I need him to know how dire this is. Our shade of blue eyes are very similar, but his' are lighter; a crystal blue. Mine are more like the color of a deep sea. I am reminded of a poem that I once thought was beautiful:

she was water

soft enough to offer life

tough enough to drown it away.

His next, piercing words, however, only make me feel like drowning; in his eyes, in my despair.

He looks away, clenching his jaw tightly. "I can't. You know I can't."

Whatever caused my memories of that night to go away must've been really horrible because the doctors advised not to talk about it. It'll cause me more pain, and bring back unwanted distress.

My voice is soft when I talk. The words are not soft. "Fuck you."