I

looked down at the ring he had given her, gently clasping her finger with a brutal taunt. The ride back home was quiet, almost like a parallel of the ride to Welton in August. Things change seasonally, for what was once an array of yellows and pinks in the clouds turned purple and gray. Threatening a storm. Threatening snow. It was a transition to winter, like the one in Sigrid's heart, but this one was much more visible to the human eye. Her winter consisted of black and white, everything seemed to lose its color when her intrusive thoughts began to spill onto the notebook. Like misplaced coffee: staining all the contaminated pages and becoming an unorthodox manifestation of glue.

She wished it would rain soon, the smell made her mind clear up. The blankets were therapeutic, she closed her eyes just imagining the warm cup of cocoa soon to be in between her hands. But just as the pleasant thought arrived, the car stopped on a red-light and the toying of her ring became a hyper-fixation to her eyes. Mr. Hall took the small pause as an opportunity to flip through radio stations, not letting the person on the other side sing for more than three seconds. It made her thoughts go into a disarray, a quarrel, a yelp in unison saying completely different things. She attempted a smile as she slowly slipped off the metal from her finger. The radio paused once more on Paul Anka.

Once the ring rested in her sweaty palm she let out an uneasy sigh, the turquoise and amethyst blinked without amusement. Putting the ring on her lap she was next to take off her necklace, she slid the ring on the chain as she remembered the magazines Valerie let her borrow claiming rings as pendants were all the rage. Paul Anka's normally melodious tones became a scintilla of bitterness in the small space, cutting off air in the backseat and drowning her with guilt. Richard loved Paul Anka, now it was one of the things she had to hate.

She licked her lips uneasily as her hands began to shake to put the necklace on. Having it around her neck almost felt worse than having it on the ground; it felt worse than having it hidden in the dirt beneath Charlie's boots. She wasn't hesitant to slide it off with her lips on his, but doing it willingly with no negative motives felt like she had stripped herself from sanity. It's life and death what she did. Bringing life to the hope of what was to meet her in Massachusetts, death to the owner of the ring as much as it tormented her.

"Eivind has been picking the colors to your new room for two days now. I told him you found the color purple fascinating, how does that sound? A purple room with the hand drawn butterflies you always begged me to paint?"

"Lovely," she answered shortly. He gave a small nod, her left eyebrow twitched in thought, quickly adding: "I just haven't liked the color purple since I was twelve."

She looked at the clouds then down at the ring, the universe has an impeccable way of tying things back together. She wondered if she had managed to ruin the color blue for Richard, turquoise specifically. He didn't seem to be in love with the color prior to her but everyone knew that once you associate an object to someone else there's a risk of that thing being ruined eternally. Careless in her own way, Sigrid allowed herself to consider everything purple attached to Richard. Born in February, gemstone of amethyst, she consider him her amethyst. And not just the silly one on her finger - now around her neck - but it's own special gemstone carved specifically for her.

Hell, she didn't even know which month Charlie was born. She couldn't associate any colors, any gems, or weathers to him. She remembered taking off her shoes to run after him, sitting in the pews as a conversation with Nolan was pending, and the silent glances in Keating's class.

Charlie wasn't a silly color.

"Oh, nonsense! Everything I've ever bought you was purple. You got that special gleam in your eyes, almost like when you three get me new ties! I've got enough to start my own Macy's," he joked, looking at her from the rear-view mirror.

"I don't like the color purple," she mumbled once more, deciding to get a pen from a small compartment to write on her hands.

"Well," he licked his lip before chuckling at the awkwardness, "Then I suppose it's a good thing we could always paint over walls."

looked down at his cast with a bittersweet smile. He hadn't realized he had broken his hand in the middle of the fight, he was far too angry to give the stinging, pulsing pain an afterthought. He stretched his other hand, disgusted by the overwhelming plum hues of his knuckles. He had bruises on his chest, face, and stomach. It was enough to make it look like he'd gotten attacked. It was a sure suspension for him - not doing much bruising on Charlie - and an early expulsion on Charlie's part. There wouldn't be a point to it, seeing Thanksgiving week was in three days and they would all have to go home.

That didn't stop poor Mrs. Cameron from almost getting a heart attack when she saw her only son on a hospital bed, completely delirious with a noodle-like arm. Mr. Cameron looked down at his boy, almost frozen with the expression he had when they had first came into the hospital. Paperwork was done in a flash, Richard awoke a couple minutes later. His head pounded like a construction site, Mrs. Cameron doused him in kisses and inquiries on the happening. Richard dared not to answer, keeping tight lips.

Mr. and Mrs. Cameron were home earlier that day, Mrs. Cameron knitting her son his yearly Thanksgiving sweater while Mr. Cameron worked in his office. The house was quiet until that phonemail demolished the four walls of the living room. What followed next was a scream of horror and Mr. Cameron helping his hysterical wife from the floor and into the car. This couldn't have been good to their sixty-four year-old hearts.

Richard knew the pain he was sure to pour onto his parents as he turned his neck and noticed his father hugging his mother closely. He whispered in her ear, affirmations and that their boy was now awake and well. Richard cried silently once his mother left the room, she was overwhelmed. Appalled. And horrified. She assumed she had done something wrong after all the years of having him under her care. Richard gave his father a small smile once they made eye contact, the doctors separated them at that moment to work on his arm. Richard never took the right intervals to talk to people, that's why most of his sentences went unheard or stuck in his vocal cords. He was far too afraid of the confrontation. Even with his parents, who had shown him nothing but love since the moment they found him in the cardboard box on their front steps.

Somewhere between that time Richard managed to blackout once more. Eyes still open but only hearing the voices in his head and a familiar pair of hazel eyes. He became the personified version of pain, crying hysterically with little to no noise to not alarm anybody. They rolled down at a deadly pace, thick with salt. The only thing making it known he was upset was his wrinkled chin and his bouncing leg. The doctors must have felt coldhearted leaving him alone but their job was to fix him physically, not mentally. This resulted in Richard being left alone in a poorly lit room, he missed his usual candles. Instead he had a television, the audio crinkling like angry paper or a bag of popcorn. He was both hungry and compelled to write.

He looked down, imagining what she'd write on his cast if she had the opportunity. A smile overcame his features as he let out a small laugh through his nose. He found himself in disbelief. Someone he found mutual dislike with now becoming his only thought as he laid in bed, injured and delirious. The feelings - she claimed had died - still debunked themselves with every smile she sent his way and her more than welcoming kisses every time he passed by her window. She claimed the butterflies has died but he saw it as an attempt to push him away in search of what she thought he deserved. Theresa had done her job. Convincing her Charlie was the only way to go. Richard was still hopeful.

He wanted to marry her. And as soon as he got out of the hospital and found the second ring he was too much of a coward to show her, that was exactly what he was going to do. No more beating around the bush. He didn't think of how young they were, or where they'd live, or the specifics of college.

All he thought about was her finally saying yes.

It was insanity: not letting yourself get murdered by love.

Her voice faded, yet he still remembered how she screamed his name when he couldn't answer from his uncomfortable position on the floor. It made him feel secure, in his own way, that she had gone to him before Charlie. It showed that she cared. Apparently not enough if she wasn't in the waiting room. Apparently not enough to fulfill the desire of having his cast written on. Apparently not enough to choose him.

But when the time came he knew she wouldn't say no to him.

"I'm gonna marry her," he whispered to himself as he turned off the television and let the rest of his thoughts became entertainment on a cafeteria napkin.

was no signs of the Hall's anywhere at Welton, and the boys knew this for a fact because Peter's normally loud and undeniable personality was nowhere in sight. No one knew where he had left but Gerard waited with Stick for any signs of ocean eyes or jittery legs. Charlie packed his things for the last time out of adrenaline, trying to keep himself discreet in case someone came by. Only the poets knew about his potential jail-break and he needed to keep it that way before he got chased into the forest by a search group. Welton was full of snitches, he figured it was because the boys weren't loved by their families and sought validation through teachers. He got the attention he craved through acts of rebellion, he wouldn't be caught dead snitching.

Stephen proposed to Todd to go see Richard but they didn't have a car to make the ride. Neil soon called for a meeting after everyone had their turns scolding Charlie for throwing the first punch. Charlie left in the darkness with a backpack full of his belongings. It looked like a hump underneath his cloak as he ran with the other boys. Peter still nowhere in sight but Gerard held his cloak in case he decided to come around. Stick took his place in the unspoken sitting chart - they had let him in after some persuading from Peter. He admitted to being a horrible secret-keeper and Neil eventually did the asking himself. Stick loves poetry, it was the perfect opening to having more people in the society.

Gerard looked at Stick making himself comfortable next to him, he awkwardly looked down at the scribbles on his poorly-kept piece of paper and sighed. He had no one else to dedicate his poem to. The universe frowned upon him once again, when he was finally ready the person he was going to confess to was a no-show. It made him miserable, Stick sensed the hostile attitude and quickly moved to where Richard sits. The rock was lumpier but he had to make do.

Peter used to talk their ears off with things that happened during his day but no one was in the mood to take his position. They took off their cloaks and Charlie set down the backpack by his feet.

"You're doing it tonight?" Neil said in disbelief as the backpack came into view.

"Yes, tonight is my chance!" Charlie beamed. Stick stared back in confusion, "Massachusetts, here I come and there's nothing the universe could do to stop me."

"How about the wedding?" everyone jumped out of their skin once the voice interrupted, they looked toward the front of the cave with equally wide eyes.

"Peter, what the hell!" Charlie eyebrows furrowed as he looked him over, Peter wore his normal clothes and had gotten a haircut. His normally messy curls were shorter and gelled to the side. He looked handsome, Gerard thought. Gerard found himself smiling as Peter let himself inside the gave with a humorous smirk. Gerard moved to make space for Peter, simultaneous shoving the piece of paper into his jacket, Peter sat down.

"You heard me. My father practically dragged me out of my dorm - in the middle of debating who had finished reading first with Stick, which was me by the way," he gave a small glare at Stick who just smiled back sarcastically. "He said something about packing all my bags and heading straight to Massachusetts. I asked why, obviously I'm not going to just set everything and set down just because that bald-headed man wants me to. So he said we're in trouble. We're in shit, the deepest kind, man. He said your mom's a witch," his eyes widened dramatically. "She's got this huge broom too and her long nose could smell little children. She wants to kill them. Oh, does Sigrid still count as a child?"

Charlie rolled his eyes at the inappropriate time Peter was choosing to make jokes.

"She showers everyday, that's probably got something to do with it. I've got all the right sources to prove your mom's a witch: aka the most valuable scientist of our time Roald Dahl."

The boys laughed at the glare Peter was receiving from Charlie. Peter stifled before looking down to prevent the glaring from going longer than it needed to, he awkwardly laughed. "Aside from the witchiness, I wish could be changed with a B in the front, my father said if things don't work out the way he wants them to she's going to have to come back to Vermont. The wedding date is in December, the twenty-eighth. Coincidentally two weeks after her birthday which is required for her to actually be able to get married in Vermont. Witch, witch I tell you."

"Witch with a B," Gerard whispered at Peter as a reminder, who's eyes creased as he let out an aggressive breath from his nose.

"I told her not to butt in, can't we just run so she doesn't catch us?" Charlie said dumbly.

"Oh sure! That's totally going to work. Your mom could be some special agent with the skills she's got up her sleeve. She could find you in New York without her glasses prescription. She probably has some chip in you, you can't outrun her. It's either she talks this through with my father or you need to start picking out a nice suit. From what I overheard on the telephone, Sigrid is going to wear something pink and they're planning on giving you the cottage in West Virginia. Oh, and the fucking cake. Three stories high, vanilla with strawberries inside. She's got everything planned, the venue too. The invitations are out, Theresa wants you to start planning when to have kids as soon as you two graduate. She's thinking Charlotte," Peter sounded more passive aggressive than intended. He felt himself becoming overprotective of his sister. "What do you think of the name Charlotte? Lovely."

Charlie couldn't respond as Peter's face started going red. He didn't want to say the wrong thing, it just caused the taller boy to laugh at him angrily, "So yeah, Massachusetts has nothing for you. Stay away because if you don't she'll find Sigrid too. You're a fucking magnet when it comes to her, and we already backed down. You can't marry her."

"Peter, I don't get why you're so-

"Angry?" he filled in. Charlie nodded slowly, a look of disbelief came across his features. "You don't know why I'm angry? Charlie, she's naive, that's half of her charm! She had no idea what intentions your mother had when she first met her but I'm sure Theresa told you everything she was planning on doing. Your mom hit her, so intensely she didn't speak to anybody for a couple weeks and avoided you for a month! She constantly seeks validation, sometimes in the worst of places. Take for example: Richard. Who thought she'd ever be with a guy like Richard."