"What do you mean you're leaving?" I ask, stepping forward even more. The red carpet squishes beneath my shoes.

"Well, I'm just gonna... kind of... go," Tony says, scrambling out the door and down the hall.

"I'm quitting the team." Steve folds another shirt into the suitcase, walks a few feet, and reaches into the dresser for another.

"But, why?" My brows furrow together and my chest puffs up. Confusion and a deep sadness begins to well up inside me. Steve's actions have been completely irrational and almost depressive but this is just too much.

"I just am." He finally puts a little inflection into his voice.

"That's not a..." I trail off, realizing it's not even worth it to finish that sentence. I walk toward Steve and put my hand on his shoulder, trying to show him some compassion. I want to help him with whatever is going on. "Are you okay?" I ask.

"Please," he looks at me. His eyes are bereaved and wet with tears. My heart sinks. "Just leave me to finish packing." He stares back down at the shirt in his hands.

We stand in silence for a moment but then I can't take it anymore. My pity leaves and fury takes its place. "That's it! I'm so sick of this! What is going on with you?"

"What are you talking about?" Steve asks, not looking up. He seems to be trying to hide his emotion but it is still seeping through.

"I'm talking about how distant you have been lately! What's wrong?!" I throw my arms, representing the obvious. "I wake up, say a few words and boom! You're out the door. What's up with that?"

He finally stops packing. He looks up at me with dark eyes. "It's nothing you can fix."

"Well, maybe if you just told me, I could try to help you work it out." My voice grows softer.
"Communication is number one in a relationship. If there is no communication, our, our relationships dies," I stammer.

"Don't lecture me on how to operate in a relationship!" He snaps, throwing his hands down on the suitcase.

My lips folds into a tight line and my eyes darken. "Don't talk to me like that!" I yell. "Don't you dare talk to me like that! I didn't do anything wrong!" I point at my chest with my right index finger.

"Well, maybe if you didn't try to fix everything and make everything perfect all the time, I wouldn't have to act like that toward you!" He scrowls at me.

My face softens, surprised at his outburst. "What do you mean? I don't try to fix everything!"

"Yes, you do, Skylar! In every battle, in every fight--everything! You have to be the one that fixes is it!" His face is growing crimson. I'm not sure if it's from anger or embarrassment at what he just said.

My jaw drops in disbelief and my expression harshens again. "Is that what this is about? You're jealous that I get all the supposed glory?!"

"I am not jealous!" He yells. "And that's not what this is about so drop it!"

"Ugh! I can't believe you! I just woke up from a coma! This is supposed to be a happy time but instead you're turning it into this horrible shit storm of wrongful emotion!" I rub my face with my hand, no doubt smearing my make-up.

"I'm not turning this into anything! I'm just... upset!" His shoulders hike up tightly.

"What are you upset about?! Tell me!" I scream. I squeeze my fists so tight that my hands turn red. I can feel my nails break my skin. There is an enormous pressure on my head and it feels like I'm going to explode. I shake violently.

Steve then grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me close. His large, muscular hands hurt me and I freeze in shock with my eyes wide. Everything is intense. I can smell his light cologne that I adore so much. The ringing in my ears is louder than usual. I try to swallow hard but a large lump in my throat stops it. "It's that you can't remember!" He seeths through gritted teeth.

I give him a fearful look, staring up at his beautiful blues. They are full of tears. What happened? What can't I remember? What could possibly be so important that the love of my life is acting this way toward me? Curiousity then overflows my brain and out my mouth. My face calms and I finally manage to whisper, "Remember what?"

Suddenly, Steve lets me go and quickly zips up his suitcase, stumbling with it as his hands shake. I'm not sure if they're shaking in anger or fear. Before I know it, he is out the door and I hear him scream "I quit!" at the top of his lungs when he reaches the entry room, slamming the front door.

I'm left in my room, rage burning through my veins. My blood is boiling. I feel my adrenaline levels peak and I let it all out. I wail and screech as I throw my arms out. White light releases from my fingertips and the vanity and two dressers are taken out along with pictures of Steve and I all along the left side of the room.

I then fall to the floor in a dead heap, feeling light-headed and exhausted. I lie on my right side on the ground next to the bed, not wanting to get up. Slow tears drip down my cheek and off my nose. I then notice a fifth of vodka next to the nightstand. I wonder why Steve would have this even considering he can't get drunk. Maybe he just needed the burn. The thought of Steve deepens my anger. I want to forget about him for now. I grab the bottle and take a huge swig, downing most of what is left. I curl my knees against my chest and stay there, wanting to disappear from reality.

Notes

Well, this is depressing. Poor Skylar. She just can't ever win. She can't just ever be happy. I actually feel kind of bad for doing this to her. Oh well. Life goes on.