A New Infinity Stone

ONE

Completely filled with rage, I storm into my bedroom and slam the door closed behind me. I throw my bag onto the floor in a fit of anger and slump onto my bed as tears flow down my red cheeks. He promised to be there! He promised to be at my graduation! Mom, Cooper, Lilia, and even Auntie Nat managed to make it, but he couldn't find the time to come and see me graduate.

I change out of my gown, throwing on a plaid shirt and some black skinny jeans, before pulling on a pair of black Doc Martens. Stomping down the stairs, I sit on the sofa and glare at the TV screen. Lila and Cooper fall silent.
"Dad's busy, Mel. He'd never miss your graduation on purpose, he knows how hard you have worked." Cooper mutters.
I scoff. "He made it to your parents evening and Lila's school disco. I worked so hard to get the best grades." Tears form in my eyes, and I bury my head in my hands.
Calming hands rest on my shoulders, squeezing them with reassurance.
"Your father loves you all equally." Mom kisses the top of my head. "He is just very busy with work."
I stand up, shrugging mom's hands off my shoulders.
"I'm going out."
Mom sighs. "Be back in time for tea, please, and don't do anything stupid."
"See you later, Mel." Auntie Nat calls from the kitchen.

Mumbling under my breath, I grab a jacket and walk towards the stables, where my horse, Sherlock, is waiting for me. I quickly tack him up and lead him out of the stable. After mounting him, we gallop down the drive and onto the track that links our house to the small town a mile away.

By the time we get there, the sun is starting to set, and I slow Sherlock down to a trot, guiding him towards my best friend's house. Dismounting, I let Sherlock roam freely in their garden, and I walk up the steps of their porch. Raising my fist, I knock on the door, and a second later, Pietro swings open the door with a huge grin.
"Mel!" He exclaims, pulling me into a giant bear hug. "Wanda! Mel's here."
Wanda arrives at the door and glances at me in concern.
"You need a beer."
She grasps my hand and pulls me into the house. While Wanda and I sit on the couch, Pietro dashes into the kitchen and grabs six beers. He speeds back into the living room and passes us a beer each before sitting down.
"What's wrong?" Pietro asks.
I swish the beer. "Dad didn't come to my graduation, even after his whole speech about getting good grades. I never even wanted to go to college. I wanted to work on the farm and get my hands dirty."
Wanda sighs. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mel. At least you graduated; now you can run the farm."
"Let's celebrate!" Pietro cheers. "Now you're back home with us. We can party and travel and do more partying."
I laugh. "I'll have one more beer, but then I need to get home."
One beer quickly turns into three and then five, and before I know it, the three of us are completely trashed, and the shot glasses have appeared.

I open my eyes to the dimly lit room; though it is daytime, no one has opened the thick drapes. With the movement of one leg, the tell-tale clink of beer bottles rouses Wanda, and one look at her tells me that her head is just as bad. Wanda squints, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva and moans before retreating under the blanket.
I wrap myself in another blanket, waves of nausea adding to my misery. My phone pings with message after message, none of them from dad; his is a unique ring. My brain feels like it's going to swell beyond the capacity of my skull, and now my dehydration is too apparent to ignore. I will have to crawl on my hands and knees to the kitchen. Again, my stomach lurches and gurgles. Perhaps some painkillers will help too. I raise my heavy eyelids halfway, only for them to fall shut. I raise them again and swing my bare feet to the carpet again. It is cold and sticky underfoot; I must have missed that earlier. One blearily look tells me what I was eating last night with Wanda and Pietro, late-night pizza apparently. I sink back on the sofa bed; too many jobs to do, so much mess and my life in tatters.

"Mel?" Pietro's voice rasps from next to me, and his foot kicks my leg. "Mel, wake up."
"What?" I grumble.
"What time is it?"
"Time you got up and cooked us some breakfast."
Pietro laughs before dry heaving. "I think if I move, I'll barf."
I roll my eyes, fumbling for my phone. The brightness blinds me momentarily, but I quickly turn it down. Eighteen missed calls from mom and thirty-two unread messages - none from dad. I groan; she is going to be pissed. Over the next ten minutes, I slowly ease myself off the sofa bed and shuffle from between Wanda and Pietro. I send a quick text to both of their phones to let them know I'm leaving without having to wake them up, and I slowly head towards the door. The sun is blinding as I head outside, where Sherlock is waiting patiently. I can't be bothered tacking him up again, so I ride bareback, keeping him at a slow pace.

I make it home in just under an hour, and after putting Sherlock in the stables, I head to the house, only to be faced with a furious mother. Mom is sat on the steps, her face red with fury as she stands up to meet me.
"Mellona Barton, where have you been?" She screeches. "I have been worried sick. I've been up all night waiting for you to come home! No text! No phone call! It's not fair to worry me like that."
I attempt to push past her, mumbling an apology, but she grabs my shoulders and refuses to let me past.
"I promised your father that I would take care of you, that I would look after you like my own. You can't do that to us, to your father."
Anger floods my body, faster and more destructive than a tsunami, and I step back from her, tearing her hands off me.
"Do that what to him?" My voice is low and sharp, like a double-edged knife. "Disappoint him? Worry him? Anger him? Dad couldn't give two shits about me. Not now, not ever." I drop my voice, so it is barely a whisper. "I know he still blames me ... for what happened. I know that every time he looks at me, he is reminded of her. I know that he will never love me like he loves Cooper and Lila."
Tears are gushing from my eyes now as my anger mixes with sadness. Anger, pain, sadness – so intertwined that perhaps their names ought to be tweaked to reflect the true origins of those emotions.
"Mel." A voice comes from behind me, and I spin around to face my dad.
His face has gone pale as my words sink in; at least he knows the truth. At least he knows – the four words that play in my head as I push the dagger home.
"I know you wish that it was me that died that day."

I push past everyone, ignoring the group of people occupying the living room, and head straight to my room. I close the door and slide my back down the cold wood as I sink to my knees. I stare down at my hands as a black mist flows through my veins. Panicking, I jump up and start scratching my arms before rushing to the bathroom and scrubbing my arms with water.
There is a scream from deep within that forces its way from my mouth, it is as if my terrified soul has unleashed a demon. All I feel is anger, all I feel is that I don't want to be friends with anyone at all because then I don't have to trust anyone, it'll be safer, easier to choose not to stay. And I know I'm hiding a truth from myself of how much this is really to do with sadness and the emotional scars that just won't heal. Yet these fists clench, and my teeth lock up once the sound is out. I'm just going to have to walk away for a while, see this "elephant" from a few miles away, figure it out.