A/N: I feel like I haven't talked to you guys in forever….Then again it's probably because I've nothing to say. You know the drill: read chapter (please), leave a nice long review pointing out the better and worse parts of said chapter (please please), and carry on with your undoubtedly influential existences (please please please). Or, like, not. Your choice, and all that. But if I were you…

Warning: I know there're are some younger kids reading these fics, so I'm just going to say in advance that there's some rather explicit language briefly in this chapter. I felt it added realism (and man, I'm in high school: I know the lingo) and "frickin'" just didn't cut it. If this offends you, I'm terribly sorry. Feel free to send me a PM to vent your immeasurable fury. I can take it. Really.

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Sixteen years. That's how long I'd been around and yet all I'd managed to learn was one lesson.

And that's that, no matter what you do or who you are, nobody's ever going to believe you. Cynicism drips from every word spoken and is found everywhere in today's fine old society.

So, when I told my lab partner in Chemistry II that I hadn't done the assignment because my brother had gotten into a drunk driving accident—sober—and had subsequently been involved in the car crash that blinded my best friend for life he found extreme difficulty in believing me.

It made me angry, but I wasn't prone to losing my temper and merely sighed and agreed to do it during lunch.

"This is a partner grade," good ol' Daniel Lee reminded me.

If cynics run this Earth, then we sarcastics need to claim Mars before they decided to pollute that, too.

Griffin was at home by this point, and I had made it a point to ask about to him to Carly at least once a day. Ben and I sat alone together at lunch and neither of us ate anything. I broke my promise to Daniel Lee and didn't do the Chemistry paper.

Neither of us spoke for a while. Because of where I sat on the ground I could see Zack laughing with his friends. No, not those friends; other, more tame jerks. Ass holes who decidedly did not go about blinding innocent artists and kept to their slightly more legal games of terrorizing and tormenting fellow peers.

His huge cut across his stomach would leave a scar for sure, and Zack had certainly not missed a chance to show off. He may be nicer than before the accident, but Zack was Zack and that wasn't going to change.

I was just thankful that, aside from a slight limp that was in fact genuine (I checked to dispel suspicions that he may be faking it), Zack was okay.

"Not to state the obvious, or anything, but I'm worried about Griffin."

Ben's words startled me out of my reverie and I sighed, picking idly at a string on my backpack. "So am I," I said in agreement.

Ben blew out his breath and massaged his temples. "Do you know what he said to me? Before you and Carly came in?"

I shook my head. I had no idea.

Ben sighed deeply and sadly. "He said, 'I can't live like this, Ben, I can't. I'll die if I can't see stuff,' and I told him that he was going to be fine, you know?"

I nodded. "That must suck for him, though, like, not being able to paint. It's what he likes to do, and stuff."

Ben threw up his hands in exasperation. "And he's brilliant!" he said with conviction. "Have you seen his room? It's incredible, man, it's like—I don't even know, but it's fucking good." He ran a hand through his long hair and let out a frustrated groan. "It's not fair, you know? Not Griffin. Of all the people in the world, Griffin?" He shook his head. "It's screwed up, man."

I kicked at the ground and let out an angry sigh. "I know."

Ben laughed a little humorlessly and I looked at him strangely. He began breaking his carrots into little pieces, crushing each atop his brown paper lunch bag. "I was like you were, once," he said after a long crunch-filled pause.

I cocked my head slightly. "What d'you mean?"

Ben shrugged. "Like you were earlier this year, and stuff. In middle school at my old school nobody liked me. Like, I'd get picked on and all that stuff." He smirked and I tried to mask my surprise. "And then I moved here and Carly was my partner for this stupid history assignment thing. I had to go to her house because her parents wouldn't let her go to a guy they didn't know's house. I just kinda hit it off with her and Griffin." He finished mutilating his carrots and moved on to his cookies. "That was eighth grade and I've been friends with them every since."

Something about Ben's little story made me feel strange inside; like I was the reason for everything that had happened. I knew that wasn't true: it was complete B.S. any way you looked at it, but, well, it's what I felt.

We spent the next couple of minutes saying nothing and I tried exceedingly hard to ignore my brother, even when he and his friends suddenly broke off in a loud obnoxious sort of laughter over what I was sure was a very R-rated joke.

"I'm going over tonight," I said finally, looking back at Ben. "To Griffin and Carly's. At four; I'm kinda nervous." Dang, that sounded lame.

"I haven't gone yet," Ben said sheepishly. "I know I should. But, like, I dunno…It'll be really awkward." I bowed my head to hide the fact that he'd just said what I'd been feeling so nervous about. "I don't like this, man; I've never been around anyone…blind before. I don't know how I'm supposed to act around him."

I snorted. "Like hell I do," I yawned widely. "But I have to go. I owe it to Griffin." I shrugged. "I mean, it's not like he's not Griffin, or whatever. He just can't see, you know? He's still the same guy."

"Yeah," Ben laughed bitterly. "Right."

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Zack and I left the school together, and I matched my uneasy canter to his careful meandering. The stitches wouldn't come out until weeks later, and until then he had to be very careful not to stress his injury.

And, knowing Zack, that's exactly what he was bound to do.

"I'm going to Griffin and Carly's today," I said conversationally as we walked along on the street, trying to hide my anxiety.

Zack swallowed thickly and grabbed onto a lamppost as we passed by (whether it was for physical support or an expression of emotion I to this day have no idea). "Okay," he said, voice apologetic. "Tell him-," he stopped and I looked at my feet awkwardly. "Never mind," Zack mumbled and we continued walking.

After a few more minutes I reached the street I needed to turn on. "I gotta go this way," I said to Zack and he sighed slightly and nodded.

"Okay, man," he said, smiling slightly as though trying to convince himself of something.

I hesitated. "You gonna be okay walking home by yourself?" I checked, concern edging into my voice.

Zack waved off my worry. "Yeah, yeah," he said airily. "I've done it a million times, remember?"
A part of me laughed bitterly, but I ignored it and continued on mimicking my mother. "Yeah," I said fairly. "But that was before-,"

"-Look," he said, suddenly sounding angry. I froze, apprehensive and offended. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I'm fine, Cody, okay? It's Griffin you should be worried about; not me. I'm completely fine."

Still confused and put-off by his previous reaction, I nodded numbly. "Alright. I'll see you-I'll see you later, then?" It wasn't meant to come out as a question, and I wondered if perhaps I was self-consciously buying time.

Again, Zack forced a smile. "Yeah," he said over-exuberantly. "Definitely."
And we brothers parted ways.

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Mr. and Mrs. North were nice people. They seemed like the kind of parents who had raised Griffin and Carly, and yet at this moment neither seemed like their usual selves. Not that I could blame them; who would be?
Both had taken time off work and it was Mrs. North who escorted me tearfully (and looking so disheveled it was almost painful to see her) to Carly who sat reading, iPod headphones firmly in her ears. Her feet tapped to some unknown beat.

Mrs. North left, and I cleared my throat loudly to get my friend's attention. Carly looked up at me and smiled wanly, seemingly in a better mood than earlier that day. She took out the earphones, marked her place in the book, and nodded at me.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," I said.

We both just kind of stood there, looking like a pair of royal buffoons, and completely unsure as to what we were to do next.

Carly, predictably, was the one to finally break our silence.

"He's in his room," she said. "Listening to music."

"Oh," I said, and she led me up the stairs. I had initially thought that it was going to horrible; seeing Griffin in his room with all his artwork—never again to raise a paintbrush and finish the masterpieces he had begun. It wasn't too bad, though, when I told myself not to think about it.

Griffin was on his bed, arm still bandaged and a faint scratch on his upper cheek. One leg stretched out, while he sat propped up on the other. I shook my head; he always chose the weirdest postures. A song played faintly from his radio, and after a few moments I realized it to be one of Ben's.

"Hey, Griffin," said Carly casually. "Cody's here."

Griffin moved his head towards the door, and though he was a little off I noticed that he really did have fairly good judgment of my height. "Hey, Cody," he said and I was heartened to see that his voice had retained some of its prior cheerfulness, if not for a bit sadder.

"Hey, man. What's up?" That was lame, I know, but I had absolutely no idea what else to say.

He shrugged and Carly plopped down in a chair. I stood awkwardly by the closed door, not wanting to sit down and leave Griffin's sightless eyes staring at nothing. Man, this was gauche.

"Just kinda…hanging out, I guess," he said and I nodded for a few seconds before it hit me that he couldn't see me doing it.

"That's cool," I said.

Griffin diverted his gaze and I finally felt comfortable sinking down into a beanbag chair. I looked over at Carly who didn't seem to be at all bothered, and I felt a sudden surge of admiration towards her.

"Ben-Ben said that maybe now I could be the manager of his band." Griffin said and his tone brightened a little bit. "You know, now that I can't paint and all…"
His voice trailed off and I tried not to let that get to me. "Yeah!" I said enthusiastically. "That's a really good idea, man; you'd be, like, great at it,"

Griffin nodded.

From the walls of his mural, painted eyes stared down at us, all-seeing and all-knowing, and for a moment I wanted to gouge out those eyes. Paint them black and make them disappear, because surely they had no right to gaze upon the face of their creator while he stared in darkness back at such an unforgiving world.

But of course, I did not.