And . . . CHAPTER ONE!

I was surprised by the amount of feedback I got for the prologue. Thanks a lot you guys. :) It's more encouraging than you know!

Whenever you have any questions or concerns feel free to shout them out! I'll make sure to take them all into consideration.

Well, on with the show!

"So, you say it started when you were twelve?"

"Actually, I should backtrack. We knew each other long before then."

"I see. So, before the second storm."

"It was while we were in elementary. That was when he spoke to me for the first time."

~Therapist and Namine

. . .

What You Do in the Dark

. . .

~Talk to Me~

The first step always involves communication. My mom drilled this into me countless times. I could repeat her instructions in my head with my eyes closed while walking backwards on the tail end of our picket fence (my exceptional balance didn't appease my father, unfortunately).

"Just smile and greet everyone with respect and love. A little kindness can change somebody's day." The skin at the corner of her eyes would crinkle as she smiled, a display that never failed to receive a warm response back.

I giggled before pulling my backpack tightly against my stomach. I moved back and forth on my tiptoes, leading my body into an interesting set of positions; One second I was hopping, the next I was skipping in place. My excitement filled my small hyperactive self with a moderate amount of adrenaline. This time I was courageous enough to ask a question I knew was forbidden.

"What about Roxas? When can I talk to him?"

The light dimmed in my mom's eyes. I was too distracted by her forced smile to notice it. "Namine, sweetie, you know the answer to that." She bent down in front of me. "He'll share more when he's ready. In the meantime, you need to look after him so that you'll be right there when he needs you."

I looked away, staring at the house next to us from the window. "I don't think he likes me. I waved at him but he didn't wave back. It's hard to protect someone who doesn't talk. How will I know when he's hurt?" I pushed my bottom lip out, looking up towards the ceiling. "He's weird. Maybe that lady with the glowing ball was wrong." It hadn't been long since my last visit with our personal . . . healer of sorts. Even if she was supposed to help, I always left her place feeling creeped out.

Mom laughed, patting my head. "You will understand more as you get older."

I snorted. "Five is old!" I stretched my hands up. "See? I'm ready now. I have to become Roxas' friend before it's too late!"

"Too late?" She tilted her head. It was another instance, one of many, where I missed the warning in her voice. Her face had changed into that sad shape I hated. It always made me nervous. "There's plenty of time. No one's moving or anything."

I frowned, shaking my head. "No, he'll slip away. I saw it last night."

"You saw that in your dream?"

"Yes! So, I'm going to say something to him today," I said quickly, rubbing my hands together.

"Namine, you remember what I told you about your dreams? You have to let me know immediately so I can give you your medicine," was my mom's worried reply.

I swallowed, nodding, nearly crossing my fingers behind my back unconsciously. "I know." But I want to keep the dream. I sighed. "I don't like medicine."

"Yes, but if you don't your head will hurt later." Her smile was full of pity now.

I looked away, ashamed of the lie I had created. It took a lot back then for me to lie to my parents (unlike now). The guilt would drag me down to the point that the only way my body could respond was through illness. But I have my stubborn moments and they happened to be connected to the one person I felt I knew, even without the voice to match his blank face.

It's hard when you've seen someone repeatedly the moment you were born only for that person to ignore you in real life. But it didn't deter me. Determined and optimistic, I had high hopes. It was like Roxas was the amnesiac prince, and I was his warrior princess ready to wake him with a kiss.

My mom had a few options. She could have called my father down to punish me. She could have forced me to take the pill. She had a chance to set me straight and enforce more rules to combat my rebellion.

I like to think she wanted something different for me (or maybe in the end it was the same thing I wanted). She was the opposite of my father. She chose hope whereas my dad chose security. She believed in genuine connections, a view that clashed with my dad's hermit tendencies.

I can only guess. I try my hardest to preserve as much of her as I can in me; I have to because that's what I need right now. I need the bravery to defy tradition, I need the guts to stand up to my father. I need the same strength she used to let me go that day, to hope in the vision I had for the future, even if that method involved chaos in its wake.

Now more than ever I need her wisdom. But all I have is the past, stuck recycling old events in my head that I know I can never change.

It took three weeks for me to get a response. I think it scared him at first. The strange, harmless girl in white (always white) had changed from waving to following him around, asking him countless questions that he probably never even thought about.

"Hey, Roxas. I like your shirt. Is that your favorite color?"

"The park was scary for me at first. But now I like playing there. You could too if you try."

"You know, I always have a lot of pencils. Next time yours break you can use mine."

"Your hair is weird. Do you put something in it? I have boring hair. It only looks weird when it's wet . . . and I don't like it when it's wet."

And it continued. I rambled on and on, sitting next to him during recess. He would eat and stare at the table. Sometimes I'd catch a frown when I switched from talking to asking him questions. But it never lasted long. Usually it was the same blank look.

I didn't mind. "Aww, we have to go back inside." I rolled my eyes and groaned dramatically while shifting my legs over the bench.

Roxas sighed. His exhale sounded like a wave crashing against the shore, as if he had been holding his breath for a long period of time. He then turned towards me, vivid blue eyes piercing me through my face straight past my skull. I almost gasped. I felt my body heat rise as he continued staring. This is the first time he's ever looked at me. "That's rude," I mumbled, shyness softening my voice for the first time in front of him.

He blinked a few times before pushing his lunch box toward me. The moment I touched it he jumped up and ran, feet sending pebbles flying. I looked down at the lunchbox. Unlike the colorful patterns and cartoon characters I saw on everyone else's box, his was blank. Same box, same face, I thought before opening it.

A lone piece of paper lay in the middle, black words catching my eyes inside the rusted void. I took the note out and put the box in my backpack. When I reached the classroom I tried to return the lunchbox to Roxas. Before I could open my backpack the teacher screeches at me to stand in the corner. Most people laughed as I struggled to copy "I will not be late" on our infamous blackboard. The only reason I got through it was Roxas' blank face. Whenever someone teased me I would look back at him, see him stare back, and then I could continue writing.

I kept the rusted lunchbox and twitched impatiently when my mom picked me up that day. I didn't greet or hug her. Instead, I lifted up the note, trying my hardest to show her how important it was. After a few months in school I was going to be able to match an imaginary voice with words from the source.

I watched as she skimmed over the paper, watched as the curious smile disappeared and turned into a frown. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, then faced me. "It says 'don't talk to me.'"

I opened my mouth in shock, eyes widening. I then grabbed the note, shaking my head furiously as I ripped it to shreds. The sobs came and I closed my eyes as warm hands held me close.