Whatever She Needs: Crash (9/?) - Degrassi, PG-13

But the inevitable crash did come—harder and faster than either of them expected. Not even monologues and soliloquies of devotion could fend off its eventual arrival. When it finally came, not even the soft mattress on which Snake lay could lessen the blow.

Within five days of their apartment search, he found a new apartment. It was modest: a one-bedroom downtown with a full kitchen and bath, a comfortable living room and small dining area. His bedroom offered a view of the city skyline, and it already felt more like home than Christine’s house ever had. But as Snake was carefully arranging a few framed photographs—the Zits; himself, Jack, and Emma; fragments of his unexamined life—it occurred to him that something was missing.

School was different too, subtly distorted and unsettled. He and Darcy perfected the art of discretion during the day—it turned out that Darcy had learned a few lessons in that area from her ex-boyfriend. Despite their efforts, Snake was relentlessly terrified that they’d be found out, that someone would read into the tiniest of glances—stumbled words or jagged breaths. He was so focused on appearing normal that it wore him out. He’d collapse on his new queen-sized mattress late at night and exhale a day’s worth of held-in air.

Some nights, Darcy would lie besides him. It was their ritual for nearly a month now. Her parents believed that her social life had improved dramatically, or that she was studying constantly, or whatever they needed to believe to convince themselves that their daughter was healing. These imaginary friends were responsible, too: Snake made a point to have her home before midnight.

It was these moments that Snake appreciated the most—when they seemed almost unbreakable, hidden away from the world and cozy within the freshly painted walls of a home not yet a home. They’d lie in bed together and it wasn’t about anything sexual, it was about safety, it was about comfort and honest communication. She nestled in close to him and pressed her small hand against the fabric of his shirt while he absentmindedly stroked her fingers and her arm, and the shadows of scars on her wrist, pressing soft kisses to the top of her head.

“Do you miss them?” she’d ask, because it wasn’t about her anymore. It was about him too, and it was about them.

“Yeah,” he would whisper, not missing a beat. “I do.”

“What do you think will happen?” she’d ask.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you want to happen?” she’d say, and hold her breath from all that it might possibly imply.

He’d be silent, thinking. “Ideally… I’d like to see Jack on weekends. But I know that Spike is going to fight for full custody, and I’m going to let her… because I left.” Darcy stirred uneasily, and Snake reflexively drew her in closer, correcting himself—“Because I had to leave. Because there was somewhere else I was meant to be.”

Darcy would smile. “And what about Emma?”

“Emma…” He’d trail off, wondering if he knew the answer. “She’ll forgive, in time. I hope.”

That was how it was. The conversation would digress into an impassioned kiss or two, but they’d find themselves in it again eventually, words lucid and flowing, wanting to understand the other completely, never growing tired or bored.

“It’s all my fault,” she said one night. “I seduced you.”

Snake couldn’t help laughing. “What!”

“I did!” She was grinning too, her eyes bright and knowing, guiltily enjoying the secret they shared. “I brought you to that retreat house and climbed into bed with you—the retreat house. Last I checked, that’s the one place you’re really not supposed to sin.”

Snake smiled and said nothing, because if anything was a sin, it was this. He wasn’t religious like Darcy was—the last time he had prayed was just moments before he found out that his cancer was in remission. Since then, he never felt any reason to. He wondered if maybe he should start.

“Do you think what we’re doing is a sin?” Darcy asked suddenly.

Snake froze, trying to think of a noncommittal answer that would be as convincing as the obvious yes. “Darcy, you know I’m not rel—” he began, but was interrupted by her lips on his, forceful and demanding, her tongue inside his mouth searching for the answers that she knew he couldn’t provide.

He felt her hands tugging at the hem of his shirt and he lifted himself, breaking the kiss for just a moment as she pulled it over his head, her hands cool and delicate against his bare chest. His body was responding in ways for which he was still unprepared, and now he was praying, hoping to God that she couldn’t feel him through his jeans and hers, pressing rudely against her, but he realized that of course she did.

Almost in response, she began trailing kisses down the side of his neck, his collarbone and his shoulders, and suddenly she sat upright. Within seconds, her own shirt lay discarded on the floor.

“What if I stay the night?” she whispered between labored breaths. Snake’s eyes widened, absorbing the image of her tiny frame, of smooth tanned skin and small breasts in a light blue bra. She looked so fragile. So young. His initial sense of ecstasy suddenly shifted to one of shame.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, pulling himself up.

She smiled, not getting it. “I know you want to,” she said, smirking and glancing down meaningfully. Snake said nothing, his embarrassment building. “And so do I.”

“Darcy…” Snake shook his head, sighing. “You can’t stay.”

Again she misunderstood, laughing. “I can! It’s Friday. My parents think I’m at Manny’s. It’s not unheard of for me to sleep over,” she said, logically.

Avoiding her gaze, he reached down to pick her shirt up off the floor and handed it to her. Her smile disappeared instantly. “I can’t let you stay,” he said softly.

“I want to do this,” she repeated, sounding desperate. “Snake, please.”

He brushed a loose strand of hair out of her fearful eyes and offered a small smile. “No, you don’t. Not now. Not yet.”

“I’m not a virgin,” she said defensively, and Snake nearly cringed. “We won’t be doing anything I haven’t already done.”

“You know that what happened to you doesn’t count.”

“‘What happened to me’?” she echoed mockingly, angrily. “Rape. I was raped.”

“Darcy, if we sleep together, and someone like your parents or Ms. Hatzilakos finds out about us, the court is going to see this as rape too.”

It was one of those things, like anything else—words that are regretted the moment they leave the mouth, and they can never be taken back. Snake knew immediately that it was too harsh, that he had gone too far, that she might never forgive him—and even that he might be better off she never did. As horrible as his statement was, it was true. Her near-bare body just inches away was scaring the crap out of him. Because she was so young, and his student, and a rape victim—a rape victim who had yet to tell a single adult about her dilemma except the one with whom she was constantly fooling around.

Tears formed in her eyes and she shook her head violently. Snake reached out to put his hand on her shoulder and she shrunk away from him as he imagined her shrinking still, evaporating right before his eyes. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.” Her voice was low and devoid of feeling.

Snake couldn’t even think of an adequate response. He sat motionless, stunned by his own directness, his words still weighing heavy on them both. “I’m just… not… comfortable with this,” he said finally.

Darcy stared blankly at some vibrant nothing on the far end of the room. “Yeah. I got that. You made it pretty clear.”

“With sex,” Snake clarified. “I didn’t mean… it’s not that I’m not comfortable with you.”

Her gaze settled back to him. “Are you sure about that?”

He hesitated, and she knew, and she rightfully got up, pulled her shirt swiftly over her head, and walked across his bedroom and down the hall. He shuddered as he heard the apartment door slammed shut, sending angry waves reverberating back to the bed as he recoiled, tossed and shaken, the mattress proving useless armor against the sudden, violent crash.

Quicksand - Degrassi, PG

Title: Quicksand
Disclaimer: As much as I wish it were so, Degrassi does not belong to me.
Notes: Tag to (glorious, amazing, breathtaking) episode 712, “Live to Tell.”

She had lost it completely. He knew she had lost it; she knew she had lost it; hell, everyone in the whole goddamn school knew she had lost it but what they didn’t know was that he was starting to feel like he could lose it too. She was pulling him under.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, trying not to flinch when Emma’s shrill voice sliced through the air. “Why was she here? What could she possibly have to say?”

He wished it were silent. But it wasn’t, and he couldn’t be, because so far every unspoken word that settled dormant on his lips had only drawn him deeper into Darcy’s whirlwind mess.

Because he hadn’t said stop.

And he hadn’t said, Darcy, what the hell are you doing.

And he hadn’t said, I think you need to leave.

He hadn’t said a single word or breathed a single breath.

“Well?” Emma pressed.

“She came to apologize,” he said, as if it were obvious. Because it was. But so was everything else.

Emma rolled her eyes. “She shouldn’t be here. You’re under investigation, and if anyone saw the two of you together, who knows what—”

“Emma. It’s going to be okay. Really.”

She was quiet. “I just think it’s risky for you to be seen anywhere near her right now.”

Snake nodded. “I know. I know.”

She offered a small smile and turned away, heading downstairs to her room, and relief washed over him for a fleeting moment. He was so damn sick of the inquisition.

But even in the comfort and familiarity of his living room, he could feel himself drowning still. Sinking to Darcy’s level. Succumbing as the pressure boxed him in. He reached hastily for his bag, not to get anything but just to feel something tangible, to know that he could hold onto something and it would be real. As he picked it up, an envelope fell out and fluttered to the ground.

Automatically, Snake bent down to retrieve it and opened the flap, knowing already what he would find. Darcy’s hair. It seemed silly now, but he had scooped it up off the floor to save for later, to use as evidence in the intervention or to protect her somehow. Maybe to protect himself. It didn’t even make sense. Nothing did.

He reached in and held the strands between his fingers, flicking his thumb against the sheared ends, back and forth, back and forth, as if this tiny piece of her physical being might offer insight into her inner psyche. He pulled and he twisted, wanting to grab hold of the loose threads and unravel the fabric of her damaged existence. It was a damage they shared together now: hers and his, sewn into one.

And he didn’t even wonder what Daphne or anyone would say if they saw him now, standing there alone and entranced, twirling his student’s hair between his fingers. Or what Emma would say if she suddenly came bounding up the stairs.

Because if he closed his eyes, he could only see her. Looking back at him and smiling. Calling him Snake between halted breaths. Pulling him under.

It was a risk he was willing to take.

Sin Sin Sin - Degrassi, PG-13

Title: Sin Sin Sin
Alternate Title: Why I Probably Shouldn’t Write From Darcy’s Perspective, Ever
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine; most of the words are. The poetry belongs to Sylvia Plath and the title is taken from a Robbie Williams song.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.

There are seven ways to die. Darcy was determined to try them all.

She made a list and tucked it between the pages of her Bible. She laughed when she thought about it, because it was funny. It made sense to put it there. That Bible didn’t get much other use.

The first was easy: eat. She stuffed herself until she thought she would burst. Afterwards, she knelt beside the toilet, releasing chunks of food and blood. She always laughed when she saw the blood. It was mocking her, insisting she was alive.

For number two, she’d have them all. Peter was still around, too guilt-ridden to give up yet. And then there was Spinner, just to spite Jane. And Johnny, just to fuck with their heads, just to prove she no longer cared who got hurt, as long as she could have them all, and all at once. She’d have everything, and they’d have nothing.

That grew tiresome, so she stayed in bed for a week and laughed quietly into her pillow. Crossed off number three.

Number four found her when she came back to school and realized she was invisible. Manny, Emma, Chante, even Holly J had nothing witty to say, so she screamed and stormed off in a fiery rage.

Home was just as bad, because home meant Clare. Darcy scarcely remembered a life so undestroyed. She held her breath and waited: for a trip, a stumble, a fall. For anything that meant her sister would join her descent into ruin.

When she pulled out her list and realized she had finished one through five, she laughed. That alone was enough to cross off the sixth.

Number seven was the last. It would be a work of art.

She wanted a challenge: not Peter or Spinner or Johnny. She picked a married man. She picked him because he was her teacher and she saw him every day. She knew he was miserable. She recognized his misery because she had once been miserable too.

Now she didn’t feel anything, and everything made her laugh.

It was highly calculated. She spilled her vulnerabilities and waited for him to bite. Then she pounced him, like a cat.

He thought she was crazy when she came onto him, but he gave in anyway, like she knew he would. She had taken six lives already and would do it again.

They kissed in empty classrooms and groped each other in shadowed alleys. She whispered filth into his ear as she nibbled the lobe, just to watch him blush.

Then one night in a cheap hotel room, she raped him and never looked back.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

It was over. She opened the drawer to her nightstand for the last time, removed her Bible, and stared down at the tiny piece of paper in her hands. She crossed the final item off her list.

Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Wrath. Envy. Pride. Lust.

Seven ways to die.

Darcy climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling nothing, and closed her eyes, feeling nothing still.

It was dark. Then it grew lighter. A smile crept to her lips as she whispered, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

And she laughed until she couldn’t breathe.

--

eta: aphrodite_mine wrote a deliciously evil companion piece to this here!

Whatever She Needs: Guilty (8/?) - Degrassi, PG-13

The enormity of what they were doing didn’t hit him until later.

They viewed three apartments that afternoon, and Snake was unimpressed by all. Furthermore, it was hard to concentrate with Darcy standing beside him. He wondered what the landlords were thinking, if anything. That she was his daughter, or his niece, or a distant relative of some kind. Certainly not his… whatever she was. He wasn’t exactly sure.

He wondered why he was so concerned and paranoid, anyway. He tried to shake it off. It shouldn’t have mattered and it didn’t matter. (Except that it did.)

It was dark outside when they left the last apartment and headed towards his car. Snake looked at his watch. “I should probably take you home,” he said, almost sadly.

“I guess,” Darcy replied quietly. Once they were in the car, she added, with a cunning smile, “I’m glad I got to spend time with you today.”

“Me too.” It was what he was supposed to say. He felt vaguely nauseous. “Darcy, where do your parents think you are?” he asked.

She sighed. “I don’t know.” Her tone had grown colder.

“What do you mean?”

Even in the darkness of the car and with his eyes glued to the road, he could see her fold her arms across her chest. “They’ve stopped asking me questions. They’re afraid any little thing could set me off. Suicide watch, remember?” She exhaled loudly.

The headlights of other cars were almost blinding him. He said nothing. It was silent except for the faint hum of the radio.

“What’s with the sudden third degree?” she asked defensively. Snake wondered if she was regretting this already. The years between them were becoming clearer to her now. He knew it.

“Parental instincts, I guess,” he muttered. This was probably the worst thing he could have said, and he was well aware. It was why he said it.

“Don’t give me that,” she said. “Stop trying to make me feel guilty.”

“If I stop reminding you that I’m older, it’s not going to change the fact that I am,” Snake said stubbornly.

“Okay, you know what, pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over,” she repeated more urgently.

“We’re just minutes from your house.”

“Snake—”

“Fine.” Only because she was using his name again and it sent chills throughout his entire body. She got out of the car once they stopped and he paused for a few seconds before joining her outside. Darcy was leaning against the trunk, rubbing her forearms with both hands to fend off the cold. Snake approached her slowly and leaned carefully against the car, as if it might break. Like everything else.

She smiled, and even in the faint glow of the streetlight he could see the sadness behind it. “Everything seemed so perfect this morning,” she said. “And this afternoon.”

He kicked nervously at the ground and heard a pebble go flying off into the distance. “Well, reality sets in pretty quick.” He wondered if the darkness might devour him whole.

“I thought we already had this conversation,” she sighed.

“Maybe it’s not something that can be solved in one conversation. Or ever,” he added. “It’s not just that I’m older, Darcy. It’s that I’m a parent, and I’m your teacher, and I’m the first adult you confided in… by accident.” It scared him to be so honest, but he couldn’t stop. “Maybe that’s the only reason you have feelings for me.”

“What’s so wrong with that?” she asked, at once confirming his greatest fear.

“Because,” he said slowly, finding it painful to string the words together, “then your feelings aren’t real.”

“My feelings are less real because you were the one person I could turn to, the one I could trust, the one I felt comfortable telling everything?” Darcy demanded. “Is that really what you think?”

“I don’t know,” Snake whispered, desperately. Darcy didn’t respond. “Earlier today, you said you liked me.” He paused. “But do you even know why?” He held his breath and awaited the inevitable silence. He was certain this would end it for good.

He was wrong.

“I like you,” she began, speaking slowly and fluidly, “because you wouldn’t put up with my crap even though you’re the kindest person I know. Because you followed me and sat down beside me when I felt like everyone else in my life was running away. I like you because you’re honest, because you ask the right questions and you actually listen. Because you didn’t give up on me, and because you found me the other night, without me even having to call and ask. Because you didn’t even ask where we were going. You just came.”

Her words were spilling rapidly now. “I like you because you held me all night and didn’t let go, not even once. The only reason I couldn’t leave the house after you did was because I didn’t want to leave the bed, because the sheets smelled like you and I wanted to stay there forever. I like you because I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day today, because I spent my lunch hour in the library looking at old yearbooks just to get a glimpse into your life. I like you because I want to know everything about you, and it scares me almost to death.

“I like you because you don’t even seem to realize how amazing you are. And because I feel queasy and anxious and nervous and like I might throw up whenever I’m around you, but none of that changes the fact that I want the feeling to last forever.” She stopped and took a deep breath, staring him square in the eyes. “That’s why.”

His heart was pounding, and he pulled her towards him just as a car flew down the formerly empty street, exposing them in its headlights. Snake quickly let go.

Darcy smiled shakily. “And I don’t care that we have to keep it a secret,” she whispered. “It just makes you hotter.”

Snake laughed. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me hot.”

“Not even in high school?” Darcy whistled, and he laughed again.

“Remind me that I owe you a lengthy monologue about why I like you,” he said, running his fingers through her hair.

“How ‘bout just a sentence or two?” she asked softly, leaning into his chest.

Snake didn’t even need to pause to think. “Because I was dead inside. You make me feel alive.”

Whatever She Needs: Devious (7/?) - Degrassi, PG-13

“Today we’ll be discussing the significance of viral video and the role it plays in media, especially politics.” Snake was pacing nervously back and forth across the classroom, but he couldn’t stop. Story of his life lately.

“Can anyone”—just then Darcy walked into the room, fashionably late as usual. She cast him a shy smile and he could feel his face heating up. All of this within a split second—“give me a recent example of this?” A few hands shot into the air; from the looks on their faces, no one noticed how flustered he had suddenly become. “Yes, Derek, go ahead.”

Snake proceeded to space out completely while Derek was talking, zeroing in on Darcy instead. Absentmindedly, he reached up to touch his lips—they still tasted faintly of her berry-flavored lip gloss—and remembered the kiss from only five hours before. It was Darcy who had finally pulled away—just as he had placed both hands on her slender waist, giving himself wholly over. She chose that moment to end it, fueling his shame and fear. “I’m sorry,” he had blurted reflexively.

She had smiled, then, temporarily subduing his paranoia. “Don’t be.” She leaned in one last time to plant a quick kiss on his lips. Snake had resisted the urge to pull her towards him, wrap his arms around her, prevent her from ever leaving. Seconds later, she was at the door, her bright green bag slung casually over one shoulder. “I’ll see you in class later,” she had said, turning, flashing a sly grin before stepping out into the hallway.

“Mr. Simpson?” Like that, he was cruelly swept back to the present, and it was Darcy speaking to him yet again.

“Yes?” he said, though in his mind he could have sworn he squeaked.

“What do you want us to do now?” It dawned on him that twenty-five pairs of eyes were staring at him expectantly.

“Well,” he began, struggling to keep his cool, “I want you all to start working on your next project, which will involve combining your knowledge of news media and viral video on sites like YouTube. You’ll have the rest of the period to brainstorm about what topic you’d like to research.” He said all this while trying to make eye contact with each of his students—all except Darcy. It was just too difficult. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask me,” he concluded, and sat down at his desk, hiding behind his monitor.

Barely five minutes passed before he sensed footsteps approaching him. “I have a question about the assignment,” she stated matter-of-factly. Then, in a much softer tone: “Can I see you after school today?” Snake felt a wave of panic and surveyed the room. Nearly all the students were wearing headphones to hear the sound of their videos, and several of them were chatting with each other at the same time. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, smiling.

“It’s in my nature,” Snake quietly replied. “You’ll get to learn that about me,” he added, then internally kicked himself for the deeper implications of his remark. Darcy only continued smiling in that sensual way that could have knocked him over, had he not been sitting already. He motioned to his monitor. “After school, I’m doing that.”

Darcy leaned in to see, which wasn’t really necessary—and he was certain she knew it, too. Her arm brushed lightly against his and he shivered at the near-contact, wishing her nearer still. “Apartment hunting already?” she asked. He could smell the intoxicating mixture of berry lip gloss and spearmint gum.

“I don’t really see any reason to put it off,” Snake admitted.

She stepped back to a more respectable distance and eyed him seriously before asking in a low tone, “Can I come with you?”

Snake didn’t know how to respond—rather, he knew how he should have responded, or would have responded, in another time when his life wasn’t flipped completely upside-down, when things were boring, but at least they all made sense. So he nodded, and she smiled and returned to her seat and he tried not to think about the fact that he was finding himself in deeper and deeper. The bell rang shortly after that and he barely noticed; the rest of the day drifted by in a surreal blur, nothing worth a damn: only her.

She was waiting for him in the zen garden after school, and he smiled, remembering that this was how it had all began. “Hey,” he said softly, peeking his head through the doorway. “Ready?”

“I don’t know if we can just leave together without anyone getting suspicious,” she admitted.

“It’s okay,” he said. “If anyone asks, I’m giving you a ride home.” She nodded and they walked together out the front doors of the school, down the steps, and across the parking lot to his car, all the while in total silence.

Snake fumbled with his keys before unlocking both doors, and they sat without saying a word as he started the car and drove down the road. After about a minute he turned onto a side street and drove a little bit further before pulling over and turning off the engine. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he said.

“Do you want to just give me a ride home?” Darcy asked quietly.

Snake sighed. “No.”

They were both silent again. “Do you like me?” Snake didn’t answer, gripping the stirring wheel with both hands even though the car was in park and he hadn’t restarted the engine. No one had asked him that question since junior high. He turned to face her, keeping silent. “Do you, Mr. Simpson? Because I like you,” she said simply. “I like you a lot.”

Her words were bizarre, and he couldn’t help but comment aloud. “That’s just the problem. The words ‘I like you’ and ‘mister’ should never be in the same sentence.”

Darcy smiled; every time she did now, it seemed to grow more devious. “Snake,” she said, and he felt the blood rushing to his cheeks once more, “I like you.” She paused. “You do like to be called Snake, right?”

Christine had rarely called him Snake—always Archie. Perhaps it made sense that a grown man shouldn’t be called Snake, but it defined him somehow, and he did like it. “Yes,” he admitted. “It reminds me of when I was young.” Back when his future had seemed hopeful and brighter, even within reach.

“You’re not old,” Darcy told him seriously.

A small laugh escaped him. “Thanks! I appreciate the confirmation.”

“No, I just mean—”

Snake cut her off. “I know what you mean. We’re not going to pretend this problem doesn’t exist. I’m thirty-four, you’re seventeen—”

“It’s seventeen years,” Darcy concluded. “What’s seventeen years?”

“Well, for starters, it’s as long as you’ve been alive. I’m exactly twice your age.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She reached over then to touch his arm, running her fingers gently down its length and stopping at his hand. He let go of the steering wheel and her palm met his. Their fingers interlocked, smooth skin alternating with weathered and freckled. He rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand. “You never answered my question before,” Darcy murmured, looking up at him.

Snake shifted closer and kissed the top of her head, breathing in her shampoo. Then he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips, lingering there. She squeezed his hand more tightly and he swore he heard a tiny whimper escape her when he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “I like you, too,” he said, and pressed his lips to hers once more.

Whatever She Needs: Surrender (6/?) - Degrassi, PG-13

The school day was markedly unusual, however, because Darcy wasn’t there. Her empty desk and unfilled plastic chair were cruel aberrations, mocking him all day. It was almost laughable how Darcy could distract him so easily even when she wasn’t actually there. Of course, part of the issue was that he didn’t know where she was. Snake had assumed that she would take the next bus home, but now it was abundantly clear that she hadn’t done so. He didn’t even know what excuse she had given her parents regarding her whereabouts. Had she bothered to give one at all?

It was impossible to concentrate.

When he went home that evening and Spike proudly proclaimed that she would heat up his dinner from the night before, Snake stared at her, dumbfounded, and blurted, “Joey’s in Calgary.”

She glanced up and raised an eyebrow in confusion. A small laugh escaped her. “Okay. So he got back all right?”

Snake stared blankly, as if he were unable to process what was going on, and Spike’s eyes bore into his more urgently, the laughter fading, the suspicion rising, as it always did. “No,” he said bluntly, without emotion. “No, I mean… he’s been in Calgary. He never left.”

She dropped his plate on the table then, the sound startling them both. “Who did you see last night, Archie?” He didn’t answer. Instead he shook his head and fought to hide the smile creeping to his lips, because he shouldn’t have been smiling in the first place, and none of this should have been happening to begin with, but the fact was that it was and he saw no reason to stop it anymore. “Who did you see?” she demanded again, screaming now.

Snake realized that he could have said anything. He could have lied, could have said he was alone, that he just needed a night away. She might have believed it. Instead—inexplicably—he chose to exaggerate the truth. “I was with another woman.”

“You—oh my God.” Rage. Pure rage. Snake noted that it was the most impassioned she had been in months. “Get out. Get out, get out, get out!” she shrieked.

Within a span of about ten minutes, Snake collected a small portion of his belongings, packed them into his overnight suitcase, and got out. Joey’s couch wasn’t option this time, so he went to a hotel and paid for the cheapest room and allowed sleep and relief to wash over him as his head fell upon the unfamiliar pillow. He slept soundly that night and awoke with fleeting, disorganized thoughts of Darcy. She had such an intoxicating effect on him, he might as well have been high: drunk and high and free, finally free.

And best of all, there was no reason to hide it anymore, to hide anything. There was no need to feel ashamed. He marched into the school early that morning with a newfound confidence in his step; it was exhilarating, he felt on top of the world. He knew the feeling would pass; something would happen, he’d see Emma and it’d all come crashing down. He’d have to go back to the house and gather the rest of his things. But for now this was it, this was his reality, and he grinned widely, fearlessly, even flirtatiously when he walked into his classroom to find Darcy sitting at his desk, shifting anxiously in his chair.

“Okay, so, I know you probably don’t want to see me—” she stopped short, clearly confused. “Wow. You look happy.”

Snake’s smile filled his whole face. “I am happy.”

Darcy glanced down shyly before lifting her eyes to meet his steady gaze. “Happy to see me?” she asked, somewhat desperately, her cheeks tinged slightly pink.

Snake let his bag fall from his shoulder and sat on the edge of the desk, studying her face, wondering if he could read what lay embedded there, pick apart the damaged pieces. “Yes,” he said, his blue eyes locking with her deep brown ones. In them, he could see the heartache and vulnerability, and he saw her, he saw Darcy, but there was something else there, too—he didn’t recognize it at first; it had been so long. Then it dawned on him: she saw him, too.

He bit his bottom lip and said, “I left my wife last night. For good.”

“Whoa,” Darcy said, jumping suddenly out of the chair. “That’s… wow. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?” Her words spilled out nervously, and she added, as if she were looking for a confirmation, “That’s some non sequitur.” She waited, her eyes beseeching his.

“It wasn’t really a non sequitur at all,” Snake said softly. It was the answer she wanted, and she blushed harder still. “Darcy,” he whispered, “I want you to know that I was an idiot yesterday. I never should have said what I said before I left. I didn’t mean it. And for that I’m really, truly sorry.”

She inched closer to him; he could hardly stand it. “So I can take this… literally?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Snake breathed.

She moved in closer, and said nothing for several moments. Finally she let the forbidden words escape her. “You left your wife… because of me?”

Snake could no longer meet her intense gaze, so he closed his eyes; it was too much for him now. After a long pause, he looked up and nodded slowly. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Darcy captured his lips in hers, wrapping her small, soft fingers delicately around the back of his neck, pressing harder with wanton desire. He didn’t want to move, unwilling to reciprocate but unwilling to pull away, his heart imploring his mind: Give in. Surrender.

And he did. Parting his lips to deepen the kiss, his senses heightened; he was overwhelmingly aware of her soft tongue massaging his own and the tips of her fingers lightly brushing against his skin, tracing circles just below his hairline. It was strange, this sensation of falling while soaring higher, yet acutely conscious of the inevitable crash to come.

Whatever She Needs: Rinse (5/?) - Degrassi, PG-13

He barely slept. He was far too conscious for sleep: conscious of her scent, of her slow, rhythmic breathing, of how warm she felt pressed against him, of being careful not to move so he wouldn’t wake her. He hadn’t shared a single bed with anyone since his college girlfriend, and Darcy should not have been the exception. He was especially conscious of that.

When the first hints of sunshine began to peak through the shades of the room’s one small window, Snake seized the opportunity to carefully climb over Darcy and out of the tiny bed. He hesitated, watching her and expecting her to wake up; she merely stirred and turned over, snuggling against the blankets. A minute later he found himself in the communal bathroom at the opposite end of the hall, staring wide-eyed into the mirror and hating the person he saw.

He needed to get out.

When he returned to the room to get his shoes, Darcy was sitting up in bed, smiling at him in the way she always did now, that overly-grateful, still-too-innocent smile. “I haven’t slept that well in weeks,” she said softly, her eyes round and serene. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost six,” Snake responded quickly, both immediately aware of just how quickly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Snake stared at her, aghast. “What’s wrong? What do you think is wrong?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “This,” he said, waving his arm frantically at the bed, “should not have happened.”

“Nothing did happen. We just slept,” Darcy pointed out.

He shook his head, his mouth forming one of those empty, humorless grins. “That’s just it. We shouldn’t even have to explain ourselves,” he said. “Of course nothing happened. I’m not insane.”

Her eyes darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean? Am I ‘insane’?” Her fingers fluttered in the air briefly, putting air-quotes on the last word.

Snake was certain he was shrinking, physically; he felt that helpless. “Darcy, that’s not what I meant.”

“You told me that you’d had enough of normal,” she added angrily.

He wanted to ask her how she managed to remember all the words he ever said so vividly. Except it wasn’t important, and it would have derailed him from the point he so desperately needed to make, even though he didn’t mean it. “Maybe you shouldn’t take everything I say so literally,” he spat, hating himself as the words left his mouth. Tears welled up in her eyes and he stood still, the heartless jerk. “I’m sorry,” he added, knowing full-well his apology would do nothing to erase the words already in the air. “I should go,” he said weakly.

She looked up at him. “Then go.”

Awkwardly, he grabbed his shoes and his bag and treaded down the cold, bare corridor. He was certain he could feel her eyes drilling holes into his back, but when he turned to look, she wasn’t there. He was immediately unsure why he expected her to be.

The bus ride back felt longer, of course, and Snake couldn’t focus on anything, the images floating by in his window as random, meaningless objects; the order of the universe completely unhinged. He couldn’t get rid of the gnawing feelings in his stomach and his heart, the guilt pervading his consciousness to its core. At that moment, he loathed himself. He wanted to peel of his skin and get out of his head; he felt utterly trapped, suffocated by the unwanted layers that defined his existence now, the ones that had become far too heavy to shed.

It was nearly seven when he turned the front doorknob of the house that had never felt like his own: the one he was trained to call home. Spike was sitting at the kitchen table with both hands wrapped around a coffee mug. Snake knew he looked like shit with his wrinkled, slept-in clothes and bloodshot eyes.

“Morning,” he said, forcing a smile.

“Hi. Did you have a nice night?” she asked softly. He froze momentarily—did she know? The fabric of his lies could be unraveled so easily, he realized in a panic. One call to Joey and she’d know he was still in Calgary, one call to—he stopped himself, needing to regain composure.

“It was great,” Snake said, smiling. “I’m spent. I don’t know how I’ll be able to teach today.”

“You look exhausted,” she replied. His heart was pounding again; something didn’t seem right, but then she added, “Why don’t you go shower and I’ll make some breakfast?”

He nodded and headed towards the stairs, then stopped himself, walked to the kitchen, bent down and planted a quick kiss on her lips. “Thanks, Christine,” he whispered, and she smiled at him, and he thought for a second that maybe it was love that he saw in her eyes; maybe he hadn’t been looking hard enough before.

Yet as he showered, the hot water cascading onto his naked body did nothing to rinse away his impure thoughts. His mind was stuck on Darcy, on the silky hair that he had twirled between his fingers all night, on the warmth that had radiated from her body, on the way her slight hand had wrapped so urgently around his. He thought of her shattered smile and the tears that welled in her eyes and the look on her face as he had reluctantly uttered his lies.

The water was growing colder now; Snake reached absentmindedly to readjust the knob. Her eyes. And her smile. And her fair, soft skin and her innocence that did not deserve to be corrupted, especially not by him. That was why he had lied, he reminded himself. He lied so she’d stay away. Besides, he had given all he could possibly give at this point. She told him her story and he listened, and perhaps now she was ready to go talk to Ms. Sauve, who could really help her. He had done everything he could and now the boundaries were drawn once more and they could both move on.

He shut the water off. He dried himself off, put on fresh clothes, went downstairs, and ate his healthy breakfast unceremoniously with Spike in silence. He picked up his bag and kissed her cheek and walked out the door. It should have terrified him—how quickly he fell back into the old routine. There has to be more to life than routine, he remembered saying once. He swore he had said it. Routine and predictability: work, family, work. Perhaps this was his destiny.

Words Unsaid - Degrassi, PG-13

Notes: Occurs between episodes 606, “Eyes Without a Face (Part 2),” and 705, “Death or Glory (Part 1).”

“What do you mean you can see all my internet activity?” she asked incredulously. “But that’s private! It’s wrong!”

Snake raised his eyebrows in mild disbelief. “Actually, it’s school policy. I can’t see exactly what you were doing, but I can see what sites you’ve been visiting and I know those aren’t the sites you should be viewing during my class time.”

“This is so unfair,” she huffed, turning on her heel and stomping out of the room. Snake sighed loudly once she was gone. He hated having to confront students like this, but he didn’t have much of a choice. She’d be understandably pissed for a couple days and that’d be the end of it.

So he thought.

For the week that followed, Darcy was not only pissed, but intolerably so. She made a point to show up to class just seconds before the bell, she begrudgingly answered his questions when he called on her, and she fled from the room as soon as class was over. She chewed gum loudly and pointedly walked out in the middle of his lectures to use the bathroom. Somehow, she knew just how to straddle the line that, when crossed, would have her sent to Ms. Hatzilakos’ office. Snake unfortunately couldn’t reprimand her for being a general pain in his ass.

A full hour after classes ended the following Friday, as he was descending the school’s front steps, she charged up to him and thrust a pile of photos into his hands. “There,” she said simply.

His eyes widened at the images before him: Darcy, posed suggestively in a Catholic school uniform, unbuttoning her blouse, wearing lingerie. He quickly tossed the photos back at her, seething and wildly uncomfortable. “Darcy,” he began, then stopped. He blinked, not knowing how to continue.

“Figured since you were so curious,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “You said you couldn’t see exactly what I was doing, remember? Well now you can. I didn’t want to leave you in suspense.”

Snake folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her, hoping to reassert his authority, or something. But the situation was so foreign to him that he could barely articulate his thoughts.

“What?” she prompted. “Don’t you think I’m sexy?”

“Darcy, I don’t really think that’s the issue here,” he answered irritably.

“Well...” then she stopped, flustered. “Do you, or don’t you?” He opened his mouth to respond; with what, exactly, he had no idea.

“I—” Snake began, swallowing hard. Yes, he was pissed, not to mention completely dumbfounded, but he had been teaching for almost a decade and could sense when a problem was deeper than it appeared on the surface. He forced himself to be professional. “Look, Darcy, we all feel insecure sometimes. It’s part of being human. But exploiting yourself on the internet probably isn’t the best solution.”

She looked away. “I wish you had told me this last week.”

He stared at her blankly, trying to process how that statement could possibly make any sense. “You—hold on. First you yelled at me, horrified, asking how I could possibly dare to monitor your internet activity. Then you made my class a living hell all week with your nasty attitude. Then you purposely wait around after school to show me pictures of yourself practically naked, and then you tell me that I should have warned you last week, before I had any real clue what was going on?” He stopped himself then. “Darcy,” he asked softly, “What’s going on?”

She sat down on the steps. “I took those photos for a guy I met on the internet. He paid me for them.”

Snake inhaled sharply, anticipating where this story was headed. He sat down beside her. “So I guess that he—”

“Yeah,” she cut him off, “he found me.” Quickly, she added, “but nothing happened. My sister called the cops and they took him away, and then they took away my computer for evidence.” She released a shaky sigh. “I’m so stupid.”

Snake turned and looked at her seriously, even though she continued to stare into the distance. “You’re not stupid. You made a mistake.”

A small, disbelieving laugh escaped her. “Right. Have you ever made a mistake that idiotic?”

Snake turned and gazed out at the landscape before them. The leaves were just beginning to show hints of color, symbolizing change and renewal, or maybe just death. It was tragic and beautiful all at once. “I’ve made mistakes far more idiotic than that,” he finally admitted.

“I doubt it,” she said sincerely.

He glanced at her and smiled, surprised to see her smiling back. “Trust me on this one.” He picked up his bag, intending to leave, but found himself compelled to clarify. “There’s a reason I haven’t gone home yet.” Immediately after the words left his mouth he regretting saying them, but now, of course, it was too late to undo.

He braced himself, hoping Darcy would fail to grasp the full implications of his statement. Either she really didn’t, or she chose to spare his pride. “It couldn’t have been that bad,” she offered.

Snake sighed and placed his bag back down, wondering how the focus had suddenly shifted to him. All he could do was sit unmoving and whisper, “It was.”

“Well, I don’t think it matters. You’re smart, you’re funny, and everyone at Degrassi loves you. You’re basically perfect.”

He didn’t want to say it. Partly because he wasn’t about to reveal his deepest secrets to a student, but mostly—and more selfishly—because he didn’t want to distort her image of a perfect Mr. Simpson by revealing the unspoken truths of his infidelities and lies. So he did what he always did and deflected his discomfort by making a joke. “Perfect? Close, but you know, I am losing my hair."

She smiled satisfactorily, as if she had won an argument that was never an argument at all. “That wouldn’t be so noticeable if you let it grow a little!” She startled him then by reaching out and touching his hair with the tips of her fingers. Their eyes interlocked. In that moment he swore the entire world shifted; he was losing balance. He knew he was supposed to push her arm away, but he didn’t. Instead he sat there, stupefied, watching her and wondering what she would do.

Gently, slowly, expertly, almost as if she had rehearsed, she traced her fingers down to his cheek and brought her other palm up to cup his face in both hands. “Darcy,” Snake whispered, wondering if she noticed his irregular breathing, or if she could hear his pounding heart.

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his, kissing him chastely at first before crushing into him more urgently, waiting for him to respond. He didn’t move, allowing her to kiss him for another second or two before jolting back to reality and abruptly pulling away.

“Damnit,” she muttered. Darcy never said damn. Before he could stop her, she leapt up and ran inside. Snake waited for less than a minute before following her.

She was sitting in a storage closet, her knees tucked up to her chin. He stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“Darcy, look... you don’t need to feel bad about what happened. It was... I mean... it was barely anything.” She refused to look at him, so he bent down to her eyelevel. “It was just, a thing, a moment, and we were silly enough to get caught up in it. But it doesn’t matter.”

Her response was barely audible. “It matters to me.”

He cocked his head and looked at her more seriously, studying her, as if he were trying to see something that was not quite visible on the surface. He opened his mouth to reiterate what had already been said, but then she glanced up. “It’s not going to repeat itself,” she assured him, almost bitterly.

“Okay.” It was all he could say.

And that was the end of it. They became so good at pretending it never happened that Snake soon came to wonder if it actually did, or if he had hallucinated the entire afternoon.

Yet six months later, with a marriage just as miserable as it had always been, and his deep unwanted secrets harboring themselves deeper, she confessed to him—of all people, him—that she had been raped.

And this time it didn’t seem quite so necessary to keep his feelings hidden, or his words unsaid.

Whatever She Needs: Vanilla (4/?) - Degrassi, PG-13

She smelled like vanilla. She nestled against him and she smelled like vanilla and he almost hated himself for noticing—for sitting there, for holding her, for breathing her in and for wishing it would never end. His eyes stayed open as she slept; he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so alive.

After a while, the ride became bumpy and she stirred awake. “I think we’re almost there,” she whispered, straightening up. Snake reluctantly removed his arm from where it had encircled her, saying nothing. The bus slowed to a stop and she stood. He followed her down the aisle and out the door, stepping onto an unexpectedly soft dirt road. It was completely dark except for a few small, dim lampposts. They walked along the road in silence before he finally saw a moderately-sized house in the distance. She quickened her pace as it came into view and he took larger steps to keep up. Just as they reached the front walkway, she stopped abruptly, nearly causing him to trip. “This is it,” she breathed.

“Where… are we?” he asked hesitantly.

“This—” Darcy said, stepping forward, “—is where I was supposed to be on the night I was raped.” Again, she took hold of his hand and led him along the front walkway. As they neared the porch, he caught sight of a wooden sign in the grass: “Welcome to the Divine Harmony Retreat Center.”

She reached into her pocket and removed a few keys, fiddling with the lock on the door and speaking abnormally fast. “I was supposed to go on a retreat here with my family, but I lied to my mom and faked a fever so she’d let me stay home, and then I snuck back to school and got on the bus to Mount Heron.” She continued rapidly, in fragments, “But my family goes on retreats here all the time; we come here every year, so Father Timothy, he owns the place, a few years ago he gave my family a copy of the house key so we can come here whenever we want, so—”

“Darcy—” Snake interrupted. The door swung open, revealing a dark, empty foyer.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I was waiting for you to freak out and go running back to catch the next bus home.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

She looked up at him with a shy smile. “I know this isn’t exactly… normal.”

He returned the smile. “To be honest, I’ve had enough of normal.”

“Okay,” she said softly. They stepped inside and she closed the door. Immediately silence overwhelmed them, but it was no longer the awkward, uncomfortable kind that had so dauntingly characterized their last few encounters. It was pure and peaceful and right, which was most likely the opposite of everything it should have been. She was supposed to be home with her family; he was supposed to be putting Jack to bed and gearing up for another passionless night with Spike.

“Shit,” he said aloud, utterly breaking the mood. “I’m sorry,” he added quickly. “It’s just that… well… I need to call my wife.”

Her expression turned sullen. “Oh.”

“No, I mean, she didn’t know where I went and she’s going to want to know why I’m not back yet,” he explained, feeling flustered and a little ashamed—not because he was about to lie to Spike, but because Darcy suddenly looked so helpless and dejected.

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “I guess I’ll go upstairs.”

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” he assured her, but she had already turned and headed up the steps. He stood at the base of the staircase for what felt like an eternity, nervously tapping his foot and trying to formulate a logical explanation for why he had disappeared suddenly on a Tuesday night without eating his dinner or saying goodbye. Finally he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed speed dial two. It rang twice before she answered.

“Hi,” he said uneasily.

“Archie! Where are you? You said you were going for a walk. What the hell is going on?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, adding hurriedly, “Joey called me. He’s in Norfolk visiting Wheels and they wanted me to come hang out.” He realized he not only sounded like a teenager lying to his mom about his whereabouts, but he felt like one, too.

“So… you’re in Norfolk?” She sounded unconvinced.

“Yes,” Snake responded, faking conviction.

“And you couldn’t stop home for five seconds to tell me that?”

“Well,” Snake began, thinking frantically, “it was weird. I got off the phone with Joey, and I was standing right near a bus stop, and—well, the bus came.” At least his lies contained a tiny artifact of truth.

“The bus to Norfolk,” Spike said slowly, filling in the blanks.

“Yeah. I mean, it seemed like fate, so I hopped on and I’m here now and I was so caught up in the moment that I forgot to call.”

“Okay,” she said flatly. Her voice showed no hint of emotion; he couldn’t tell if she believed him or not.

“I’ll take the bus back early before work,” he added quickly.

“Okay,” she repeated, waiting a beat before asking, “Do you want me to save your dinner for tomorrow?”

Snake blinked, momentarily rendered speechless. “Um, sure. That’d be great,” he answered finally.

“All right, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight,” she said.

“Goodnight,” Snake replied halfheartedly, flipping his phone shut. He walked absentmindedly up the stairs, finding himself in a long hallway with endless doorways. Darcy poked her head out of one of them and smiled brightly at his arrival, but this soon shifted to a frown.

“What’s wrong? What did she say?”

Snake leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling, sighing before finally meeting Darcy’s concerned gaze. “She asked me,” he said slowly, “if I wanted her to save my dinner for tomorrow.” Darcy regarded him thoughtfully, keeping quiet. And I can’t remember the last time she told me she loves me, he realized.

Wordlessly, Darcy reached out and took hold of his hand, as if it were second nature by now. “Let’s go to the meditation room,” she said, leading him to the end of the hall and through another doorway. It was large and spacious, furnished with old oversized couches and a worn-out area rug. The walls were lined with bookshelves of Bibles and inspirational literature, and there were two massive windows that probably provided an excess of sunlight during the day. Darcy expertly walked across the dark room and flicked on a few antiquated desk lamps before plopping down at the edge of a couch. Snake followed suit, choosing the recliner next to it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, a trace of a smile on her face. “I just don’t think you should keep this bottled up inside.”

Snake smirked at the irony. “Mocking me, are we?”

She grinned, then quickly composed herself and added seriously, “I am willing to listen… if you want to talk about it. Really. Even though I’m just a kid who doesn’t know the first thing about marriage.”

“You have parents; you know about marriage,” Snake corrected her. “And I hate to say it, Darcy,” he continued, trying to choose his words carefully, “but I don’t think it’d be accurate to say you’re just a kid after what you went through.”

“I don’t even feel like the same person,” she admitted.

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

They were silent for a moment, and then she announced suddenly, “I broke up with Peter.” Snake said nothing, so she continued, “Last week. I could tell he was getting frustrated with me… I didn’t want him around anymore. I didn’t want to kiss him.” Snake’s eyes widened, even though he knew by now that he shouldn’t be surprised by her openness in sharing personal details. “I don’t think he ever really understood me anyway, not before it happened and definitely not after.” He could swear she looked at him pointedly then, as if trying to convey the unspoken, and he held her gaze, hoping to prove that he could handle whatever she decided to throw his way.

“It sounds like you made the right decision,” he offered. They were silent for a long while.

“Mr. Simpson?” she asked hesitantly. Snake waited. “I think I’m ready to tell you what happened.”

And so, for the next hour, she told him everything. She told him how Peter wanted to have sex and she refused, how she decided to drink, how she abandoned her cup and how she passed out on the couch. She told him how she remembered feeling a hand on her shoulder, being thrown on the bed, and the disgusting odor emanating from her rapist’s body. She told him how terrified she was to see her clothes in a pile on the floor the following morning, how surprised and confused she was to find Peter asleep beside her. She told him how badly she wanted to convince herself that it was him when she knew it wasn’t, and how scared she was now that she had seen his face and knew he was still out there. She told him how she had wanted to die, and how dirty and sinful and guilty she felt, as if she had brought it on herself. “I was supposed to be on retreat,” she kept repeating. “I was supposed to be here.”

She talked and Snake mostly listened, interjecting a few times to assure her that she was not at fault. And soon it was nearly two a.m., so they turned off the lights and headed back down the long hallway and disappeared behind separate doors to collapse into their single beds. Snake had nearly drifted off to sleep when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t be alone tonight,” she whispered.

He was at a loss for words. “It’s a single bed,” he said, realizing immediately how idiotic and insensitive that must have sounded.

“Mr. Simpson, please,” she said softly, urgently. “Remember, you said—you said whatever I need.”

He couldn’t think, and he didn’t want to, because rational thought would have stopped him from moving in closer to the wall and lifting the covers for her to enter. Darcy slipped in beside him and Snake draped his arm around her, breathing in. She smelled like vanilla.

Whatever She Needs: Distraction (3/?) - Degrassi, PG-13

Another week passed, and Snake’s everyday routines were now defined by distraction and discomfort. He taught while his mind wandered, suddenly struggling to remember how he had presented the same material just an hour earlier—what once came naturally had become forced and stilted. It must have been painful for everyone involved.

Normally when something was bothering him, Snake would push it out of his mind and repress it to the depths of his subconscious; he had a gift for moving on. To hide his fear of cancer, he shaved his head. After cheating on Spike, he sang to her in a mall. Snake had the ability to make light of any situation, no matter how serious. He never obsessed over anything.

It drove him crazy that Darcy was the exception.

He assumed that she would transfer out of his class, but she stayed. This mystified him. She even participated in lessons: she’d raise her hand and ask questions, she’d smile politely and say “Bye, Mr. Simpson, have a good day,” on her way out the door, and if she managed to meet his gaze, he saw only the same look of faint recognition and respect that he saw in the eyes of all his students. Somehow this was worse than silence. When she hadn’t been speaking to him, when she ignored and avoided him and cast her eyes downward, at least there had been a reason. At least he had known that anger and fear and sadness and self-doubt were all driving that behavior. Now it seemed that she had stopped feeling, period.

So Snake set aside his hopes of being the hero. He could be the smart, funny, dorky, endearing high school computer teacher, but rescuing Darcy was officially out of the question. Things would go back to how they had always been. He never had a problem with it before, so why now?

And yet, inexplicably, Darcy consumed his thoughts to the point of inappropriateness. Every time she smiled or made a kind, but ultimately impersonal remark, he felt himself growing more impatient and frustrated. One tortuous week seemed more like an eternity.

Snake lingered in his classroom after school, staying back to catch up on classwork. He had fallen behind because he was so preoccupied lately, but his new routine of working overtime predated Darcy’s confession. Simply put, there was no real reason to rush home anymore. Spike hadn’t trusted him since his one small screw-up, the idiotic fling with Daphne. It felt like she was never going to forgive him, and every dreary day since reminded him why he had been so tempted to cheat in the first place. It was wrong, and he had learned from his mistake, but now it had been over a year and he was done learning. Everything about that house now—the table between them as they ate dinner or the space between them in the bed at night—was cold and uncaring. Snake had told himself that it would all blow over eventually; now it seemed he’d be waiting eternally.

It was nearly seven when he left. He gritted his teeth in anticipation of the hell Spike would raise when he walked through the front door. Keeping a brisk pace, he made a conscious effort not to think about Darcy, which meant, of course, that she consumed his thoughts completely. And why? He wanted to believe it was because of his responsibility, as an adult and a teacher, to help. He wanted to believe it was because he cared about all of his students, especially one who was in trouble.

He didn’t want to believe that it was because he was bored in his life and his marriage, or because he wanted to feel for once in his life that he could make an impact, that he could be a positive force in another person’s life instead of just there, like a piece of furniture. He didn’t want to believe that it was because he lately felt so unhappy and unwanted. He didn’t want to believe it was because he so desperately needed to mean something to someone again.

Snake opened the front door and braced himself for the worst: Spike screaming at him for being late (again) and not calling (again), his dinner cold, Emma’s perpetual disappointment and mistrust—instead he stepped inside and found both of them sitting on the couch, glued to the TV.

“Uh, hi,” he said, placing his bag on the floor. No response: they must have been really pissed. He threw his arms up in the air. “I’m sorry. I was catching up on work and lost track of time. I should have called.” Neither bothered to glance up. Snaked sighed, “I guess I’ll go ahead and heat up my dinner…” He began walking towards the kitchen, while turning to look at the TV just to see what the hell was so fascinating that they couldn’t bother to acknowledge his existence for a split second. And that’s when he saw the headline.

ROOFIE RAPIST IDENTIFIED; WARRANT OUT FOR ARREST. These words were accompanied by a man in his late twenties with an unapologetic smirk and menacing eyes.

Snake’s heart sank to his chest. Within seconds, he entered the living room and stood beside the couch, but when and how he had mobilized himself in that direction, he wasn’t sure.

“What—what are they saying?” Snake managed to choke out.

“It’s just sick,” Spike responded, assuming his question either rhetorical or unimportant.

“Oh my god,” Emma breathed. “They just said he attended several parties at Mount Heron. A bunch of Degrassi students went there a few months ago. That’s… that’s scary. That’s messed up. It could have been one of them.”

Snake felt himself retreating, as if he were floating away. The entire house seemed so suffocating now; the walls were closing in, constricting him somehow. “I, um, I need to get some air,” he announced breathlessly, heading for the door. He wasn’t sure if Spike or Emma heard him or cared. He walked hurriedly, thoughtlessly, aimlessly, even though he knew exactly where he was going; he refused to think about the fact that he was consciously walking in the direction of Darcy’s neighborhood. He knew where she lived only because he had picked up Emma at her house a couple times, when it was really late or dark out, like it was right now. She lived about a mile away, so he was on her street in less than twenty minutes.

He didn’t know what he was doing.

But there was a bus stop with a bench, and it made sense to sit down, so he did. He sat and covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he could erase the mental image of the rapist’s disgusting face. Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching, and he stood up and turned around, already knowing whose figure he would see.

Darcy was walking slowly and staring at the ground. She had a duffle bag strapped over one shoulder. Snake cleared his throat so she’d notice him, and she jumped, jerking her head up to see him.

In one smooth motion, she dropped her bag and ran to him, clinging, wrapping both arms around him and squeezing tight. He reciprocated, fighting back his own tears and she sobbed into his jacket.

“I saw his face on the TV,” she said breathlessly.

“Me too,” Snake murmured, gently caressing her hair.

“He’s still out there.”

“I know.”

She held tighter, and he let her, and they stayed like that for at least five minutes, maybe longer. She didn’t let go until a bus pulled up, at which she stepped back and picked up her bag.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing hold of his hand with her smaller, softer one.

He should have refused, he should have talked her out of it, he should have, at the very least, asked where she planned to go and why. But he didn’t do any of these things. He realized it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she needed someone, and even if she never meant for it to be him, it was him. She needed him now while everyone else in his life merely assumed that he’d show up eventually.

So he followed, and they sat down together, and when she leaned her head against his chest, Snake wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head so she’d feel more comfortable there. He didn’t know where they were going, and he didn’t know what would happen, and he did know, completely, that he had crossed well-established boundaries, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It occurred to him then that he needed her just as much as she needed him.

Whatever She Needs: Inevitability (2/?) - Degrassi, PG-13

Snake was shocked to find her waiting on the steps of Degrassi at 6 a.m. the following day.

“I have to admit, I was expecting another several weeks of silence. Or possibly an eternity,” he joked. His relief at seeing her was immediately overcome by feelings of embarrassment and idiocy when he realized that she wasn’t there for him. “And I’m officially clueless,” he continued. “You must be waiting for Peter. Sorry.” He hastily continued up the steps in a desperate attempt not to prolong another awkward encounter.

“I’m not waiting for Peter,” she called after him. He stopped in his tracks and turned around, waiting. She was looking at her shoes again.

“And so you’re waiting for… Manny?” She shook her head and he felt a smile playing on his lips, but fought to hide it. “Maybe Derek or Danny?” Snake wanted to conceal the delicious feeling of confidence that had suddenly overcome him, mainly because he wasn’t quite sure why it had.

“You know I can’t stand Derek or Danny. They got me in detention, remember?” She actually smiled.

“No, I remember you getting yourself in detention,” Snake grinned.

“No, I ended up in detention because a certain teacher of mine wouldn’t listen to my side of the story,” she retaliated playfully.

“Hmm. Wow. That guy sounds like a real jerk,” Snake admitted, hoping it still sounded like he was joking around, but realizing suddenly that he wasn’t. He partly believed it himself.

“He’s not,” Darcy said softly. There was an awkward pause, apparently an inevitability whenever the two of them came within a ten-foot radius of each other. “Besides,” she added, “I hear he’s willing to listen to me now.”

Snake was stunned, and could think of nothing else but to nod. They walked in silence to his classroom. He was surprised to feel a wave of anxiety, one that he hadn’t felt since he walked these same halls two decades earlier. Hesitantly he sat down at his desk, she at hers. He was not a hormone-crazed teenage boy—so why did he feel like one whenever Darcy was around?

Snake shrugged it off. He was just nervous. He hadn’t been this nervous about anything since he was in high school, but the causes of that feeling versus this feeling were completely different. This situation was just new territory for him, and it was terrifying, and that was all. He certainly wasn’t about to adopt the unorthodox teaching practices of former colleague Matt Oleander. Why am I even thinking about that? he wondered, making a face. He didn’t realize Darcy was staring at him.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“What? No,” Snake answered quickly. “Sorry, I uh, I just realized that I don’t think my breakfast agreed with me,” he added. He immediately cringed, wondering why, of all the possible excuses, that particular one had come to mind.

Now it was Darcy’s turn to make a face. “Oh. Uh… do you need to go to the bathroom or something?”

“No! I’m fine.” Snake laughed uncomfortably, internally berating himself for increasing the already-suffocating tension tenfold.

Darcy offered a smile. “Good.”

“Good,” Snake repeated.

He expected them to resume their typical awkward silence, their eyes grilling into each other until she would freak out and jump up and leave, but instead, she spoke.

“I need to confess something,” she said. He waited. “I never intended to tell you about this.” Snake opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. “But I don’t mean that in a bad way. I don’t regret telling you.” He clamped his mouth shut, signaling that it was okay for her to continue. “I just want you to know that… this is probably going to be weird. Weirder than it is already. And I know that I’m supposed to be confiding in Ms. Sauve, and I know that you never wanted to be dragged into all this, but for some unknown reason, telling you made sense.” She paused, and he opened his mouth again, but then she abruptly added—“I guess I also thought that if I told you, you’d make it better.”

“Why would you think that?” Snake asked, truly confused.

“I don’t know,” Darcy admitted. “There’s so much going around in my head right now and none of it, I mean none of it, makes any sense. I haven’t felt like myself… in months.” Snake said nothing, not because he hoped it was the correct approach, but because he still had no idea what he was supposed to say. “It’s like—every morning, I wake up so early, because sleep is just too terrifying. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since… it happened. And then I take these super long showers, like forty-five minutes, so long that my mom has yelled at me a few times to get out.”

Snake nodded. “You want to wash it off,” he said. It wasn’t the world’s most brilliant observation, but it was a start.

“I guess. But no matter how hard I try, it’s still there. I still remember it, but like, in broken images… these dark, horrifying flashing images… and how bad he smelled, and how he pushed me onto the bed—“

“Darcy—” Snake interrupted, fearful of where this was going.

“What? Can’t handle it?” she demanded sarcastically, the anger growing in her eyes. “I’m telling you what happened in words,” she continued, practically seething. “How do you think it was actually experiencing it?” Her voice was shrill now, and loud. Her entire face was red.

Snake sat in silence, too afraid to say anything that would upset her any more. To think, she had been foolish enough to believe that he could help—what a joke, he realized. And then his earlier prediction came true. She leapt up and darted out of the room, leaving him alone and useless and drained in an empty, silent classroom.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. This was going to be much harder than he had ever anticipated.

Whatever She Needs: Helpless (1/?) - Degrassi, PG-13

Title: Whatever She Needs
Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi or any of its characters.
A/N: Directly proceeds episode 705, “Death or Glory (Part 1).”

Innocently. That was how it began. She would linger in the classroom for a few moments after the bell rang, waiting until everyone else had left. Usually she would say nothing: just a pointed look or a gracious smile. He returned the silent gesture so she’d remember the promise he intended to keep. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” Then she’d avert her gaze and quickly leave the room. Snake found himself wondering if she regretted confiding in him to begin with. It was obvious that she never intended to do so.

This went on for a couple weeks, and then she ignored him. She jumped out of her seat when the bell rang and ran out of class with the rest of the students. No more discreet glances. At first he was relieved. He wouldn’t miss the awkward pauses; he had enough of those at home.

Then Snake was surprised to feel something else: resentment. Her behavior confirmed that she had no desire to confide in him any further. The fact that Darcy had chosen him as the one person she could trust was no fact at all. More accurately, it was a mistake.

He hated feeling helpless. He hated feeling unwanted and discarded. Psychologically, it sent him spiraling back twenty years to the gawky teenager who let everyone take advantage of him, who always offered a shoulder to lean on until his friends realized that he was more useful as a doormat. Snake knew these feelings were selfish and useless. He didn’t blame Darcy. Not with what she was going through. He knew that he couldn’t confront her; it wasn’t his place. Still, he resented her for pulling him in and so rapidly pushing him out when all he wanted to do was help alleviate her pain. But what could a 34-year-old man—a computer teacher, for crying out loud—possibly know about being seventeen, vulnerable, and recently raped?

He was the last person she should have told. No wonder she avoided him now.

A month passed since her confession and Snake wanted so badly to ask her how she was doing; he wanted, for one more fleeting moment, to be a source of comfort. Instead he sat back and did nothing. He played the game. All he could do was hope that she had talked things through with Ms. Sauve, that she was moving on, that she was better.

She wasn’t.

So he was surprised to find her standing on his doorstep exactly thirty-six days since the moment she decided to include him in her world—not that he had been keeping count. He stared at her incredulously, not knowing what to say.

“Can I come in?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“Darcy, it’s almost midnight and my wife just went to bed. I know that I said I was here for you, but you can’t just show up at my house whenever you feel like it, especially after you haven’t said a word to me in over a month. I’m sorry, but whatever it is, it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow after school. Goodnight.”

That was what he should have said. Instead he opened the door wider and wordlessly motioned for her to enter.

She walked timidly into the living room and observed her surroundings before sitting down hesitantly on one end of the couch. He watched her apprehensively before approaching, choosing the opposite end. It mirrored exactly that first day when he asked her if he could sit. And just like they had done then, they sat, in silence.

She spoke first. “I haven’t been able to tell Ms. Sauve.”

“Oh,” he said dumbly.

“Mr. Simpson, I don’t know why, but you’re the only one I can talk to,” she admitted.

“I’m honored,” he began, trying to choose his words carefully, “but you’ve barely said a word to me since the day you told me you were…” He didn’t want to say it.

“I know.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I was embarrassed or something. I don’t know.” She fidgeted in her seat. “And apparently I’m still embarrassed. I should just go,” she said abruptly, jumping up. “I knew this was a stupid idea—”

“Darcy, wait!” Snake cried out helplessly. She was at the door already, but she stopped and turned. He didn’t know what to say. Why was this so hard? She looked at him a moment longer and brought her hand to the doorknob. “I just think—we should…” he spluttered, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that would stop her from walking out the door. “You need to let me help. Let me in.”

Her hand dropped to her side and she met his gaze. He hardly realized he was holding his breath. “What can I do?” she asked, her voice shaking on the words. “How am I supposed to get past this?”

He ran his hand nervously through his thinning hair, wondering if correct answers to those questions even existed. “I just don’t think you should be keeping everything bottled up inside. I think we need to have a real conversation.”

“All I want to do is forget,” Darcy said. “I don’t want to relive it. Talking will bring it back.”

“But if you don’t want to talk, why did you come here?” Snake pressed.

She looked down at her shoes. “I really have to go,” she said quickly, and ran out the door without glancing back. He stood in the doorway and stared into the dark night long after her shadowy figure disappeared, trying to process what the hell had just happened. Finally he closed the door.

His Reason - Life With Derek, PG-13

Title: His Reason
Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the song.
A/N: Written for the Derek/Casey community on LiveJournal, which only ever had one fanfiction contest. The challenge was to incorporate the song “Accidentally in Love” by the Counting Crows. This won second place. However, first place was a fanvid, so I say I still won.
Date Completed: 8/17/06

She hadn’t wanted to go to prom, but it was too late to change her mind after all the money had been spent. George and Nora were strung out enough for cash as it was: trying to save up for a bigger house but desperately wanting to provide their children with the same luxuries that they would have enjoyed before the Venturi-McDonald merge. They had dropped hundreds, easily, to afford Casey and Derek a chance to attend prom: the shining moment in the lackluster sheen of high school, or so all the teen movies had implied. After all the sacrifices that George and Nora had made, Casey wasn’t about to break their hearts by proclaiming that she could no longer bear to attend the dance. The money had been spent and there was no turning back.

Emily, being the loyal and dependable one, had been hyping up the dance every second of every day for the past week in a vain attempt to elicit even the smallest amount of excitement in Casey. Nothing worked. She was inconsolable. Still, Emily’s useless optimism at school was far better than the treatment Casey received at home, where Derek had mocked her relentlessly. “Well, princess, there goes your chances of becoming prom queen. Sam could still be king, though. Because, you know, he’s got a date to prom. Remember? Jackie—the girl he dumped you for?” He’d grin wickedly then and make a run for it, expecting her to lunge after him. Maybe if he had stayed long enough and taken a better look at her to see the tears brimming in her eyes, he would have stopped being so cruel. Then again, it was Derek. That might have encouraged him even more.

What drove Casey crazy was that she couldn’t even pin the blame on Sam. She could hate him for breaking up with her so close to prom, but she couldn’t hate him for breaking up with her. For weeks now, maybe months, she had known it was coming to an end. Graduation was approaching, everyone was stressed, and the looming presence of the legendary high school dance only made it worse. She kept thinking that if they could just make it to prom, things would get better. They couldn’t make it to prom. Sam was the one who ended it, and when he did, Casey had been neither surprised nor brokenhearted. She actually felt a little relieved. There would be no more forced smiles or routine hand-holding or feigned affection. It wasn’t until she discovered that Sam had asked someone else to prom just two days after their breakup that she felt her body go numb and her heart turn to ice. “It’ll be fun,” Emily had insisted. “Just ignore him. You’ll have us. And what are you going to do, sulk all night?”

But that was exactly what Casey was doing as she sat sullenly at the table in her lilac satin dress. Just one more hour and she’d be out of here. She remembered how much she had loved this dress when she saw it in the display window of the tiny boutique on Main Street. “It’s beautiful,” Casey had breathed. Nora paid the $140 without a single question or complaint. Casey had taken the tags off as soon as she brought it home and twirled in front of her full-length mirror, imagining how she’d look on Sam’s arm. She had failed to envision herself wearing the dress in her current position: slumped down in her chair, arms folded and staring despondently into space.

“Hey, sis,” came a taunting voice. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see him leaning over her with his trademark sadistic grin. “So is this a private party, or can I join in?”

“Derek, leave me alone,” Casey mumbled, still refusing to look in his direction and terrified of what hurtful words he might say if he saw her bloodshot eyes.

He didn’t budge, and instead took a seat beside her at the empty table. She turned the other way. “You know, there’s no harm in going stag to prom. I did too. Of course, I could have had a date to prom, but I just like to keep my options open.” He laughed. “You, on the other hand—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Casey shoved her chair backwards with so much force that she nearly knocked it over. She walked quickly and purposefully across the crowded dance floor to Emily. “I’m going outside,” Casey shouted over the music.

“What?”

“I need some air.” Emily continued to stare at her with the same puzzled expression, but Casey turned on her heel and headed briskly for the exit.

“Hey!” a guard called after her. “Once you go out, you can’t come back in!” Not caring, Casey flew by and pushed the heavy door to the outside world. The cool night air hit her face and shoulders almost painfully and the door snapped shut behind her, causing the music to become muffled and barely audible. Finally free, Casey took a few small steps forward and then let herself fall to the stairs of the hotel entrance. She pulled her knees up to her chest and squeezed tight, closing her eyes and wishing the world would explode if that was the only way to end this horrific night.

Suddenly she heard the door open behind her, a small burst of loud music and then a bang as it slammed shut; the music abruptly returned to its hushed distorted form. She expected to hear footsteps, but there were none, and whoever came outside must have been staring directly at her. After a moment’s silence, Casey said, “Emily, you didn’t have to follow me out here. I don’t want to ruin your night too.”

There was a pause, and then a male voice responded, “I’m not Emily. And you’re not ruining my night, although I think maybe I ruined yours.” Derek took a few steps forward and sat down beside her.

Casey’s mouth dropped and she turned and stared at him, this time unafraid to look him directly in the eye. “You just couldn’t let it go, right? Had to get the last word in?” She began to cry then, and he watched her with an unreadable expression on his face. “Well, you win. You always do, right?”

Wordlessly, he reached into his breast pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She almost laughed then; it was so absurd. Only on this night would Derek ever carry a handkerchief, and he was handing it to her. She snatched it from him and tossed it over the railing. It floated down to the cold asphalt of the hotel parking lot. “I think that kind of defeats the purpose,” he said.

“Go away.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I wanted to make things right.”

She actually did laugh then, in a short, angry burst. “Sure you did.” She looked down at her hands and shook her head. “Did it occur to you that maybe you’re the last person I’d like to see right now?”

“I know I am. But I didn’t mean to be.”

“You did mean it. Do I need to spell it out for you?” It was a rhetorical question, which he didn’t realize, and he opened his mouth to respond. Casey cut him off. “You never liked the fact that Sam and I were dating. Sometimes I wonder if I stayed with him as long as I did just to piss you off because I knew how much you hated us together and how much you hated me for stealing your best friend away. But, you win. It ended and now I’m alone at prom and you’re ecstatic. I admit defeat. So if you came out here to gloat some more, to rub it in my face—which I’m sure you did—then just get on with it. But don’t sit there pretending to care.”

He sighed, and didn’t say anything for a while. She was sure he was delaying the agony just to torture her. It was working. Then he said, “Do you hate me?”

She thought about it. “Sometimes.”

“I didn’t come out here to gloat.”

“Fine,” she replied, completely unconvinced.

“I didn’t like that you were dating Sam,” he admitted. This elicited another short and humorless laugh from Casey. “But not for those reasons.”

“You just wanted to see me miserable.”

“I wanted…” he drifted off, and there was a long silence. They both stared out into the vast parking lot. Surely the dance was almost over now. People would come bursting through the doors, toppling them over. They’d go home—separately, of course—and she’d lock herself in her bedroom and cry some more until she fell asleep with her head against the tear-drenched pillow. “I don’t know how to act around you sometimes, Casey.”

“Oh? Do you want to know how you do act?”

“I act like an asshole,” he admitted.

“That’s an understatement.”

“Just listen to me.” There was an unfamiliar urgency in his voice now, and she listened. “I didn’t try to drive you and Sam apart. Yes, it pissed me off from the beginning, and there is a reason why I felt and acted the way I did, but it’s not what you think. I’m not like you. My thoughts and my actions don’t always go together. I don’t understand it myself most of the time.” He had been talking rapidly and stopped to catch his breath. “Do you believe me?”

She hesitated. “I’m not sure I can.”

“Try,” he pleaded.

She sighed. “I’ll try.”

There was another long and uncomfortable silence. Casey wondered if he was ever going to leave and let her return to her miserable solitude. Derek stared at his hands. The moment seemed to stretch out into eternity. “Want to dance?” he asked suddenly.

“Are you kidding me?”

“We can still hear the music,” he said.

“It sounds more like static than music.”

“Come on.” He pulled her to her feet, and Casey was too emotionally drained to resist. She realized then that if she concentrated hard enough, she could actually hear the muted melody and words of the song inside.

Come on, come on
Move a little closer
Come on, come on
I want to hear you whisper
Come on, come on
Settle down inside my love

It wasn’t a slow song, but they slow-danced anyway. Casey was too exhausted to do anything else. Had this been Sam, she might have leaned against his chest, but it was Derek, so she kept her distance. Casey closed her eyes and listened to the song’s lyrics.

Come on, come on
Jump a little higher
Come on, come on
If you feel a little lighter
Come on, come on
We were once
Upon a time in love
We’re accidentally in love

Yes, she thought, it was an accident. It was an accident to stay with Sam as long as she did, and another accident to agree to go to prom with him, holding on to the faint hope that they could make it that long. It was an accident to spend the entire evening sulking when she could have tried to have fun. And this—was this an accident too? The song ended, and Casey looked up at Derek, the weirdness of the moment they had just shared suddenly causing her to feel lightheaded and disoriented. He loosened his grip and she backed away slowly.

I’m in love, I’m in love
I’m in love, I’m in love
I’m in love, I’m in love
Accidentally

“Weird?” He laughed.

“A little.” She looked up at his face and smiled weakly. “You know what? I think that’s the first time I felt like you actually didn’t hate me.”

He returned the smile, and then something in his face, or perhaps his eyes, changed. Casey noticed it right away, and felt her heart rate accelerate drastically, as if she already knew what was about to happen before it did. And then he kissed her.

The whole time he was thinking this is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong but his thoughts and his actions didn’t go together, and she knew it, too. He pulled her against him with a certain roughness, a determination, and kissed her hard. Casey’s thoughts flew a million different places at once and somehow she found herself kissing him back. Then, suddenly—too soon—he pulled away and stepped backwards, tripping over his own feet.

“Oh my god.” He turned around and brought his hands to his face. “Oh my god.”

Casey stood there speechless, and before she could say anything, he took off. She sank slowly down to the steps and watched his body shrink to nothing as he ran across the parking lot and into the darkness. She felt confused and ashamed and strangely exhilarated. Now she knew the reason.

As predicted, she came home long after he did, and went straight to her bedroom. Casey had to wonder if anything else would be predictable ever again. She ended up not sleeping that night at all, choosing instead to stay awake and listen to one song over and over.

Come on, come on
Spin a little tighter
Come on, come on
And the world’s a little brighter
Come on, come on
Just get yourself inside her
Love… I’m in love

And it hurt too much to keep crying, so she smiled instead.

Foolish - So Weird, PG

Title: Foolish
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters or the show, but I do own this wonderful little storyline.
Date Completed: 7/15/05

The moment it began, she made sure to let me know that it wasn’t going to last forever. As much as I knew she was right, I desperately wanted to prove her wrong. She believed it was just a fling—mere sexual attraction—and it would end soon enough. Maybe she was afraid to face reality… or maybe I was.

She set some ground rules immediately. She was always in charge. Anything that happened between us was to happen when no one else was around, or even nearby. Around each other, we had to play it cool. She was still the mother of two of my best friends, and I was still her best friend’s son. That was the way it always had been, and that was the way it always would be as far as anyone else was concerned. And most importantly, no one—no one—could ever find out.

I guess it was my fault. I became careless… sending little glances her way, or casually brushing my hand against her thigh when I sat down beside her. I couldn’t help it! Maybe she was right about the very thing I tried so hard to disprove—that I was just a kid. No, of course she never told me that to my face, but I could see it in her eyes sometimes. Every time I saw that look, I knew we were coming closer to an end. The harder I tried to control it, and to prolong our precious moments that were becoming increasingly brief and less frequent, the more she pulled away. It got so extreme that eventually, except for the occasional midnight encounter, she avoided me completely.

Finally, I did the only thing I could do. One night after the show, I pulled her aside and confronted her.

“Why are you doing this?” It pained me to ask.

Her voice was cold. “I told you this wasn’t going to last.”

“I thought you cared,” I said meekly. There was no response. She simply shifted her gaze and stared off, far away into the distance. “So what am I to you, huh? Do I mean anything to you at all?”

Quickly, her eyes met mine. “Of course I care. And of course you mean something to me. But this—this has to end.”

“Why?”

“Why? Do I really have to explain this? You’re my best friend’s son.”

“So that’s it. You think I’m just a boy,” I said bitterly.

She sighed. “It’s more complicated than that. For god’s sake—I’ve known you since you were baby. I watched you when you were young.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. This isn’t meant to be.”

“And who decides that?” I demanded.

“I do.” On that note, she turned on her heel and walked away from me. I watched her retreat, confusedly blinking back tears. As usual, she had been right. I felt foolish—foolish for ever letting it happen in the first place, foolish for believing it would actually last, and foolish for trying.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, and it startled me. For a second I almost believed that maybe she had changed her mind, and come back to apologize… but I was wrong. It was my mom.

“Hey,” she said. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I muttered.

I knew she didn’t believe me, but she could tell from the look on my face that I didn’t want to talk about it. “Okay,” she said softly. “Do you know where Irene went? I can’t find her anywhere.”

I shook my head weakly, and my mom offered me a sympathetic smile before walking away. Trying to regain composure, I brushed away my tears and then, slowly, cautiously, I began to walk away too.

Another Sleepless Night - Degrassi, PG

Title: Another Sleepless Night
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters.
Date Completed: 12/7/03

I didn’t sleep last night. I think I haven’t slept for three weeks straight. I can’t stop thinking about what he said… and everything he’s ever said.

I can’t be who you want me to be.

I almost wish I could just get rid of him for good. No, I don’t want to be friends. I don’t want to be anything that’s just a lie for me.

That’s what this is about, isn’t it?

And all those times we had been alone… nothing. And those times I kissed him, and he just sat there, unmoving, like a statue.

I’m sick of the little tirade we put on for our friends. So nobody would suspect anything, he said. Just make my life more torturous. Just make it more obvious that we can never be together.

I tried to convince myself that he was in denial. I tried to change myself for him, so maybe he’d change his mind. Maybe he’d realize that he was wrong all along. That he loved me just like I loved him.

I tried to ignore him. I tried to ignore the way his hair would fall across his forehead or the way he had a little hop in his step when he was excited or the way he laughed when he thought that something was really funny. I tried to ignore my feelings for him, block them out, pretend they never existed in the first place. Pretend he never existed in the first place.

I tried to make him jealous. I tried to meet new people and go on dates but somehow everyone I dated reminded me of him. Everywhere I went reminded me of places I went with him. Everything reminded me of him.

And when the doorbell rang tonight I tried to pretend I didn’t hear, but I couldn’t. I tried to act nonchalant when I opened the door and saw him standing there.

“Hi, Marco.”

He came in, wordlessly, like he always did. Because we were best friends and words were unnecessary for us.

He started to cry and I sincerely wanted to kick him out of my house. Where was he when I needed him? But I didn’t. I never would.

And then we sat on the sofa and he continued to sob and I held him, rubbing his back. Running my fingers through his soft dark hair.

“I’m such an idiot,” he whispered.

I held him tighter, like I always did, murmuring that it would be okay. Because it would be, for him.

“You know I’ll always be here for you,” I told him. And I meant it, too.

He looked up at me with those big brown eyes. He wasn’t really crying anymore. “I know you will,” he said, “but—”

“But you can’t be who I want you to be,” I finished for him.

“I love Dylan…”

Of course he did. Or course he loved Dylan, Paige’s gorgeous, tall, athletic, blond, older brother. And it didn’t matter that he and Dylan had fights seemingly every single day. It didn’t matter that he was crying over something Dylan did or said right now.

“Why?” I asked suddenly. Marco looked up at me, clearly taken aback. “Look at what he’s doing to you… I would never do this to you… why can’t you leave him, Marco? Why can’t you be with me?”

“Because I can’t!” he almost shouted. “Don’t you get it? I can’t force myself to be something I’m not… to feel something I just can’t feel…”

“Why?” I begged. “Does he do this for you? Can you show up on his doorstep wanting nothing more than for him to hold you while you cry? Can you call him in the middle of the night for no reason at all? Can you tell him your deepest thoughts, your wishes, your fears? Can you?” I was almost screaming. “Does he even care about you at all?”

He stood up. “I better go,” he said, already heading for the door.

“Marco, please…”

He stepped out onto the front porch, and then turned around and looked at me one last time. “I’m begging you, let it go already. Just let it go. We can’t be together… I don’t feel that way… you know that. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t say anything. Maybe I just wouldn’t anymore. Maybe I wouldn’t even have to pretend to hate him anymore. Maybe I really would.

But somehow I doubted it.

“Goodnight, Spinner,” he said softly.

I closed the door, went upstairs, and anticipated another sleepless night.