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!