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.