a word or a touch or a bit of blood

Time After Time - Degrassi, PG-13

2008-10-26T01:01:00.006-04:00

Spoilers for season 8 up to 804 and the "Curse of Degrassi" special (sort of). Written for aphrodite_mine.

Jane didn't flinch at Holly J.'s offensive comment. She wasn't one to succumb to stereotypes, and besides, she was happy with Spinner—he was a great guy who really cared about her. He protected her. He came to her defense when things got rough. She wasn't here to start any sort of social movement, really—she just wanted to play football, and she knew all along that she was as good as the guys. She could play as hard and dirty as the rest of them. Harder, even. Dirtier.

During games, Jane scanned the crowd for Spinner's eyes, his encouraging smile. She just needed a glimpse of him, and then she could regain focus, running even faster than before, holding the ball tighter, throwing it harder. When she was really in the zone, nothing could disrupt her concentration. The Power Squad might be jumping and screaming only a few feet away, reciting whatever ridiculous rhymes they had written out the night before, but Jane hardly noticed.

It wasn't Spinner's fault when he was out of town and missed that one game, which just happened to the one where Jane scored the winning touchdown. She had no eyes or smile to find in the crowd, so she sought Mia's instead. It would have been impossible to miss how brightly her former best friend was beaming. And hey, "former best" didn't even really apply anymore. They were friendly again. Sort of. Which is why Jane thought nothing of it—really—when Mia enveloped her in a hug and shouted in her ear, over the chaos of the crowd, "We should do something tonight to celebrate." Because Mia was right; they should.

So they had a celebratory dinner and dessert and Jane figured it was only polite to invite Mia back to her house to watch a movie, "Like old times." Mia enthusiastically agreed and, fifteen minutes later, Jane was browsing her DVD collection for the perfect flick and Mia was sitting cross-legged on her bed, examining the dozens of photos on her wall and reminiscing. Jane sat beside her when she decided on the movie and pressed play, but somehow the night turned out to be more like old times than they had originally planned—or at least, more like that one time in grade eight when they got drunk and made out on a dare.

It was, however, a welcome diversion from old times for Mia. She was used to partaking in sinful acts in Jane's bed, but previously could only imagine that she was kissing Jane instead of Jane's brother. And now she actually was. Jane, who was so used to playing rough—tighter, faster, harder—found that Mia's embrace calmed her down. She wanted to go slowly. Gently. She wanted to appreciate every minute.

But, like old times, Mia wasn't the type to wait around, and Jane was too stubborn to admit when something was right. Or in this case, someone—and about her. (A budding lesbian indeed.) She pulled away and told Mia to leave, and that she was sorry, but this meant nothing. Because she was in love with Spinner, she said, and although she knew how stupid those words sounded, and although Jane could tell that Mia knew she was lying, the truth would have been impossible to admit.

"You're not so different from the guys after all," Mia told her, and Jane didn't dare to look up as she walked out the door. And in the tradition of reliving the past, Mia didn't feel too bad about participating in some potentially destructive behavior, which apparently involved a wild party with alcohol and loud music and grinding up on an equally intoxicated Holly J., and it certainly was not like old times at all.

"This," Holly J. said right afterwards, "never happened."

"What? You don't want people to know you finally swiped your V-card? But Holly J., I thought that's what you wanted." Mia was surprised by how cruel she could still be to this girl she hated so much, even when they most certainly had just had sex.

"Be glad there's no chance you'll get pregnant this time, Mama Mia," Holly J. sneered, pulling her shirt over her head and gathering her things. "And if anyone finds out about this, I'll make your life hell." Her clothes were back on and she was on her way downstairs to join the party again before Mia could form a response.

Within minutes, though, Holly J. realized that the party was absolutely the last place on earth that she wanted to be right now, so she went home to her own bedroom and sat on her own virginal bed, reaching under her pillow for that infamous list, the one with every guy's name crossed out because none of them were good enough. Was that it?, she wondered. Was it because they were guys?

Back at school on Monday, she surprised herself by being nicer to everyone, especially Mia. Maybe it was the fear that her secret would come out. But Mia actually kept her end of the bargain. And life returned to normal—kind of. Except this reformed, nicer Holly J. actually felt sympathetic when she walked into the girl's locker room during lunch to take a shower and found Jane sitting alone on the bench, sobbing.

Holly J. hadn't meant to ask what was wrong, but she did, and found out that Jane had been dumped by Spinner because he found out that she cheated on him. Holly J. certainly never intended to sit beside her and rub her back and say, "It's going to be okay," but she did. And she definitely never expected that Jane would respond by pressing her lips to hers, but she did, and Holly J. kissed her back, surprised by how rough and urgent the other girl felt against her. They were already breathing hard when they pulled away a few moments later.

"I think I just hit a new low," Jane said, making a face.

Suddenly insulted, Holly J. warned, "You better not tell anyone about this."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Trust me, I don't want anyone to know either."

Her words stung briefly, but later, Holly J. couldn't help smiling as she walked through the halls—locking eyes with Jane and Mia, all three newly aware of the connection they shared. She wondered if it would really be so bad if people found out, and if it made any difference. She wondered if she might be budding too. Maybe they all were.

Floating - RPFS (Demi/Meaghan), R

2008-10-02T01:47:00.007-04:00

Written for aphrodite_mine for her birthday. :)

Demi spotted her almost immediately—which would have been meaningful, she thought, if she hadn't been actively scanning the set for that hair, those eyes, that smile from the moment she arrived. And she had to stop herself from sucking in her breath, from blushing, from doing anything that might get her into trouble like it had over the summer.

"So... what... exactly... are you trying to tell me?" Selena asked, and with every pause Demi could feel her heart being suffocated.

"Forget it," she said, and laughed. "I don't even know, really."

"Okay," Selena said, and they never mentioned it after that.

But looking at Meaghan made her feel it all over again. Free. As if she were floating. Demi remembered spotting her across the room when she went to the audition. (It was impossible not to see her, after all. Her beauty seemed to radiate.) And she had to command herself to stop looking, to stop wondering how soft her hair was, or how soft her lips were, or how sweet her mouth might taste... and then the casting director had called her name and she disappeared. Meaghan. Meaghan. It was all Demi knew about her, and truthfully, she never made any attempts to find out anything else. She had other things on her mind, which was what she tried to tell Selena that rainy night in July—

"I don't know if I could ever have a real boyfriend, you know?" Selena shook her head. "It's just, um... I think I like girls more," and the words slurred together when she said it and Demi cringed because it wasn't even true; it was such an understatement. And Selena obviously didn't want any part of it, so they spent the rest of the summer avoiding the topic.

But summer was over now, Demi reasoned, and she lifted her eyes just in time to catch Meaghan's, whose whole face brightened in a way that seemed to Demi to say more than just hey-I-recognize-you. Maybe hey-I-remember-you, or hey-I've-been-thinking-about-you, or hey-I-think-you're-pretty-and-I'd-like-to-know-you-better, or...

"Hey!" Meaghan said, and nothing followed it.

Demi grinned. "Hey. I remember you." (Understatement, again.)

"Yeah, you too." She laughed. I'm Meaghan," she added, and surprised Demi with a hug, and it was one of those good hugs, the kind that stays with you all day, and Demi could feel the softness of Meaghan's hair against her cheek and smell whatever fruity body splash she was wearing and feel every curve of the other girl's body pressed against her own, for just a moment. "So who are you?" Meaghan asked when they separated.

"What?" Demi laughed nervously. "Um, Demi. Demi Lovato."

Meaghan giggled and rolled her eyes. "I know who you are." Demi's stomach lurched for a moment—had Meaghan been asking about her?—and then she added, "I've seen your show. I meant, which part did you get?"

"Oh! Right. Mitchie. I'm playing Mitchie."

"Oh my god, that's awesome! I'm playing Tess. We're going to have a lot of scenes together. And"—she pointed to a trailer not far from where they stood—"we're sharing a dressing room too."

Demi stared dumbly at the trailer. "That's... that's awesome," was all she could think to say.

"Let's hope we don't end up hating each other like our characters," Meaghan teased.

"You know, I have a good feeling that that won't happen," Demi said, smiling, and she realized at that moment that she was probably flirting.

But Meaghan smiled back. Whatever they were doing, she didn't seem to mind.

They grew much closer in the weeks to follow, and it seemed the more Demi hoped her ridiculous crush would just go away already, it only got worse. It probably didn't help that she saw her costar in just a bra and panties on a daily basis. Meaghan wasn't very modest—Demi liked that about her. She liked everything about her, really.

"What's this?" Meaghan asked one day, snatching a necklace from the top of Demi's bureau. She looked a little more closely and laughed. "Oh, you have one of these too? Is this a requirement for working for Disney now?" She waved the promise ring in the air.

Demi blushed. "Um... Selena gave it to me, actually, after she got hers. I don't usually wear it," she added, wondering how defensive she sounded.

Meaghan put the necklace down and asked abruptly, "So, do you really think you're going to 'wait till marriage'?" She put air quotes on the final three words.

"I... don't know," Demi said honestly. "I don't know if I even want to get married."

"But don't you want to be pure and perfect for your husband on your wedding day?" Meaghan grinned.

"I'm not a pure and perfect type of girl," Demi responded, watching Meaghan carefully, trying to see if she could find a sign of something, anything, in her reaction.

Meaghan held her gaze, unflinching, and then her cell phone rang, signalling the end of whatever this might have been.

Most days were pretty mundane.

But one day, Meaghan burst into their shared trailer practically glowing, grinning so widely that her face seemed to be frozen in a state of eternal elation. "Party tonight!" she nearly shrieked. "Finally."

"What? Here?"

"Yeah. I just talked to Kevin. He bought all the beer and got us a hotel room. A suite, actually." Meaghan fussed with her hair in the mirror. "Oh my god, you don't know how happy this makes me. I need a release."

"But how did he..." Demi began.

"Stop asking questions!" Meaghan said. "Seriously, for someone who swore to me that she's not pure and perfect..." she turned to Demi and grinned. "It's going to be fine. Don't worry, no one at Disney is going to find out."

Demi wasn't about to say that Disney was the least of her concerns.

They helped each other pick out their outfits, as if they were going to some fancy gala instead of an impromptu party with a couple dozen underage cast members. It didn't make too much difference to Demi, really—it's not like she ever wore dresses. But Meaghan did, and this one seemed impossibly small and tight and clung to her in all the right spots and holy crap she could not stop staring.

Meaghan noticed. "I look pretty hot, don't I?" She giggled and Demi almost resented her because this was torture, seriously, and she would now have to spend the whole evening pretending it wasn't.

Once they got to the party, Meaghan's outfit seemed pretty silly. Mostly everyone else was dressed casually and weather-appropriately, and a number of jaws dropped when the girls entered the room. Meaghan owned it, though, greeting everyone with a curtsey and promptly asking for a beer. Demi watched in awe. Seconds later, Meaghan shoved a can in Demi's hand too. "This," she said seriously, "will make all your worries disappear."

A few beers later, Demi felt somewhat drunk and Meaghan, apparently, was already wasted. "Lessee what the guys're doing," she slurred, grabbing Demi's hand and pulling her over to the dining table, where they were apparently playing some kind of drinking game involving cards that was clearly too complicated for the girls in their inebriated states of mind. Meaghan sat down and patted the seat of the chair next to her.

"Meaghan, I don't think we can play," Demi said, laughing, but she sat down anyway.

"Whatcha guys doing?" Meaghan asked loudly, and no one bothered to answer. She leaned close to Demi and whispered, "I dun think they like me very much." Her lips just barely grazed Demi's earlobe and she shivered at the contact.

They sat for a bit in silence, the alcohol having mellowed them out. Demi wasn't sure how long they had been sitting before Meaghan grabbed her hand and placed it on the skirt of her dress. "I was stupid to wear such thin material," she said, sounding a bit more coherent now. "See how thin that is?"

"Um," Demi said, trying to ignore how hard her heart was beating. "Yeah. But... it's, um, a really nice dress." She didn't dare move her hand from Meaghan's thigh. She wondered how long she'd be allowed to keep it there.

"I was stupid," Meaghan repeated, and they fell silent again. Demi wondered if maybe she was cold, but then again, she didn't feel cold—she felt, actually, warm. And nice, really nice. Demi could feel her face flush as she realized that a similar heat was forming between her own legs, and she still didn't dare to move her hand.

As if she were reading her mind, Meaghan leaned close and whispered, "I'm really horny right now. If I don't make out with someone I might die." At that, Demi was positive her face turned bright red, but before she could think of anything to say, Meaghan added, "Your hand is on my thigh."

"I know," Demi whispered back. Something—the alcohol in her system, or plain old stupidity—convinced her that it would be a good idea to clarify, "I like it there." Immediately, she cringed. Of course, she had to go and say something completely idiotic. She braced herself, but then Meaghan surprised her.

"I prefer it here," she whispered, and pulled away the fabric of the dress so Demi was touching only skin. Fearfully, she looked up at the guys, but they were too immersed in their game to notice what was happening.

What was happening? Demi tightened her grip on Meaghan's leg. "What, um, do you want me to do?" she asked softly.

Meaghan brought her mouth so close to Demi's ear that at first she felt only her breath. "Touch me," she whispered.

Demi couldn't move for a moment, wanting to preserve this moment exactly as it was so she would never forget, and then thinking—the hell with it. She slid her hand slowly across Meaghan's smooth skin, trying to keep her touch as light as possible until she reached the fabric of her panties. Which were damp. She pressed and rubbed small circles and could feel her fingers getting sticky, and Meaghan whimpered, and then—Demi pulled away.

"I can't," she said, standing up.

"No, no, no..." Meaghan cried, reaching for her in desperation. Demi had already left the room and was pacing down the hallway when Meaghan caught up with her. "Demi! I'm sorry. I just, I had this feeling that you wanted to, and I wanted you to, and—I mean, why do you think I pretended to be so drunk? Why do you think I wore this dress?"

"I would have liked to kiss you first!" Demi nearly shouted. "I've never even kissed a girl."

"So... kiss me," Meaghan said. "That is, if you still want to..."

Suddenly it registered. "You wore that dress for me?" Demi whispered. Meaghan started to nod, but was interrupted by Demi's lips on hers, and hands on hips and fingers in hair and tongues tasting the insides of mouths.

"I think, maybe, we need to get a room," Meaghan said finally, giggling, but since they were too young to get one in the hotel, they held hands and walked back to the dressing room they shared, mutually undressing and discovering each other in the dark, not stopping until they felt they were floating. Free.

Caged, free (you and me) - Degrassi High, PG-13

2008-09-13T00:50:00.000-04:00

Response to prompt “Heather/Erica, mirror” for the ficathon at Degrassi Femslash. Title is from an Imogen Heap lyric. Implied incest.

It wasn’t like she had planned it. But if that was supposed to make it better somehow, it didn’t. It made it more worthy of obsession. The kind of fixation that kept her up all night, every night. Thinking without trying to wonder too much. Without being jealous.

Jealous: that was her immediate reaction. It didn’t make any sense to Heather that, despite being identical, all the boys fawned after only Erica. It was like they knew something that she didn’t.

So Erica was gone. (Again.) Out, again. With what’s-his-face. (Jason.) Right. Jason. And Heather was alone again, always alone, trying to focus on anything except Erica being out with a boy doing god-knows-what. Letting him do god-knows-what to her. Heather didn’t want to speculate and theorize—not like she had to. Deep down, she knew exactly what was going on, and it wasn’t because of the twin intuition thing. This, unfortunately, was just common sense.

Jealous. Jealous. Jealous.

She was practically saturated in jealousy. No, she didn’t want to hear the details of couple life, of her sister’s sex life... not that they were having sex. There was no way Erica could be having sex. It was incomprehensible. But even without sex, plenty remained for Heather to agonize over, to recreate in frantic unwanted detail. Jason kissing Erica... Jason slipping his tongue inside Erica’s mouth... Jason moving his hand slowly up the inside of Erica’s thigh...

Focus. Read a book or something. Anything. But it was summer. And there was nothing to do. She would have to learn how to be an individual for once. She would have to find friends who weren’t Erica to go out with. She would have to be independent. And she didn’t want to. Heather never cared, like Erica apparently did now, that she and her sister were so codependent. She liked it. No, she loved it. She never gave much thought to how unhealthy that might be. Even if they didn’t always get along—hell, even if more often than not, Erica drove her crazy, especially lately—it didn’t matter too much.

“I liked things the way they were,” she said aloud, but no one was around to hear. The words didn’t come out when Erica came home in the evening (and later, in the night, and later, in the early morning, and eventually, just as the sun was rising). Heather couldn’t bring herself to say it. Didn’t want to upset her sister. Didn’t want to sound jealous. Didn’t want to answer the question that would inevitably follow.

Jealous of whom?

It was already there, though. Already suffocating her in nightmares laced with visions of touching that skin, kissing those lips, fingers twisting through hair and gliding over skin, slipping into orifices unexplored. When she awoke, she was breathing hard and dripping beads of sweat. Jealous of whom? What did that even mean? She was jealous of Erica, of course. Erica, the outgoing one, the flirty one, the one who got all the attention. The one who got all the boys. Heather knew she was jealous.

Only she didn’t want attention. And she didn’t want boys. She just wanted her sister back. No, more than that—she wanted her sister for herself. She considered, momentarily, how fucked up the implications of that might be, but then she couldn’t be too sure. She and Erica were each one-half of the same, after all. Everyone knew that twins had a special connection. Maybe this kind of attachment was natural.

Maybe not.

Summer ended—finally—but then, so did everything else. Erica revealed that she might be pregnant. Heather realized, then, that it was all over. Everything. So Erica and Jason had, in fact, had sex—her worst fears confirmed. But that seemed insignificant now. Jealousy (of whomever) seemed insignificant now compared to the enormity of her sister having a human being forming inside of her. An unborn someone who was already becoming a new piece of both of them... and then, suddenly, wasn’t.

Heather found herself plagued once more by sleepless nights, for different reasons altogether.

But she got her wish: Erica was hers again. Maybe that explained her guilt. It took an abortion to get her sister back, but maybe she was responsible. Heather found herself feeling guiltier still when blood-stained cruelties were etched across lockers and washroom mirrors. Maybe, Heather thought, if she hadn’t been so passive... maybe Erica wouldn’t have spent her entire summer misbehaving with Jason. Maybe she would have stayed home, with her, where she belonged.

“I’m sorry,” she said one night, months later. She hadn’t meant to. They were supposed to be past this, and Heather knew it, but she couldn’t be with so many feelings unshared. “This summer, I should have said something... I should have stopped you.”

Erica didn’t get it, of course. How could she? “You couldn’t have stopped me,” she said. “I’m my own person. I make my own choices, and I chose to sleep with Jason.” She said it all so matter-of-factly. As if it were obvious. As if she wanted her sister to shut up before she said something stupid. (As if she could prevent it.)

Heather shook her head. “No, I mean...” And she stopped herself, suddenly unsure.

“You were jealous,” Erica said simply. Only it was not that simple. And Heather knew her sister still didn’t get it.

“Yes,” she confessed. She would have to be more direct, not just if she wanted her sister to understand... but because she needed to make sense of it herself. And she needed Erica to help. “But not of you.” And even though at this point she didn’t have to, she clarified. “I was jealous of him.”

Erica said nothing. Her attention drifted. She turned to look in the vanity mirror they shared, so Heather looked too, for the first time really noticing their shared reflection. There were four of them. Four of the same person, the same DNA. And all those complicated feelings—love, hate, jealousy, sadness, desire, protection, devotion, possession—multiplied. And then Heather turned away, facing Erica again, and all those other pieces disappeared. Perhaps this was her true reflection. Perhaps this—perhaps she—was the only other piece she needed.

Finally her sister met her gaze, and the mirror and the rest of the room and the rest of the universe, even, faded into the background. Four became only two. Heather reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind Erica’s ear. They seemed to melt into one another. Lips pursed. Eyes steady. Heather held her breath before leaning in—and then they were one.

(Maybe it was a bit fucked up after all. But it wasn’t like she had planned it.)

Calamine - RPFS (Demi/Selena), PG-13

2008-08-20T00:26:00.002-04:00

Warning: Real-person femslash.

Selena wondered if things would be easier if she were a normal teenage girl. If she hadn't jumped headfirst into show business at the age of seven, if she wasn't faced with this insanely grown-up task of holding a career, if she didn't have to balance the responsibilities of actress and singer and dancer and Disney star and ROLE MODEL in big capital letters. If she could just... be.

Because sixteen-year-olds shouldn't have to complete five rounds of the talk show circuit in a span of a week. A sixteen-year-old girl should be able to sleep in during the summer and not wake up at the crack of dawn and make herself look presentable for an interview that's airing only on the radio, for god's sake. She shouldn't have to work fourteen-hour days shooting episodes, and she especially shouldn't have to field embarrassing questions asked by important strangers more than twice her age about who she is or isn't dating, because most sixteen-year-old girls wouldn't dare to talk about that even with their own parents.

She loved her job, of course, but sometimes she just missed... the little things, the normal-girl-things, the past nine years of her life that she didn't get to have because she was running from audition to audition to audition. She felt tired. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to be one of the sixteen-year-old girls watching the Disney stars on TV and wishing she could be one of them, rather than, well, being one of them. Because to be Selena Gomez was stressful, exhausting, even terrifying. And she wasn't stupid. She saw what the media was doing to Miley; she recognized that she could be next. All she could do was wait helplessly for the impending backlash, sure to start the second she broke the facade of her flawless good-girl image.

And Selena knew it was about to break. She had known for months—at some unconscious level, maybe for years. Maybe for what seemed like forever.

If she were to go back and change the decisions she had made as a little kid, it would have started with Barney, and it would have started with never asking her mom if she could go to that audition. But just thinking about that audition made Selena smile, because had it not been for standing for hours in line with thousands of other bright-eyed oblivious seven-year-olds—too young to know any better—she never would have met Demi. And without Demi, there just... would be no point. Selena couldn't imagine life without her.

So despite her own selfish wishes for that irretrievable normal teenage life, Selena smiled for the thousand flashing lights at award ceremonies and drank the never-quite-sweet-enough coffee served to her on the morning talk shows and waved to the paparazzi when they deemed her interesting enough to take her picture. Because, at least, she knew that in a month she'd have one day to herself, when she wouldn't have to work, when she and Demi could goof off in her bedroom and make five new ridiculous YouTube videos and sing along with Paramore on the radio and play Twister in their pajamas and collapse into heaps of sprawled arms and legs and breathless giggles before falling asleep under the covers, side by side. Maybe that one day of teenage normalcy could be enough.

But when it came to the Teen Choice Awards on that scorching night in August, Selena felt an itch, and it wasn't just her uncomfortable (though breathtaking) cerulean designer dress that no normal teenage girl would ever be fortunate enough to wear even to prom. She felt restless—which was crazy, considering she'd hardly slept in weeks—and anxious and as if she could burst, and the only thing keeping her sane was the fact that Demi was sitting beside her. And the reporters were at it again, asking her about Miley, about Nick, about the supposed feud between the three of them and Selena thought that maybe tonight would be the night that these walls (too poorly constructed, because she'd built them herself) would come crashing down and they'd stomp all over her broken pieces. The anxiety was killing her, her heart was racing, her skin was hot, and then—and then—Demi's hand would slip across her back to Selena's shoulder, and it was like calamine lotion: soothing, cool, relief. All the little nuances instantly melting away.

Selena didn't want it to be temporary, as this relief so often was, because she remembered getting poison ivy as a kid—maybe the one "normal kid" event that she could actually recall—and that feeling that the itch might never go away. Stay, she thought, but she didn't dare say it aloud. Don't leave me. (And what was there to be afraid of, after all?) But she felt herself regressing; she remembered a time when they were little, when their mothers took them shopping and somehow they ended up alone, maybe not even for a full minute, and they would have (should have) been terrified—had they not had each other to cling to, the two little girls alone in a store. Selena felt like that again, so she felt herself reaching, grasping, clinging, shamelessly putting her hands where most sixteen-year-old girls wouldn't dare with their friends, but Selena and Demi were different, after all. And Selena knew it. She always had.

It was easier to smile for the camera with Demi's soft finger tracing slow circles on her shoulderblade as Selena tightened her grip on Demi's knee, and Demi giggled, but neither of them said a word. And soon, like that, their hands were all over each other the entire evening, pulling, groping, longing, neither wanting to let go, not caring that these pictures would be plastered all over the internet by tonight, and the magazines by the end of the week. Would anyone notice, or care? They were just being sixteen-year-old girls, after all. So they didn't have to come up with excuses, or reasons why, and besides, it was obvious already: because they were best friends, or because they needed each other, or because of course they wouldn't leave each other's side, or something else. Or something else.

And so tonight they would climb into a limo, side-by-side, bodies turned towards each other, knees pressed together, smiling-speechless-laughing. They would go back to Selena's house and maybe, if they weren't totally exhausted, make another YouTube video for their fans to enjoy, because that webcam, despite its inability to pick up good lighting, somehow always managed to capture their true "Demi Selena Lovato Gomez" moments.

Or maybe, tonight, they wouldn't turn on the webcam at all. Maybe they wouldn't need to use the Twister mat as an excuse for falling so hard, so fast, hands and legs intertwined. Maybe, tonight, they'd create new moments altogether, tracing circles over skin as smooth as calamine, and finally finally feel that relief they had been searching for since the day they met. Maybe fancy cerulean not-prom dresses could lie in comfortable heaps on the floor with black leather pants and button-down jackets and high-heeled shoes, and fingers could reach to touch the spots where calamine lotion is never applied, to relieve itches in places no one sees.

Flying - Wizards of Waverly Place, PG

2008-08-18T17:09:00.000-04:00

Written for Wizards of Waverly Place Weekly Prompts. Implied incest. 178 words.

We could put a blanket over this, they said. We could cover it, fold it up and lock it away. We could find a rug to sweep this under, they whispered, like it never happened. We can hide this behind closed doors, closed mouths, closed eyes and closed hearts in order to keep it from all the closed minds.

But the blanket would come out again when they needed something to keep themselves warm.

And the rug would grace the floor once more when it became too cold and uncomfortable to walk over.

Doors were opened for exploration; mouths were opened for exploration; eyes were opened more widely for better searching, even if they didn't always like what they found. And hearts—definitely hearts—were open, because if they weren't, they might combust.

"This isn't working," Alex sighed. "We need to find something else."

And since the blanket didn't work, and the rug didn't work, and closed doors and mouths and eyes and hearts never worked either, they decided to find a carpet. Not to hide under, but to set themselves—finally—free.

Songs Not Yet Written - Camp Rock, PG-13

2008-08-03T02:00:00.013-04:00

Mitchie meant it when she thanked her parents for giving her the best summer of her life. She made friends she wouldn't forget; she performed in front of everyone; she proved to herself and to the world—as it existed in that moment—who she truly was and what she was really about. She had held Shane Gray's hands in both of her own and won him over completely. These were the picture-perfect moments that she would talk about and share for months to come.

But when she thought about that summer, none of those memories came to mind.

From the moment Mitchie arrived on the campgrounds, it had been about her. The summer had not been about proving herself, or forming a connection with Shane, or sharing her music with the world, or bonding with Caitlyn, or trying to be popular. It had always, only been about Tess.

Mitchie didn't want to think about what that might mean. Because at first—at first—it seemed simple. It seemed a matter of making new friends, of standing out for once, of being popular. And it had nothing (absolutely nothing) to do with the way she had noticed Tess' hair gleam in the sunlight the first time she laid eyes on her. It had nothing to do with the feelings she got watching the way Tess carried herself, the way she laughed, the way she smiled, the way she moved with the music when she sang. Because those were just feelings of admiration, of wanting to be accepted, of borderline idol-worship so common among teenage girls. And it definitely had nothing to do with being so excited to share a cabin with her, or the way she felt her mouth turn dry and her stomach do flips when Tess insisted that Mitchie take the bed next to hers.

Of course it had nothing to do with any of that, Mitchie told herself. Yet she was the only girl at the entire camp not obsessing over Shane Gray's presence, instead focusing all her energy on trying to impress Tess. On trying to win over this girl she barely seemed to know, on forming a relationship that she could not explain—not to Caitlyn, or her own mother, or to Shane months later when he'd ask her about it as they lay in each other's arms pretending—because explanations were too complicated.

What scared Mitchie the most was that she did know Tess. One look at her was enough to know that Tess needed to be saved as badly as she did, and Mitchie—out of her element as she was—convinced herself that she would be the one to do it. Regardless of the lies she'd have to tell along the way.

And naturally it fell apart, because that was how these things went. Because Tess had the upper hand; she always did. Mitchie hated her for it, for using that magnetism on her and pulling her in, because now there was no way out. She could sit in classroom corners, she could hide from the world and cry, but escaping Tess's forcefield was an impossibility. She could sing, she could dance, but she could not start or stop this.

Mitchie shouldn't have been surprised when their fight felt more like a breakup than the end of a friendship. And she shouldn't have been so pleased when Tess finally apologized. She shouldn't have acted like it was nothing, because it wasn't nothing, and she shouldn't have been lying in bed wide awake at two a.m. on her last night at camp still thinking about it, so she stopped. She needed to get out of her head and out of these thoughts, so she grabbed her sweater and walked around outside for a while but of course found herself standing before Tess' cabin, because it was the direction she had been walking in all along, the entire summer. The door was unlatched and she made her way across the room quietly, placing a hand on the other girl's small shoulder.

"Tess," she whispered. "Tess."

A few moments passed before Tess opened her eyes, and she smiled when she saw Mitchie. "Hey."

Mitchie realized her hand was still on her shoulder, and she pulled it away. "I just... um. I wanted to tell you how much your apology meant to me. I felt like I didn't make that clear before."

Tess pulled herself up in bed and rubbed her eyes. "You came over here to tell me that?"

"Well, sure. I guess."

Tess smiled. "My apology shouldn't have meant much. I treated you like shit."

"It's—it's okay," Mitchie said, embarrassed. "I mean. You didn't. I mean, I guess, it could have been worse..." She could feel herself blushing. Tess always had that effect. Mitchie wanted to hate her for it, but—couldn't.

Tess didn't say anything, and Mitchie found herself feeling increasingly stupid. Maybe this was a bad idea. But then—somewhat shyly, Tess said, "The ironic thing is how I tried to drag you down, when I'd give anything for a mom like yours." Mitchie was quiet. "I mean, did you see my mom tonight? Did you see me?" Tess laughed; it was harsh against the silence. Then, softly, "How do you like that? The girl who tries to be so big and scary is the most fragile of all."

Mitchie still couldn't think of anything to say, but she tried. "Tess, I—"

"No, forget it. I'm happy for you, Mitchie. Look at all you've done. You were so brave tonight. You really proved yourself"—she paused, smiling—"and Shane Gray seems quite fond of you."

Mitchie could see her eyes shining in the dark. She had trouble finding the words, but finally they came: "It was never really about that though, was it?"

Tess didn't respond, and for the first time Mitchie felt like maybe the playing field had evened out between them, the power had finally shifted and for once, she could be in control. Maybe she could take charge for once and Tess would let her. Maybe, this time, she could lean in and kiss Tess on the lips and not worry about how she would react to her every tiny move. So Mitchie leaned in. And she kissed her. And she stopped thinking about what it may or may not mean, because it was the first truly honest thing she had done all summer.

She still had a long way to go, of course. But she could smile later that night as she finally fell asleep, thinking about how the next summer would be even better. She could hum lyrics to songs not yet written.

Six weeks, three months, six months - House M.D., PG-13

2008-07-16T17:48:00.001-04:00

Written for Femgenficathon '08 on LJ.

Prompt: “Some days you must learn a great deal. But you should also have days when you allow what is already in you to swell up and touch everything. If you never let that happen, then you just accumulate facts, and they begin to rattle around inside of you.” - E.L. Konigsburg.
Warnings: references to drug use, minor self-injury, slight language, spoilers for episode 2x07 “Hunting.”
Summary: Occurs in the aftermath of Cameron’s HIV scare in season two. She doesn’t think about dying anymore. She isn’t sure if she’s anyone’s doctor now. In a life defined by a relentless desire to save everyone around her, it was fitting, maybe, that it now came down to this: the need to save herself. Special thanks to aphrodite_mine for beta-reading.

She doesn’t think about dying anymore. She isn’t sure if she’s anyone’s doctor now. In a life defined by a relentless desire to save everyone around her, it was fitting, maybe, that it now came down to this: the need to save herself.

She is told to wait: six weeks, three months, six months.

Just hours after having been exposed, she’s certain that it’s eating her alive. She can feel it: settling in, coursing through her veins and sucking out whatever dreams and aspirations that hadn’t already been shot to death by insensitive colleagues and drugged-up patients and a once—as recently as yesterday, which seems so distant now—rewarding job.

She takes the drugs because now there is nothing left to lose. Cameron wonders, though, how much she ever really had. She had spent the last several years working to make everything and everyone around her unbreakable, the past having been broken too many times. An entire life spent watching it all fall apart as she remained the solid force, unwavering, and only now willing to allow herself to break.

And the drugs work. They shatter her, rattling around, mauling her senses, fucking with her brain, erasing her ambitions and inhibitions. She had been so sick of trying to save everyone else with no one around to save her but this bit of pale pink powder in a grimy plastic bag, designed to help her unwind and unfind, to enable her to get lost and never be found.

The meth does just what she wants it to do. It makes her forget. It empowers her—or she thinks it empowers her. It allows her to take control, to achieve what she doesn’t even want, because to achieve what she does want has long been proven impossible. The drugs take her to a place completely unknown, far away, where she’s not Allison Cameron, M.D., where it’s not tomorrow or today or even sweet distant yesterday. It turns her eyes wild and blind.

Six weeks.

Her showers are now twice as long as they used to be, but she can only ever be half as clean.

She nicks herself in the morning as she shaves her legs and she lets the blood run, watching it swirl around the drain. It turns pink, then clear, then disappears, and she wonders if she can drain it all. Maybe try bloodletting. Why keep up with modern times, sterilize every surface, every syringe, every stretch of skin? Nothing here can be sterilized now. She’s learning that nothing can be stable. Nothing is safe or sacred.

She studies herself a little longer in the mirror, paying close attention to the whites around her eyes, staring and not blinking. She doesn’t understand how they can be so white. At first she washes them fastidiously, standing directly under the showerhead every morning with her eyes wide open, flushing them out with saline solution every night, as if it would make any difference.

Finally it dawns on her that she can’t clean out whatever may or may not be there, so she stops trying, and soon sees no point in making herself look good and healthy and alive every morning just to go to work and be surrounded by sick people, when she feels like the sickest of all.

Three months.

She tells herself be strong be strong but it’s impossible to be strong when she feels so weak. When, in spite of herself, she tells everyone that nothing’s wrong. She surprises everyone in the staffroom when an older doctor whom she has never even met—but everyone knows; they’ve been gossiping in the halls of the hospital because she’s famous now, practically a celebrity (“Did you hear about Allison Cameron?” they’ll ask, voices low), not knowing she can hear them everywhere, through office doors and walls, in the cafeteria, in line at the coffee shop four blocks away, in her dreams every night and still echoing in her mind when she wakes up, every morning—asks her pointedly how she feels, and she stares at him for a moment, then laughs. When they all look at her like she’s lost her mind, she laughs even harder.

Every day at work begins to feel a little easier. She understands now that no one is healthy. No one can be healthy. No amount of drugs will cure their diseases—that was a lesson she had learned firsthand. But every day seems to offer a new discovery, a new way to be or not to be. So she stops showering every day, lets her hair get a little greasy and stops caring if her clothes are a little rumpled or a little unwashed when she steps inside the hospital each morning. She stops being whom they expect, and whom she once expected too.

She keeps inspecting the whites of her eyes, amazed by how they can be so white still. She watches her pupils dilate and contract under the harsh bathroom light as she slowly flicks the switch on again, off again. On, off. On.

Six months.

She feels perfectly fine; better, actually, than ever before. And it’s not because today is the day that she finds out for sure.

She doesn’t really give much thought to what she’ll find inside that envelope. She realizes that it simply doesn’t matter.

And even though she no longer cares what her results will be, she feels different when she wakes up that morning and prepares for her day. She does not dread that piece of paper. It cannot define her. It will not change a thing. She isn’t about to let it tell her whether she will live or die, and it doesn’t make a difference anyway. She isn’t about to let a piece of paper tell her what is inside of her—not now, when she is only just starting to find out.

Before she steps outside, Cameron looks in the mirror one last time and notices how much brighter her eyes shine when she smiles.

Just This Once - Wizards of Waverly Place, PG-13

2008-07-14T18:18:00.002-04:00

Warnings: Incest. Spoilers for episode 1x11, "Potion Commotion."

Unlike every other time, Alex had no idea how she had gotten herself into this mess.

For a while, she couldn't quite place why she got so annoyed when Harper droned on and on about her crush on Justin. She knew why she was supposed to be annoyed—because he was her brother, because it was weird to hear her best friend talk about how amazing and cute and wonderful he was, and because, what she supposed to say? That it made her uncomfortable? It did make her uncomfortable, but not for the reasons that she supposed were common and natural and socially acceptable. These feelings were more barbaric and territorial. Defensive.

When Justin dated Miranda, Alex experienced a different feeling altogether—something closer to pride. Because all she could see was how similar Miranda was to her. A slightly goth version of herself with the added bonus of being of a different bloodline. But in the end, a lesser version. And substitutions wouldn't do.

That was how they found themselves this Saturday evening, sitting on the sofa together, watching a movie marathon on TV and not waiting for the phone to ring with calls from significant others that they no longer had.

The credits were rolling now, and Justin stood up and stretched with a loud yawn. "Bedtime." It was close to two a.m. Everyone else had long gone to bed.

Alex slumped deeper into the couch. "This was a perfectly pathetic way to spend my Saturday night." She was lying again. Her only defense against these feelings (the ones she told herself that she didn't have) was to lie and lie and lie.

He eyed her carefully, then smiled. "You loved it."

"Did not," she argued. But he had that goofy grin on his face and she had to give in. "Well. Maybe a little."

He sat back down, and seemed to hesitate before asking, "Why didn't you call Riley?" As if it were an afterthought, he quickly added, "Or Harper?"

"Harper's out of town this weekend. And Riley... I'm so over that." Alex grinned. "He wasn't good enough for me." She hoped this would provoke some sort of response in Justin, but he barely moved. And why should he? She sank back down in frustration.

Suddenly Justin laughed. "Sorry, sorry," he said in response to Alex's annoyed glare. "I was just thinking about that love potion spell."

She smiled. "That was pretty funny."

"You know," Justin said, a smile curling on his face as if he had just thought of a great joke, "sometimes I think you're still under that spell."

"What!" She tried to appear shocked.

"Well, you are pretty in love with yourself... most of the time," he teased.

"Well... I am a very loveable person," Alex said. "You can't deny that."

"Sometimes," Justin clarified. Alex smirked and another silence followed before he stood up again, this time with an exaggerated, clearly forced stretch. "Bedtime."

"Yeah," Alex said softly. "You said that earlier."

"And this time, I mean it." He began walking away. "Goodnight."

He was halfway across the room before he stopped and turned around. "Hey, Alex?"

She realized she probably should have been getting up and following him upstairs to her own bedroom, but something felt right about staying right here, waiting. For anything. "Yeah?"

He took a few steps toward her before asking, "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I drank the other half of that potion?"

Alex swallowed, thankful it was dark enough that he couldn't see how flushed her face had become upon hearing that wholly unexpected question. "What?" she asked, partly from shock and partly because she thought maybe she had dreamed it.

"Never mind," he said, turning and heading towards the staircase again. "Goodnight."

She stared at his retreating figure, unable to move or speak.

An hour later she found herself in bed, this time staring at the ceiling, still turning it over and over in her mind. This was ridiculous. This was not about to consume her all night, and she walked briskly down the hall to his bedroom and stood in his doorway.

"Why would you ask me that?" she demanded. She kneeled at the foot of his bed, facing him. "You're making me have... thoughts... that I don't feel like having."

He turned and faced her, propping himself up against his pillow. "Sorry. I didn't mean to gross you out, I was just... wondering. It would have been hard to explain to Mom and Dad... and then Dad would have to tell us how to undo it somehow. And you and I would probably feel really weird afterwards... I don't know. It was just a thought." Alex didn't say anything. "Look, I'm sorry I brought it up. I didn't mean anything by it. I bet we're immune to the spell anyway."

She knew better than to say what she was about to say, but she said—whispered—it anyway. "I don't think we're immune."

There were no excuses for what was about to happen. There were no lies they could tell themselves in the morning. They were both breathing heavily now, and before she lost her nerve, Alex pressed her lips to his. As expected, he pulled away. "Alex! What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm—I'm showing you. Without a potion. Because—because you wanted to know," she said. "And because... I did too."

In the dimness of his room, she could see him close his eyes and shake his head. A long silence passed before he finally conceded, "Just this once. Just this once."

Maybe it only happened because it was dark enough that they couldn't really see each other—the eyes and mouths and noses that were so similar, almost identical—and she kissed him again, harder, falling on top of him in his bed, both of them touching and caressing skin that they had known their entire lives, but never like this.

Eventually—later than she expected—he gently pushed her away. "Okay. Okay. I think I get it now," he said, more confused than ever. A potion would have been far easier to explain than this.

She wished she could think of some way to comfort him, to tell him it was nothing, just a weak moment of curiosity, something, anything. They'd never mention it again. They could pretend it was a dream, but all of this was pretext—the hypothetical question, the weird thoughts, the promise that it would never happen again. Because soon enough, it would. Over and over.

This time, there would be no spell to undo the mess they had made, but unlike every other time, neither wanted out.

You Had Me But I Never Had You - Gossip Girl, PG-13

2008-05-25T02:42:00.007-04:00

Note: Written post 104, "Bad News Blair." Title is from a lyric by John Lennon.

What the fuck was he talking about? Going on and on. About his mother, as if he knew anything about hers, and the words rushing out of his mouth like the cabs on Sixth Avenue when she needed one the most. What did he know about guilt-ridden bites of breakfast, of discarded unworn dresses, of endless self-loathing? What did he know of not ranking on the to-call list during vacations in Paris, or late-night business meetings, or her own heart?

What did he know?

And he was staring. At her. And had stopped talking and she was staring back and she noticed now, knowing he had noticed too.

Staring at her with those big brown eyes. Like hers. Putting a hand. On hers. Saying, "We're not so different, are we?" and smiling until she found herself smiling back.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I came here to talk to you about your mom, not mine."

"No," Blair said automatically, surprising herself. "It's okay." It was the first conversation she had had in—in as long as she could remember—that wasn't about Serena or fashion or Yale or that stupid blog. It was the first time she had talked to a man about another woman without the ulterior motive of plotting something totally evil.

He continued his story and she listened this time but couldn't bring herself to share hers. That would have to wait. And she stood in her usual spot on the sidelines when she heard him ask out Serena and didn't even feel a tinge of jealousy, because at this point she was used to everyone, everyone, everyone choosing Serena over her. Even Blair did it constantly too.

Not to worry. Her time would come.

Something More This Time - Instant Star, PG

2008-05-25T00:32:00.006-04:00

Note: I think I wrote this last summer...? I just found it in a notebook that I forgot I had, so I'm typing it up now. I wrote it for a challenge (to write 15 fics about 15 different ships from the same fandom) which I never completed. The prompt was "friends first, lovers second."

When they were five, they pretended that the lightning bugs were fairies and wished to be swept away to a magical land.

When they were six, they rode their bikes around the neighborhood. Jude's training wheels came off too early and she fell and twisted her ankle. Jamie scraped his knee on purpose so she wouldn't feel so bad.

When they were eight, they locked themselves in Jude's bedroom and danced to the macarena all summer long.

When they were nine, they swore that the events of the previous summer had never happened.

When they were eleven, they pored through Stuart's record collection and memorized every lyric that Bob Dylan had ever written.

When they were twelve, Jamie helped Jude write her first song.

When they were fourteen (gawky and pubescent), an article in Seventeen magazine inspired her to kiss him without warning in her living room and then go back to reading like nothing had happened. He never forgot it.

When they were fifteen, she became a star.

When they were sixteen, they got matching tattoos and swore to stay best friends forever. A few months later, she broke his heart.

When they were seventeen, they went their separate ways romantically and, finally moving on, he found out how easy it was to forgive her.

When they were eighteen, she had an important decision to make.

When they woke up this morning, her warm skin against his bare chest, she looked into his eyes and smiled.

"You see? This is how it always should have been. This is how it always will be."

She kissed him and he squeezed her tight, hoping to god she was telling the truth. They'd gone too far to go back now.

Easy Way Out - The Big Bang Theory, PG

2008-05-16T15:43:00.004-04:00

Penny doesn’t know anymore why she does it—or why she keeps doing it over and over.

She tells herself that if she keeps it spontaneous, Leonard will never ask questions, but the questions that she’s most afraid of answering aren’t his. Mostly she doesn’t want to start asking questions herself. Like what it means, or why. More accurately, why not.

If she were as shallow as she used to be—which she tells herself she isn’t—maybe her hesitation would have something to do with social status, or lack of attraction, or some immature delusion that they were of different worlds. But Penny doesn’t believe half the lies she tells herself now.

She doesn’t want to notice how well they complement each other. Because they are opposites in almost every way. Because, by all definitions of the universe (though she finds herself wondering whose), they don’t make any sense and they don’t belong together. Girls like her never date guys like him. Guys like him never get girls like her.

It’s stupid to believe this crap and she knows it, but it resonates within her every time they meet (crashing into each other, worlds colliding). The fairytales never said it was supposed to be like this, but it is: the way her throat tightens up around him, the way she catches herself deflecting her nervousness with a joke or a roll of the eyes. She doesn’t understand how he’s able to makes her feel so smart and so stupid all at once.

It’s easier to avoid it altogether. It’s easier to date the beefed-up buffoon, to have screaming, mindless, meaningless sex because it’s fun and it’s what she’s always done and no hearts can get broken if they were never invested to begin with.

When things become meaningful, she gets stuck. She either screws it up or gets screwed over. Penny abhors meaning. She runs from it. Life is one big party and she’s the one pouring drinks.

So she doesn’t think about what it would be like to date him. The suspicious glances and judgmental whispers. (Surely she isn’t dating him. What would a girl like that be doing with a guy like him?)

And she doesn’t wonder what it would be like to sleep with him. How clumsy and awkward he would be. Star Wars paraphernalia looming over them in the shadows.

And she doesn’t imagine what it would be like to love him. And to have to, for once, deal with the reality that someone actually loved her back. That he didn’t -- like everyone else -- think of her as just a good lay.

Because he doesn’t make her feel hot, or sexy, or desirable. He makes her feel beautiful. He never thought of her as another dumb blonde and she’s surprised that she no longer thinks of him as her hopelessly nerdy neighbor. It’s scary how vulnerable she suddenly feels. How exposed.

So she smiles when he flirts with Leslie, or with Sheldon’s sister. She smiles when he flirts (or attempts to, anyway) with her. She smiles when she kisses him and his lips are chapped and he’s too stunned to kiss back.

Dates with other guys are easier, of course. Flirtatious smiles are easier. Jokes and eyerolls are easier. Spontaneous, unexplained kisses are easier. Anything is easier than the truth.

She puts her arm around him and holds her breath. Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it, she tells herself. Don’t kiss him. But then she does, and she already knows it will happen again. Because she doesn’t wonder what it would be like to fall for him. Because she already has.

She just hopes he doesn’t ask questions.

The Beginning after the End - House M.D., PG-13

2008-04-30T19:27:00.015-04:00

Notes: Spoilers for “No More Mr. Nice Guy.” Title is from a song by Stars.

Cameron knows she should feel guilty, but it’s empowering somehow. Using him. Showing him that he’s disposable too. She tells Chase she’s off to see another annoying friend; he tells Wilson he’s screwing a whore. And neither of them is lying. Not really.

It isn’t what she wanted, or maybe it is. He wouldn’t be doing this if he thought she still cared, and the funny part is that she no longer does. It isn’t how she once imagined. There are no flowers or candles or soft music, no whispered I love yous. House never needed to be saved.

It isn’t beautiful and it isn’t meaningful and maybe it isn’t supposed to be anyway. It just is. She meets him in dark sweaty bars and half an hour later they’re tangled between unwashed sheets and rough embraces and mouths that taste of beer and Vicodin. Sometimes her hand accidentally brushes against his scar and her touch is softer than she wants it to be, but he doesn’t notice anymore. His eyes darken and this time it’s not because he’s being his usual sadistic self. It’s because she’s won.

Cameron isn’t surprised when she learns that he’s sick and so is she. She’s suspected for a while. This is the kind of sickness that has no known cause, no prescription, no cure. She doesn’t want help anyway. I’m fine, she says. This is the best I’ve ever felt, she says, and she laughs.

They don’t talk about it. They don’t talk much at all. He comes as she goes and she slips away so quietly sometimes that he’s not sure if she was ever there.

Whatever She Needs: Epilogue (12/12) - Degrassi, PG-13

2008-04-25T00:50:00.005-04:00

The invitation surprised him. At first he felt more than a little unworthy, but finally he supposed that eight years were long enough to heal anything. Still, he felt weird about it. He couldn’t bring himself to decide if he should go until the very last minute, at which point he jumped into his car and drove the three hundred miles to Toronto and didn’t think about what he would do or say when he got there.

He arrived late and sat quietly in the back. The procession had already started and soon Emma entered his line of vision, radiant in her white dress and practically gliding on air as she floated down the aisle, making it nearly impossible to notice the groom at her side. An outdoor wedding with a feminist twist—Snake smiled at her public defiance of tradition.

The reception was awkward, as he expected, but Spike did acknowledge him even if she failed to hide her obvious shock at his presence. Snake noted that she had a date, but no ring. Then again, he had neither. He decided to refocus his attention; his eyes scanned across the crowd at a sea of mostly unfamiliar faces—Emma’s friends from college, coworkers, and just a handful of Degrassi alums that failed to include the one he was looking for.

The sun was setting as the party died down, and he walked leisurely along the road to where his car was parked—wondering, and not wondering. His breath caught when he saw her.

“Found you.” She had been leaning against a car that wasn’t his and walked towards him now with a bright smile and shining eyes, lovelier than ever. They stood facing each other in the middle of the empty road as pillars newly resilient to whatever forces might try to destroy them this time.

“How did you—”

“Manny mentioned it to me. And I thought… well. Here I am.”

Snake stared at her, dumbfounded. “After all these years…”

“Years never mattered to me,” she said.

Snake nodded. “You’re right.”

She studied him more intently, eyes searching. “You look exactly the same,” she concluded.

“Less hair.” Snake smiled. “More wrinkles.” He took a step closer to her and the sun was just dipping into the ground, painting the sky in a wild, fiery haze. “You look beautiful,” he added, and this time when she looked away shyly, the silence didn’t terrify him.

Finally Darcy looked up again. “So where were you going?”

It was a simple question, but he hesitated. Then he said, “I have no idea.”

She smiled and her eyes shone brighter than before. “Let’s go.”

His heart stirred a little as she reached for his hand and led him towards what he had been waiting his entire life to live.

Whatever She Needs: Touch (11/12) - Degrassi, NC-17

2008-04-25T00:47:00.006-04:00

Warning for sexual content. Thanks to aphrodite_mine for beta reading.

He decided to go slowly—so she could change her mind if need be. He started at her neck and gently kissed her skin, absorbed in her perfume. Darcy’s nails were already digging into his shoulders and he stopped. “You’re nervous,” he said.

“Of course I am. So are you.” She brought her mouth to his and flicked her tongue across his teeth, reaching for the bottom of his shirt and pulling it towards her, her fingertips dancing across the skin of his back.

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispered.

“I know.”

He undid the first few buttons of her blouse and realized that she wasn’t wearing a bra this time. Tiny pink nipples stared back at him, the same color of Darcy’s cheeks as she watched him and whispered, “It’s okay.” He closed his eyes and pressed soft kisses to the skin, his lips creeping closer to an areola before finally capturing her breast in his mouth, the other under his palm. She was breathing hard now, and her chest was rising and falling as he kissed and caressed. He turned his attention to her other breast before traveling up to her lips again, barely hearing when she whimpered his name.

She turned her face away from him and he nibbled her earlobe, shivering as the tips of her fingers traced mysterious shapes on his back. “I can feel you against me,” she murmured.

“What?” Snake said, startled, his voice higher than usual and his face flushed.

“Can I?” she asked.

He nodded, and she reached for the fly of his jeans and pulled. Darcy placed both hands on the waistband and he wriggled out, kicking them to the floor, and waiting. He thought she was going to touch him then, but instead she laughed. “Briefs?” she said. “Aren’t they kind of… constricting?” He blushed deeper and couldn’t think of an adequate explanation, especially since he was pretty sure he had been trying to constrain himself for months. “Your turn,” she whispered, guiding his hand to her belt buckle. In one smooth motion, he undid it and soon had her jeans at her ankles, and then on the floor, their clothes in a quickly growing pile.

She was wearing light green panties and he tried not to stare at the clear spot where they were darker, glistening, waiting for him. Hesitantly, he moved his hand up her leg, gently stroking her thigh. Without warning, she reached down and placed her hand on his. “Please,” she said. “No one has ever touched me there.” She tugged at his fingers with her own and pressed them to the fabric of her panties, the heat and dampness radiating through both sets of fingers. She moaned as his fingers brushed the wettest spot, grazing against her through the fabric.

Slowly, delicately, even now making an effort to give her ample time to stop everything if she wanted, he pulled her panties down and saw, finally, the soft dark curls covering her most guarded region. He slipped her underwear down her legs completely and she shuddered, eyes closed, releasing jagged breaths.

Snake moved his hand slowly up her thigh, hearing her whimper “oh my god” when he brought his fingers closer, and the irony was too much and he froze. He sat back and drank in the sight of her completely naked body: eyes shut, lips slightly parted, hands clutching fistfuls of his sheets. She was perfect, beautiful, and he wondered if this was the cruelest punishment of all as he whispered, “I can’t do this.”

“What?” Darcy nearly shouted, all at once sitting up. Her entire face, like the rest of her, was flushed. Daringly, she reached out and touched the bulge under his briefs, slipping her fingers between the flap in the fabric and he groaned involuntarily, feeling himself hardening still. “But I’m ready,” she murmured, staring deep into his eyes with newfound determination, like a flower blooming in the dead of winter.

Snake gently pushed her hand away. “I’m not.”

Darcy looked away, and then abruptly pulled the sides of her shirt together across her chest, fumbling with the buttons. “Now I feel even stupider than I felt before,” she confessed, and he could see a couple tears caught in her eyelashes. He brushed his thumb gently against her eyelids, freeing them.

“It’s my fault,” he said. As she reached for her underwear, he internally berated himself, averting his gaze more out of embarrassment than politeness as she redressed.

There was a silence, and then she said, “I wanted you to be my first.” Snake looked at her again. She was fully dressed and somehow more naked than before.

“The man you marry will be your first,” he said slowly. “Or maybe it will happen sooner. But it can’t happen like this, a quick lay on my bed right before I jet out of town. It just can’t.” She didn’t say anything so he reached for his own jeans and stepped into them, waiting.

“Why not?” she asked finally.

“Because… you’d hate me forever. And I’d hate myself even more.”

She was quiet and Snake wondered if she hated him already. Then she leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his lips, pressing her palm to his cheek, briefly, before whispering, “Okay.” And then she was at the door.

Snake walked towards her, trancelike, and in his mind the image of her standing there staring at him with those too-trusting eyes and trembling smile was already burned in his memory forever. It seemed to have happened long ago.

“So this is it,” she said finally, and her words seemed to travel from his ears to the walls and back again. “I’m going to miss you,” she said, her voice shaking and the tears already falling down her cheeks. Snake enveloped her in his arms, and she leaned into his chest, steadying herself and settling in.

“We’ll see each other again,” he promised, even though he wasn’t sure if he could keep it. She said nothing and he pressed a kiss to the top of her hair, knowing it inadequate.

“I love you, Darcy,” he said as she pulled away, and she smiled and looked down and said nothing, only placing her hand on the doorknob and twisting, opening the door and disappearing behind it, wordlessly, like a ghost. Snake waited a few minutes before peaking behind it, half-hoping she’d still be in the hallway, but she was nowhere to be found, and in many ways, neither was he.

Whatever She Needs: Apologies (10/12) - Degrassi, PG-13

2008-04-23T23:14:00.005-04:00

The apartment was larger when he awoke, and emptier, somehow. All the sounds from outside, the commotion and chatter and screeching of tires slipped through the space above the windowsills and reverberated against the walls and bookshelves and dirty dishes in the sink. All of it stumbled rudely and blindly forward to his ears and into his head and rattled around until it was at once silenced by an unavoidable realization.

He got out of bed and got ready for work.

Dan Hill was singing on the radio when Snake pulled into the parking lot and noticed that the leaves on the trees were lush and green. Maybe everything had meaning.

Classes dragged by, as they usually did at this time of year. It was nearly June. Conversations laced with fantasies of summer and graduation overrode his tedious instructions regarding flash animation and PowerPoint presentations. Free time for “internet research” was extended accordingly. Snake found it as difficult to focus as they did.

Darcy pointedly took extra time packing up her things at the end of his last class, and Snake’s eyes followed her every movement. She waited until everyone else had left the room and then walked towards him. He braced himself.

A tiny smile formed on her lips for a moment and then disappeared. “I’m sorry about—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said.

“Yes, I do. I was… stupid. Really stupid.”

“You weren’t stupid, Darcy. You were being…”

“Naïve?”

He was going to say a teenager, but held back. “I was stupid.”

“Why? For letting this happen?”

There was a long silence. “Yes,” he said finally. She shook her head and stared at the floor. “Everything happened so fast. I think I need to be alone for a while. And I think you do, too.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to put it into words,” he lied.

“Snake,” she whispered, placing her hand over his, “please don’t end this just because I screwed up.”

He sighed and pulled his hand away, looking around nervously. “A few months, a year from now, you’ll think you lost your mind. Relationships like this don’t last. Not even in movies and books.”

“So? We can be the exception.”

“How?”

“Because… you saved me,” she said sincerely. “Because we make each other better.”

“It was an escape from reality, and…”

“And you got out. So now you don’t need me.”

“No. I didn’t say that.”

“I’m sorry that you’re scared, and I’m sorry that you’re stubborn, and I’m sorry for how I acted last night,” Darcy said, taking a deep breath. “But I’m not sorry for any of this, and I’m sick of having to say it over and over.”

He stood up and began packing his things, turning from her. “You will be.”

“Why do you keep saying that? How do you know?”

Snake stopped what he was doing and faced her again, finally admitting in a low voice, “Because I’m sorry for this, for all of it, okay?”

She shook her head, biting her lip. “You’re afraid, and you’re paranoid, and—”

“Darcy, I need space.”

“But I don’t. And I don’t want space. I want to be as close to you as possible.”

He couldn’t look at her. “I’m sorry. I think… I think you should go.”

“Fine.” And she was gone. The door closed and he was alone again, surrounded by colorful walls and computer monitors that had witnessed the entire pitiful conversation. He stood still and tried to feel nothing.

The next day, during the first of many meetings with Ms. Hatzilakos, he found out that Darcy would be taking a leave of absence for the rest of the semester. She would be able to make up her work over the summer and still graduate with the rest of her class the following spring.

“Her parents finally found out the root of her wild behavior lately,” Daphne said, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “She was raped. Can you believe that? It’s terrible. I really feel for the girl.”

Snake shook his head in disgust. “This isn’t some piece of tawdry gossip. And whatever happened to confidentiality?”

Her eyes widened. “Honestly, Archie, I expected a little more sensitivity from you. The rest of us were shocked when we found out.”

“Of course it’s awful. I just don’t think it’s any of my business.”

She straightened her shoulders in an exaggerated gesture of self-importance before explaining, “I’ve informed all of Darcy’s teachers so they know to be especially empathic of her situation when she returns in the fall.” She paused, waiting for Snake to react, but he didn’t. “All right, so what did you want to discuss?”

He gripped the ends of the armchairs and held his breath before responding.

Three weeks later, he was the recipient of a greater-than-usual amount of gifts and cards and eloquent farewell speeches. All of the students whom he’d watched grow and transform from prepubescent kids into almost-adults stood before him and said goodbye. They were all moving on to bigger and better—doing what he never could.

Emma approached him after the graduation ceremony and surprised him with a hug. “Jack misses you,” she said, then smiled before adding, “and so do I.”

“Same,” Snake replied, and after a few moments he reluctantly relinquished her embrace. He hesitated before asking, “How’s your mom?”

“She’s been… surprisingly okay,” Emma admitted. “You should talk to her.”

“I don’t know about that,” Snake said.

“Well, you should talk to me,” she tried. “More often. Call, email…”

“I will,” he promised, and when he smiled he realized it was his first genuine one in weeks.

An hour later, he was back in his apartment and surrounded by sealed boxes. He had just begun packing another when he heard a knock at the door. Snake opened it and Darcy stood before him—a breathing living vision from a dream that he forgot to have.

“Hi,” she said, smiling sheepishly and stepping inside.

“Hi,” Snake echoed, closing the door.

“I—” she began, but Snake wrapped her in his arms and halted her words with his lips and his tongue, kicking aside boxes and carrying her to his bed. “I love you,” she whispered between kisses. “If it makes any difference.”

“I love you too,” he said, and for a moment they seemed indestructible. Then they broke.

“What’s going on?” she asked, eyeing the boxes. “Are you leaving?” She met his gaze again.

Slowly, he nodded. “Tomorrow morning.”

“But—why?”

“Darcy, my whole life I’ve been playing it safe. I never once stepped outside my comfort zone—until you came along. But Degrassi and this town are holding me back. I need to explore for a while. I need to find my own path.”

“So—so take me with you,” she said, a little too desperately.

“You know I can’t. You need to stay, finish school, graduate… and then move on.”

“I want to be with you.” She reached for his hands.

“I know.” He kissed her forehead. “I know.”

“Will I never see you again?”

“If this is meant to happen, then we will.”

“But you don’t believe in fate,” she said. He looked away and they were silent for a while. “Can you do one thing for me, before you go?” Snake looked at her again, and she closed her eyes. “I want to know what it’s like,” she said.

“Darcy—”

“With you.”

“And your ring? And everything you believe?”

“I think God will forgive me,” she said sincerely.

“This,” he said, motioning to her and then him, “is the biggest sin of all.”

“I want to be a sinner,” she said.

“No, you don’t.”

“Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing has made sense for months. But this, as screwed up as it is, makes sense. We make sense. I know I should be scared out of my mind, but when I’m with you everything feels right. It shouldn’t, but it does.” She inhaled sharply and held his gaze. “I want this.”

Snake was still holding his breath when he responded, “It’s not going to… erase the past. It might make things worse.”

“I’m willing to risk it,” she said, and she pulled him towards her.

Sometimes - So Weird, PG

2008-04-06T03:12:00.006-04:00

Sometimes she wonders if she’ll ever get over him. Those are the times that she hates him. She blames him for leaving. It’s irrational, and she knows it, but she can’t help it. Sometimes she thinks he planned it.

She strums her guitar and they’re all minor chords. Her voice is hoarse and her lyrics barely make sense. Irene always smiles when this happens, and it’s cruel and ironic because her music shouldn’t be beautiful in times like this. She isn’t trying to create beauty. She’s trying to render that impossible unreality, her life unlived.

He mocks her sometimes. She wakes up in the middle of the night and his grinning face is burned under her eyelids and he’s stuck between the vehicles and she’s certain he’s grinning because he knows she’s stuck there too. She’s been there since that day. The paramedics forgot to remove her.

Sometimes she looks at Carey and wonders, and hates herself for wondering but it’s there. The fingers are the same as they glide across the strings and his eyes are full of life and wonder and his laugh is long and lets her remember, briefly, who she was before it happened. When he smiles at her or squeezes her shoulder or they’re sitting together, writing songs, her thoughts slip away and she’s twenty years younger and they’re about to embark on a journey that they will never fully comprehend.

Sometimes she laughs quietly to herself because it is so ironic, after all, that Rick believed in spirits and angels and extra-terrestrials and she can’t even bring herself to believe in god. She wonders, then, why she’s so afraid to allow herself to live.

Most times she wishes he’d leave for good.

Imagine - Degrassi, R

2008-04-02T22:32:00.010-04:00

Notes: Tag to 713, “Bust a Move (Part 1).” Contains spoilers. Written for aphrodite_mine.

Choice or no choice, the aftermath was the same. She felt lifeless. Dirty. Wrong.

Peter was clumsy as he thrust in and out of her. It wasn’t loving, because he didn’t love her and she definitely didn’t love him. It wasn’t beautiful, because it was awkward and forced. And as calculated and premeditated as it was, it wasn’t what she had imagined. Probably because she hadn’t imagined it with him.

She tried to focus, to act the way she knew she was supposed to act. Small moans escaped her in veiled cries for help and she hoped he’d mistake them for the sounds of pleasure. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him as he awkwardly worked his way inside of her, snaking her fingers up to his scalp and wishing he didn’t have a full head of hair, or that his mouth didn’t feel so sloppy and inexperienced, or that his skin wasn’t so soft and smooth against hers. The bed was hard and small and uncomfortable and she tried to imagine that it was something else—maybe his desk or the cold tile of the zen garden floor—but it didn’t work.

“Darcy,” he gasped when he finally came, and to her ears his voice seemed funny and high-pitched and off, a fantasy gone completely wrong. She wanted to cry because of how stupid it was, how stupid she was for thinking she could trick her mind and transcend reality. Transcend what was even realistic.

“You okay?” she heard him ask when it was over.

“I’m fine,” she said, automatically. Automatic smile, automatic kiss, automatic laughter and automatic gaze. All of it had to be planned out and rehearsed in her mind over and over because if it wasn’t, she might do something crazy and end up hurting the only person who meant anything worth a damn to her, the one who would have made everything better, the one with whom she wished she were right now, but he had failed her, just like she failed him.

Now horns and whistles were blowing and everyone surrounded them and she had no idea what was going on and she felt ashamed and confused and lost and almost wondered if she had been raped again. She imagined going to him, telling him again, going back and doing it all over and not screwing up this time.

But finally she was fed up with imagining and wishing and hoping and wondering, so she left again when no one was looking and walked outside and sat on the front steps and pulled out her cell phone and dialed his number before she could stop herself. Her heart was racing.

“Hello?” His voice sounded deeper than she imagined, and quieter, and a little sad.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “It’s me.” The other end fell silent, and she immediately wondered if he even knew who “me” was. Then she realized he might have hung up. “Hello?” she said, desperately.

“Why are you calling?” He definitely wasn’t happy, but he didn’t sound angry, either. Confused, mostly. Darcy held her breath. “It’s almost midnight,” he added, as if that changed anything.

“I just wanted to see how you were,” she said.

“I’m fine. But I have to go.”

“I really need to talk to you,” she whispered, because he had been whispering. And now she heard him sigh.

“You know we can’t do that.”

Darcy blinked back tears. “I know.” There was a long silence, and she waited for him to say something or hang up on her, but he didn’t do either. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him on the other end, and this time she could see everything, and his eyes were closed too and he was breathless, waiting. She spoke again. “It’s just that you’re—”

“I know,” he said, startling her. She wasn’t even fully sure of what she was about to say. “I have to go,” he repeated. “Bye.”

He set the phone down and his heart was racing and he wished it would stop, because racing hearts meant something and this couldn’t. It was just a coincidence. You’re thinking of someone you haven’t seen in a while and then you run into them minutes later. It happened to people all the time.

Snake turned over on his side and draped his arm around his sleeping wife, bare skin on bare skin. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that their nightly routine had worn her out. But she was just tired. His heart raced faster as remembered rising and falling above her, how he had looked down at her expressionless face and then beyond it—imagining someone else completely—as if he might see a dark fleck of skin below her right eyebrow, that tiny spark of hope hovering above bright and youthful eyes.

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

2008-03-27T12:59:00.006-04:00

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

2008-03-08T03:08:00.007-05:00

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

2008-03-04T20:51:00.004-05:00

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

2008-03-04T20:49:00.000-05:00

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

2008-03-04T20:48:00.000-05:00

“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

2008-03-04T20:46:00.000-05:00

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

2008-03-04T20:39:00.000-05:00

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

2008-03-04T20:19:00.002-05:00

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

2008-03-04T20:18:00.000-05:00

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

2008-03-04T20:17:00.000-05:00

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

2008-03-04T20:16:00.000-05:00

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

2008-03-04T20:15:00.000-05:00

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

2008-03-04T19:22:00.003-05:00

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

2008-03-04T18:38:00.003-05:00

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

2008-03-04T18:15:00.003-05:00

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.