Imagine - Degrassi, R

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

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

It was impossible to concentrate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” Snake breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needed to get out.

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

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

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked up at him. “Then go.”

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

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

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

“Morning,” he said, forcing a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where… are we?” he asked hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

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

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

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

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

Her expression turned sullen. “Oh.”

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

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

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

“Hi,” he said uneasily.

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

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

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

“Yes,” Snake responded, faking conviction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong? What did she say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It drove him crazy that Darcy was the exception.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t know what he was doing.

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s still out there.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

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