A/N:...Hey guys :D I wouldn't be surpirsed if you guys hate me, I know it's been awhile since I updated my stories, but I'm back! Just an update for you guys, Broken might just be a three- or four-shot, I'm still working on the ending. Dreams Do Come True, I'm having a bit of a writers block with, but at least for that I have a ending, so the next chapter might be a bit rushed, at least so I can get back in the swing of things.
But now we have this little story. :) Honestly, I don't really know what this was all about. After re-watching the finale of Degrassi, and then reading some Chuck Palaniuk, this idea popped into my head. It's a little dark and a little weird, and honestly, I don't even think it's well written. But maybe you guys will like it, I don't know. Enjoy :D
Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi, and the title of this fic is from the song by Papa Roach. I'm also sorry if I offended anyone, that wasn't my intention.
The morning sun was started to leak through his windows, and he sighed. Another sleepless night.
Everything hurt—his neck, his arms, and his legs. But nothing hurt as much as the pain in his chest. Except maybe his head. His head wasn't his friend at the moment, filled with possibilities and 'what-if's. He wanted nothing more than to just bash his own head in; to just silence all the thoughts he had running around.
But it was these thoughts of self destruction that scared him. He was a coward, and he knew it.
There was a soft knock on his door. His mother walked in.
"Hey baby boy." She cooed. "How are you feeling today?" As if he were a small child.
No response.
She smiled softly, and said, "I just wanted to see if you were okay." Of course she would want to make sure. She was scared of him, scared of what he might do. She had every right to. He terrified his own mother, what a great child he was.
"If you need anything, I'll be downstairs." And then she was gone, leaving him back to his own thoughts.
You need sleep, kid. It was true. He felt as if cinderblocks were resting on his eyelids, forcing them closed. But he was scared into insomnia. Images of Julia and Clare would alternate behind his closed eyes, and he had to stay awake to forget the pain he caused.
Because that's all he was good for. Causing pain.
Speaking killed Julia. He said stupid stuff, things he didn't mean. She took off on her bike, and never came back. He killed Julia with his words.
His actions tore Clare from him. He became too dependent on her, and when she said she needed space, he took it to the extreme and crashed his car, Morty, for her. She ran, scared for both her life, and his own.
His actions and words are what left him alone, so he swore to himself not to let it happen again.
But what's a man without actions or words?
Do you still consider yourself a man? He was simply a coward. He was too scared to be a man and tell Julia a simple 'sorry,' and he was too scared to actually give Clare the space she needed. He's too scared to take his own life, despite the voice in the back of his head daring him to do it.
He couldn't, but he should. Or was it the other way around?
He groaned out loud, his migraine growing by the second. He would do anything to get a night of sleep.
Anything?
He glanced at the clock on the table by his bed. Or at least, he tried to. It wasn't visible behind the pile of junk he had stacked next to his bed. A familiar picture caught his eye.
It was a picture of both Julia and Clare. He stuck the two pictures in the same frame one day, back when he was with Clare. Back when he was happy. Clare had convinced him that he deserved happiness, and even though he still cared for Julia, it was okay to move on.
But now, the picture just mocked him. A reminder of the two most important things to him that he lost.
Maybe you should add a picture of Morty in there somewhere.
This voice needed to shut the hell up.
He was sick. He wasn't stupid. He had done his research. Schizophrenia. Hearing voices. Imaginary friends to the extreme. Emotional instability. Withdrawal from self.
He was crazy. There was nothing anyone can do to help.
Then fix it yourself. You know what to do.
It was the same voice that convinced him that he was right and Julia was wrong. The same voice that edged him to crash Morty for Clare.
That voice was telling him now to take his own life.
Feeling frustrated, he hurled the picture of his two loves to the other side of his room, where if feel with a crash to the floor.
"Is everything okay?" His mother called.
No. Nothing has ever been okay.
He stood up from his bed; the cool breeze from the open window tickled his bare chest. He slowly made his way to the broken picture as his feet crushed forgotten comics and clothes beneath him. He looked down at the two girls; Julia's scowling face and Clare's bright blue eyes, side by side. Both girls opposite in personality, in looks, and style. But they had one thing in common—him. They had both fallen for him, and they were both hurt by him.
A piece of glass shone in the sunlight from the window, the shard with a perfectly sharp edge.
Do it, so you won't hurt anyone anymore.
Do it, to save everyone some pain.
Do it, you know it's better off this way.
The only way to get rid of the voice was to do what it said.
He slipped into his bathroom, and looked at himself in his mirror.
16 years old. Green eyes, black hair, pale skin. Pajama pants, no shirt or socks. Shaggy hair that feel just above his eyes. He didn't look crazy, besides the purple bags under his eyes. But, as the saying says, you can't judge a book by its cover.
What looks normal on the outside is twisted and sick on the inside.
He looked at his reflection. Then looked at the glass in his hand. His green, intense eyes staring back at him. Then back to the shard.
Himself. Glass. Himself. Glass. Wondering which one was going to win the battle.
With his mind made up, he shut his bathroom door, teriffied of what he was about to do.
But he was going to do it. And no one could call him a coward anymore.
And...yeah. Again, I'm really sorry if I offended anyone with my interpretation of Schizophrenia. Personally, I don't think that people with mental illness' are crazy, but I tried putting myself in their shoes, and it seemed like something they would think...ah, I dont even know. I feel like this is terrible. But honestly, I feel that Degrassi should do something like this, give him something that's serious and never been done before. Instead of just making him a hormonal unstable teenager, they should make him have a real reason behind it.
But thats just me. And I'm weird. So..yeah. Review please, let me know if I should delete this or not :X