Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi, or Eli Goldsworthy.
A/N #1: Okay, this is probably the most depressing thing I've ever written. I'm apologizing in advance for anything that you feel during this story. Myself and one of my friends decided to write our own takes on this type of story, so I'm dedicating this one to the author Four-Leaf Clovers. Also, I'd like to add in that verbalacuity was also somewhat involved in this little competition, so she deserves some recognition as well. Also, this story takes place at the end of Drop The World pt. 1, for reference.
Otherwise, there's nothing left to say, but enjoy.
Fear had overtaken him. He'd sworn to himself, made a promise that it wouldn't, but he'd broken it. He'd broken a lot of things; hearts, his car, himself. Eli Goldsworthy was one shattered human being, not that it was news to anyone. Practically the entire city of Toronto knew of what a headcase he was. Rumors spread quickly, and he knew that better than anyone else.
Today had been the pinnacle of the hell he called his life. Things had been worse than he'd ever imagined; first Clare telling him she needed space, which, by his definition, was "I don't love you, and we can't be together anymore". She'd made it clear from the moment she slipped away from his embrace, the way her eyes looked as she screamed that he was suffocating her. Eli cringed at the memory of it, balling his fists until his knuckles turned dangerously white. It was painfully obvious as she stalked away from him, leaving him alone on the bench, that she no longer cared enough about him. If she cared the slightest bit about his feelings, she wouldn't have left him there to sink even deeper into himself, and she wouldn't have set off the chain reaction that led him to where he was then.
The skeleton of the church building towered menacingly over him as he sank to the ground, back against the cool concrete structure. It was the only place he could think to go, the only place he knew was a sanctuary. Being a person was becoming too hard for him to do on his own. With Clare, he knew that she was there to help him, good times and bad. With Clare, he had someone to count on and depend on. With Clare, he had someone who he thought would love him unconditionally and stay by his side as he tried to figure out who he really was.
But he didn't, because it was now that he was realizing it was all one big lie.
He'd been contemplating the options he had since he'd gotten here, nearly crashing his car a total of five times before taking a turn down the road and parking his car underneath the trees. The tickets were clutched in his hands, a memento of the thing that could've been his, theirs. He wished he could just get rid of them, get rid of all the memories that were imprinted in his mind, but mostly get rid of himself. He hated himself right now; he hated how afraid he'd made her. He hated how everything he touched turned to shit. He hated how he was holding onto a girl who would probably be moving on by tomorrow because she wanted to get him out of her mind as quickly as possible.
Options. What options did he have? He could run away from it all. He could drive away in Morty and never come back and go on living in the chaos that was his mind. He could stay here, try and get over her and find a girlfriend who would make him look less crazy, start doing his homework again and become a straight-A student, maybe even join the basketball team or something. Or he could visit the Ravine daily, go down and get laid and drunk and high until he collapsed, or until he couldn't feel a damn thing. He wished he couldn't feel anything right then, because feeling all of these emotions at once was destroying him from the inside.
And to think, it was all because of her. Everything that was coming down on top of him and pushing was all because she'd driven him to this level of insecurity and anxiety. She'd left him like this, left him so unstable that he had to question what exactly he was going to do when she was gone. To be fair, could he even go on without her? Could he even survive without those blue eyes giving him that familiar comfort, and her lips whispering sweet nothings until his breathing settled? Could he get through each day without seeing her face, feeling her embrace and her hand entwined with his, kissing her until he was sure that he'd faint from the levels of pure ecstasy he was receiving?
No. He couldn't.
He couldn't do a damn thing without her there by his side, telling him everything would be okay and that she'd be there for him "as long as you need me". He couldn't go on without knowing that she was his, all his, and she wouldn't be running away with anyone else because things with them were bad. He needed her there with him through everything, wanted her to be there until the day he finally died, but no. She'd given up on him. She'd become afraid of him. It seemed like everyone was afraid of him now. Why should he go on living like a monster, scaring everyone? It was painfully obvious to him now what his inner demons were telling him to do, whispering for him to obey.
"Kill."
Eli stood from his crouched position, angrily brushing away the threads of tears that had begun to slip down his face. Step after shaky step, he walked towards his hearse, clinging to the side of the vehicle for support. His knees were weak, and his hands were shaking, and all he could think about was ending the madness. He needed to get to the trunk. Fingers slipped underneath the latch to the door, pulling it up over his head, and eyes examined it's contents. Too many tools to count in the large back compartment of the hearse, mixed with old shirts and boxes and books long forgotten. But what was most important, the guns. Hunting guns that had been forgotten after Bullfrog's birthday trip. Luckily, he'd forgotten to unpack them and return them to their place in the house. Luckily. He dug around through the firearm cases; shotgun, rifle, shotgun, shotgun, rifle, shotgun, and so on, until he finally found the handgun. Bullfrog had gone through a phase where he needed to protect the house, and the only logical way to do that was to carry a gun and shoot the shit out of whoever came into the house. So, he'd bought a handgun; a simple revolver he'd picked up at a shop near the radio station, fully loaded and all. Eli released the stop and slipped the cylinder from the body of the gun, checking to make sure all six bullets were inside. They were.
"Fan-fucking-tastic," he muttered, voice cracking.
His vision was blurring, partially due to the tears more frequently running down his face, and also because he was getting dizzier. The thought that he was actually going to do this, end all of this, was sickeningly satisfying. Sickening because he'd never thought he'd go this far. Then again, he'd never thought he'd go this far with Julia either, and he ended up trying to slit his wrists repeatedly, before being found in the bathroom by Cece. He couldn't look her in the eyes, and was glad that he didn't, because the pain would be too much for him to take. It wouldn't compare to a bullet through your chest.
He had the walk of someone severely drunk as he moved towards the church again, wobbling and stumbling over himself as he pushed on, gun in hand. The fading metal glinted just slightly in the sunlight, conducting a light that hit directly on the dirt-coated cement floor. Eli buried himself in a still-standing corner of the building, legs laying out flat and head resting against the wall. He opened his eyes, looking up to see a carved-in "Eli + Julia". He clenched his jaw as tightly as possible, and pointed the gun towards the effigy. The trigger pulled, and a clearly audible crack echoed through his ears and the woods around him. A black mark splattered against each of the names, the sign appearing to read "I + A". He decided to save the analysis for some sort of secret meaning, and slammed his fists against the pavement. One bullet gone, five remaining.
Hissing as he lifted his hands from the ground, he examined the slightly bloody cuts that were beginning to form. What did he care? Sure, it hurt, but that hurt was nothing compared to the internal hurt he was feeling, left by Clare. Eli couldn't decide yet if he hated her or not, but assumed it was probably a no. He couldn't hate her, no matter how hard he tried, and if he said it, it'd be the worlds biggest lie. He loved her, 'till death do us part'. Well, she'd already stopped loving him, and he wasn't dead just yet. So, he might as well speed up the process and get things right where they should be, shouldn't he?
Adam. His best friend. The only person he could truly tell everything to. The boy who'd been through more than Eli ever had and still listened to his ramblings about Clare and Stalker Angel. The boy who he met every weekend to play Call of Duty with and eat chips and crack stupid jokes with. Through everything, he'd stuck by him. He hadn't left him when he needed him most, but instead tried to reason with what he was saying and understand the inunderstandable substance that was his mind. He didn't care, and just wanted his friend to be better. Adam was the most genuine, true person he'd ever met. He didn't deserve him. He'd failed him, just by showing up here and having the intentions he had. He still intended to fulfill them, but he just needed to make a phone call. Eli pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through his contacts until the highlighted bar landed on his name. He hit dial, held the phone to his ear, and waited.
"Eli, man, what are you doing? You just kinda disappeared after school. I tried to look for you, but you weren't there. What's up?"
A smirk crossed his face at the sound of his friend's slightly high-pitched voice. He didn't reply, didn't say anything. He just wanted to hear him talk and ask him about normal things like his day one last time. He wanted to hear the sound of someone caring about him one last time. "Dude? You there? Is everything alright? I ran into Clare on my way home and she seemed kinda weird. What happened?" he asked, the worry in his voice growing stronger. Eli fought back the urge to laugh at Clare's name. Weird; she was far from it. She wasn't being weird, she was being scared. Of him. "Eli? Eli Goldsworthy? Fish Pits, do you copy?"
"You're my favorite, Adam. You're a good person. Don't change that."
"I'm good? Eli, what are you saying? Don't do anything stupid," he replied. Rustling could be heard in the background. Eli wondered briefly what he was doing, but it was too late. He let his phone slip to the ground, and the revolver rise shakily to his chest. Pointed, locked, and loaded. "E-…wha-….oing, ma-…pick up!" That smirk, still etched on his face, grew more insane, more manic, as he listened to the desperate cries of his best friend. He took in a deep breath, eyeing the gun pointed directly at his chest. The safety was off. All he had to do was pull the trigg-
"ELI GOLDSWORTHY, YOU ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW."
A finger slipped, pulling the trigger back from it's holding place. A startled Eli's eyes widened as pain shot through his chest, and a warm liquid patch formed in the center of his red polo. He couldn't breathe anymore, his lungs were closing up and failing quickly. Adam's voice was faint in the background, even more distant than before. "Tell me where you are, p-please. I heard the shot, I'm calling the cops, please…pick up…just p-pick up, damn it!" His face became a sickly pale color, his hand, shakily touching the wound on his chest. Fingers pulled back to reveal blood dripping from the appendages onto the floor. He coughed, a small amount of blood spattering onto the already red-staining khakis.
Eli blinked one last time. The next time his eyes closed, everything was permanently black.