Sad As Me

I do Not own Degrassi

Warning: The following contains cutting and is not a fluffy happy fic, if you don't like simply don't read it. You have been warned.

Sitting alone in her bathroom she looked at her stomach and the fresh neat red lines, some still bleeding. The tears had stopped coming when she did this a while ago, no one suspected the girl who was always cheerful and full of laughter went home and took her pain out on her body. Fingers trailed over her skin and she sucked in a breath, as the cuts burned from the simplest of touches. She didn't do it for attention. She did it for the need to let herself feel, to let out the pain that she couldn't express to the people around her.

She was a screw up; bad luck followed her where she went. But she played it off, pretended to be happy and care free. But at the end of the night her routine had changed. While others brushed their hair and teeth, she sat there alone in the bathroom and cut into her once flawless skin, across her stomach and under her breasts. Marks people wouldn't see, never deep enough to leave a dark scar. Just enough to bleed and let everything out.

Tomorrow she would go to school and be the same old girl that everyone thought they knew, but in reality no one really knew her at all. She would go back to faking a cheerful smile and laughing at things she didn't find funny anymore. She was tired of trying to blend into two worlds, the world at home with parents who wanted to raise their children with the same strict Muslim beliefs they grew up with, and the world at school where popularity and who you sat with at lunch mattered. Where who you, and who your friends were decided your social status.

She was tired of it all; she was so tired of not being enough for either world. At home she wasn't the proper daughter things she had done to fit in and be someone at school had left a bad taste in her parent's mouth and now they looked at her as if she was dirty. The first cut had replaced the tears she shed. Now when she cried it was red instead of the clear salty liquid that used to streak her cheeks, no more black streaks from mascara that isn't waterproof. No more red puffy eyes. No now its ruby red blood against caramel coloured skin.

She stood and grabbed the purple wash cloth resting on the corner of the sink, and ran it under warm water, wringing it out she pressed it against the fresh line of cuts and washed away the evidence...it was the routine, cut, wash, air dry slip on pajamas and crawl into bed. The next day it would repeat it's self, school and home life would continue to play out before her and she would be in the same spot still standing in the sidelines, still waiting to find her place.

Things were never better in the morning light, they were just easier to push away to the back of your mind and forget about until it was night. She wasn't after pity or sympathy, she didn't want people to say they understood, because they didn't. No one really understands your situation unless they are standing in your shoes, and even than her life was different than her brothers and they shared the same house and school and family upbringing. But he was and would always be treated different, he could have sex and walk away clean. It wasn't the same for her, when the ball was in her court she walked away dirty and a little more broken.

Being broken was the best way to describe how she felt, there was always something missing, a piece of herself she was trying to discover. She did things that cried out for attention, the wrong kind of attention, using your body didn't get you ahead, it left you in the back trying to catch up. It labelled you as something you might not actually be and took another piece of whatever armour you used to protect yourself. Eventually it would crack and leave you exposed to the world.

She didn't look forward to starting a new day anymore, but she never thought about giving up. No the more she tells her self it will always be the same the more she wants to prove to herself that it will change. That it will get better, one day at a time. Fairytales told to keep you strong, because everyone knows happy endings only happen in books. It didn't matter though because in the morning things would be exactly the same, the same routine. She would get dressed and be dropped off at a school she hates; away from the people she actually wants to be with.

The only difference from this school and her old school was the lack of males to impress, not that it mattered she had struck out there too. She couldn't measure up to the others, and she was just about done trying. She remembered talking to Clare one time and her saying she was losing everything she loved. She knew what that was like because somewhere along the way she had lost the most important thing...herself. She didn't know who Alliah Bhandari was any more...she didn't know who she was supposed to be.

Who was Alli and who was Alliah, where did the two come together to make the person who she was supposed to be? Who was she supposed to be? She didn't know and her mind was so fogged with everything that the only time she felt free of it all was when she was alone in the bathroom drawing ruby red lines on her caramel coloured skin.

A/N

Okay this is something different than what I usually write and I wasn't sure if I should post it. Because I know some of you are going to be all, she would never do that blah blah blah. But I don't really care, because I wanted to write it. I don't think Alli is as shallow as people usually make her out to be, she has a lot to go through and this is just one of the ways I think she could handle it.

Anyway. Please review. Tell me what you did or didn't like. Be honest. I want your opinions.

Thanks.

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