Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.
Before
His shirt wrapped around her body, gently flowing around the loose edges. She twisted and turned in the mirror, straightening her posture and flattening her palms against her curvy middle. The shirt came to her mid-thigh, and she reveled in the fact that she looked like…his. She bit her lip, trying to hide her clandestine grin. The ragged shirt smelled of him, and only him. It smelled of his sheets and his other clothing and the air that surrounded him. Specks of white paint droplets had dried in little trails across the grey shirt. Stains of red and stains of yellow were spotted in small areas (on the left sleeve-how it got there would probably never be discovered).
She tucked her gold necklace into the shirt, and ruffled her curly hair. The mirror told her a story of a young girl that seemed to be in love. It whispered to her that this girl was falling head over heels with someone that was vague, someone that couldn't exactly give her everything that she needed. It told her a story of a divorce and a need for someone to care. The glass made sure that she knew how someday, the shirt would not fit. And with a sigh, and a big FUCK YOU to the mirror, she turned and climbed into bed. She pulled the covers over her head and ignored the mirror, and focused on the shirt that kept her warm.
He was hers.
She had his shirt to prove it.
After
Her trembling hands fumble over the faded shirt. Drops of liquid drip relentlessly onto the grey material that doesn't feel so new, but stale and finished; and everything is finished. Everything is over and so completely ruined that she picks at the shirt and shouts at the mirror for not warning her. She's sick of things not working out, and she wants to go back to the hospital, but she isn't thinking straight.
Slowly, almost too carefully, she pulls the thin fabric over her head, and she steps in front of the mirror. The sight is…grotesque. The shirt doesn't fit her right anymore, and she doesn't know if she changed or the shirt did or the whole damn situation did. The mirror is watching her tears and is telling her that it did warn her. It tells her of a story of two young adults that fell apart in a clean and orderly building. It tells her that her parents are still divorced and she's still alone and the boy that is missing a shirt is in the hospital. But she ignores it and gives a big FUCKYOU and climbs into bed.
She wasn't his.
She had his shirt to prove it.
I'm not quite sure what this is.
But, alas, it's here.