Zig sat in Mr. Armstrong's math class, drumming out a beat on his desk. The clock seemed to be moving backwards, extending the torture he was receiving from a bunch of numbers and his freedom in Music class. All he wanted to do was to break out his bass, and possibly get a chance to talk to Maya, sans her guard dog. Zig glanced over at the blonde-haired girl, who was punching in numbers into her calculator at the front of the classroom. He gingerly touched his black eye, frowning. How could she be with a psycho like him, after she saw what he did?

Whooping sirens interrupted his thoughts, and many as his classmates. Head spun around to the window, some students standing up, looking to see what the commotion was. It wasn't odd for the police to occasionally visit the school; usually there was one cop car on certain days to check up on the place. However, what the students could see there was more than one police cruiser, along with an ambulance and a fire engine.

"What's going on?" Zig heard Tristan question to Tori and a few other peers around them.

"Class, class," Mr Armstrong spoke loudly, interrupting their curiosity and directing their attention towards him. "Nothing going on outside is an issue to you at this moment, please return to your math before it becomes homework."

The students grumbled, sitting back down into their assigned seats, picking up pencils and calculators. The rooms were interrupted again, this time with a hurried knock at the door. "Mr. Armstrong," Mr Simpson poked his head in, a look of heavy remorse sketched into his face. "I need to have Ms. Matlin come with me."

Mr. Armstrong arched his eyebrows, looking mildly confused, but nodded. "Yes, yes, Maya, grab your things and go…"

Zig turned in his seat and looked at Maya, confused. What could she be called in to the office for? Were they doing something more with how Cam attacked him? Shouldn't he be going to, then?

Maya left and the class dragged on until the bell finally rang. A grin stretching upon Zig's face, he quickly sped out of the class room and to his locker, where he pulled his bass out and headed towards the music room. He warmed up, playing some scales and practicing a few WhisperHug songs before there was another knock on the door, revealing Mr. Simpson, again, along with Ms. Sauve, the guidance councillor.

"Mr. Simpson," Ms. Oh questioned, moving from her desk and spoke to him, which he replied to in small whispers as the class looked on feeling very confused and unaware.

Ms. Oh turned away from the principal, her eyes red and watery. "Class, M-Mr. Simpson has to speak to you about a very tragic event that has taken place. Please put your instruments down in a safe position."

Nodding, Mr. Simpson stepped forward. "Students, this morning a student attempted to take his life." Gasps filled the room, students looking at each other, each wondering the same thing: who?

"The student was of course, rushed to the hospital, but I am afraid to say it was too late. An investigation is taking place, and it appears to those we have spoken to that he was suffering deeply from Depression. I know, believe me I do, how hard this is to hear. Ms. Souve is available to speak to any of you who feel you need it, and a grief counselling session will begin tomorrow." Simpson cleared his throat, his voice cracking. "School will be ending after this period today. Buses will be provided. We need the school empty to complete an investigation on the matter."

A hand rose into the air. "Mr. Simpson," A dark haired girl asked. "Can you… can you tell us who it was?"

Simpson's grief-stricken face turned towards her and let out a great sigh. "It was Campbell Saunders."

…

"You're a psycho."

Zig felt the room spinning, voices seemed miles away. He was still in the classroom, wasn't he?

"…get out of her life now."

His heart was pounding, racing faster than it should. Was he having a heart attack? He had to get out of here. Now.

"…forever…"

"Ms. Oh, I need to go!" He said in a rush, charging for a door, despite her calls to him. He ran down the hallway, turning quickly and froze. Maya was sitting on the bench outside Simpson's office. Katie was around, just a little ways away, talking on her cellphone, rubbing her temple with one hand. Bitting his lip, Zig cautiously walked up to the younger girl, sitting down beside her.

"Maya…" He said, wringing his hands together nervously in his lap.

"So, you heard." She replied, her voice rather calm for the situation. "I guess everybody knows by now."

"Maya… I'm… I'm sorry…"

Instead of crying, screaming, or sitting there comatose, like Zig expected, Maya did something different.

She laughed.

She burst out laughing, leaning over and covering her mouth with her hands. "Are you laughing right now?" The tall boy asked, completely bewildered.

"Can you believe it?" She said, pausing her laughter. "My boyfriend breaks up with me, completely out of the blue. And you know what he does? He goes and jumps off the roof!"

"Maya…"

"And you know what's simply hilarious? I didn't even know! I was such a horrible girlfriend who ignored that fact he was suffering and lets him go off and kill himself!"

Zig's heart hammered. "Maya… this isn't your fault…" It's mine, he thought internally.

"I was with him all the time, and I knew he was sensitive and I knew he missed home… I just… I just…." Her eyes closed and the floodgates began to open. Zig paused, lifting up his hands, not sure of what to do. How do you comfort the girl you like after you non-intentionally may have killed her boyfriend?

Maya had stood up and rushed down the hall suddenly, leaving Zig alone as Katie chased after her.

The eerie silence egged on his thoughts: He had caused this. He called Cam a psycho. He told Cam to get out of Maya's life… forever. He never thought Cam would take his words literally… but it seems like he did. He was dead and now all Zig was left with was this heavy, painful guilt sitting ontop of his shoulders, weighing him down.

Covering his mouth, Zig bolted down the hall and burst into the boys' washroom, violently throwing up in the toilet. His breathing was still quick paced and shallow as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and rested his forehead against the seat, shaking.

"Hey, are you okay in there?" A voice called.

Zig couldn't move, he just sat there as the stall door opened and Adam's face poked in, spotting him. "Zig?" He asked, surprise. "Are you okay?"

Zig had meant to say he was fine, that it was just a touch of food poisioning… the flu… something. But instead, he blurted. "No."

Adam's face softened, and he stepped inside, squatting down beside the dark haired boy. "You heard, didn't you? About Cam."

"It's my fault," Zig chocked out, feeling tears slithering down his face. "I caused him to do it. I killed him."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "What, no, Zig. Cam was depressed. He was probably depressed for a while."

"But I triggered him! I told… I told him he was a psycho! That he needed to get out of Maya's life! Forever! I said forever and now he's gone… forever! It's all my fault!"

"Zig, calm down… take some deep breaths," Adam instructed, grasping his shoulder. "Look, with depression… it consumes you. Cam was probably depressed for a long time and without proper help, it was only a matter of time for something to trigger him. He was far away from home, he didn't have many friends… you didn't cause this Zig. There were so many triggers that he reached his breaking point. No one is at fault here. No one. It's just… it's a tragic accident."

Zig sighed. "Then why do I feel so guilty?"

"Regret," Adam replied sadly. "You regret the last words you said to him… and it'll be hard, but closure will come… for everyone in time. I'm sure of it."

Zig nodded, moving his head away and against the toilet seat again. He knew what Adam was speaking held a degree of truth to it, but it couldn't stop the gut wrenching pain he felt in his stomach… the guilt eating at him from the inside. He wished he could go back in time and bit his tongue. Just never say what he did to Cam… and maybe… maybe things would have gotten better for him.

Maybe… just maybe he wouldn't feel like he had the blood of someone dripping off his hands.