Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi. I also don't know Matthew Good Band, or Tripoli, which is the song with which I am incorporating the story.
A/N: I've had a nice number of requests for a sequel to The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most, only, in my opinion, a sequel would be too, too weird. That's why I'm doing a prequel; this is Ashley's point of view before her death. Also, nothing in Season 4 has happened yet. I warn you, though: Read The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most first if you haven't already (and leave a pretty review, hint) because I think the two stories would work better that way. Now, without further ado, enjoy!
Must have lost my mind
When I lost your heart key
On my way out
Strange how you're not with me...
Mutilate the Day from Me
I'd like to say something dramatic here. Something that makes what I'm about to do an actual tragedy, and not just the death of a girl who's barely alive, as it is. But drama kind of cuts down the reality of everything, doesn't it? That's my opinion, anyway.
I feel so empty. I've felt this way for several months now, ever since I had found that stupid figure-skating keychain. Ever since Craig had cheated on me. Ever since...
Well, to make a long story short, it was an awful, gut-wrenching feeling. That feeling's called betrayal. And sometimes, it's so painful that it kills you. It kills you.
And that's why my goodbye-suicide will be so easy. I've been dead since that stupid forgive-me song Craig sang, anyway.
Why did he have to sing it? I had been clinging to my soul with my fingernails, desperately trying to hold on to it...and I let go. I thought everything was going to be alright. I thought I was alright. But it wasn't. The week after, everything was so hollow. I made my way through everyday, listless and apathetic. I didn't care anymore. I didn't care.
I am an empty shell.
I close my eyes now, resting my head against the side of my bed. I am alone; my parents are out, and Toby isn't home from school yet.
Good.
Sometimes I miss him. Craig, I mean. There was a time when I loved him more than anything. There was a time when I would do anything for him. I would die for him. But one look in his direction, and I would hate him. Hate the way he looks when Manny slinks her arm around his back; that secret look they share...so nervous and eager at once. I hate the way he decided that my feelings weren't as important as hers.
I remember when he wrote that first song for me. For Craig, it was all about songs. He could never tell me he loved me properly. And when he could...he was saying the same to Manny, probably with more conviction. And he probably never loved either of us.
You know nothing about love, Craig Manning.
I hate the fact that I can't even hate someone properly. It all rebounds back to me. Hatred is just a word, anyway. It means nothing. That word...it's just a way to identify an illusionary feeling that people imagine. When I say that I hate Craig, it isn't some sort of murderous fury or spite. When I say that I hate him, I mean that I want to hurt myself to make him suffer, make him feel worse than I ever have. Have him know that this is his entire fault.
That may be why I'm doing this, really.
My hands are shaking as I take out an Exacto knife I found in a kitchen drawer. This will be simple. Painless? Clean? No. But so damn easy. I could end it all. That morbid sense of emptiness...it will be gone.
Is it possible to be dead and insane at the same time? I like to think so.
In a while
I will awake to be a has been...
It hurts when I first press the knife into my skin, just at the wrist. The pain surprises me a bit; Ellie showed me the gashes on her arm once, and it didn't look any more painful that a particularly large paper cut. Or something.
But it's such a strange feeling. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through me...it's painful and reviling and oddly exhilarating. My breath comes out in heaving gasps; I can barely breathe.
Through blurred eyes I see a faint line of blood bubble up and break, tricking down my arm, so slimy and cold.
Not deep enough. Not enough to kill me. Not enough to kill Craig.
Before I can change my mind, I raise my hand to my wrist again and make another cut. The second one still feels incredibly foreign and new. Still painful. More blood.
I am crying. My body is quivering with muted sobs and tears are dripping onto those slits on my left wrist, making them sting and smart.
Not enough.
Two more cuts to my other wrist do it as the knife slips from my blood-stained hands.
The blade is sharp. It is a dull shade of grey, but the sunlight that is streaming through the window is casting a white sheen over it. It is stained with blood. The blood makes strange spidery patterns against the silver of the blade.
My stomach is churning.
And at this moment, I feel more alive than I ever have. It's pretty ironic: this feeling that is rushing through me. I feel the blood sticking to my jeans and still tricking down my hands but I am so far from the hollow being that I was only a few minutes ago.
But the feeling disappears, and I am left on the floor, bleeding, empty, dead.
I hear the door open beneath me.
"Ash? You home yet?" Toby's call makes the floor slightly vibrate.
I open my mouth to say something, but I realize that I have nothing to say that won't sound totally ridiculous.
Yes, Toby, I am home, and I have cheerfully slit my wrists to get back at my ex-boyfriend?
I keep quiet.
I am losing consciousness.
And I'm glad.
There is a shout and a blur of striped cotton and jeans flash in front of me. Toby is ranting to himself; Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God... as he shakes me. I numbly feel my head bob up and down on my shoulders as he does so.
He grabs the phone, still raving and crying, but I ignore him. They won't be able to save me, anyway. You can't save someone who wants to die.
You get what you deserve, Craig. You get what you deserve. I hope you live your life consumed by guilt. I hope you'll eat yourself alive because you know you're to blame.
You're to blame, don't forget it...ever.
I am laughing. I am dying and I'm laughing to myself. The sound rings in my ears, haunting and inhuman. Blackness is enveloping me. I can see it at the corner of my eyelids. Toby drops the phone and it clatters to the floor beside me.
I'm crazy. I'm dying. All I can hear is my laughter and all I can feel is the gnawing of the pit in my heart, more accentuated than ever.
You had it coming, Craig. You had it coming; so did I.
I die.
Where has my head gone?
Where do you hole up to
Mutilate the day from me?
Where has my head gone?
Well I felt it slip away.
The End
If you liked, didn't like, sympathized, not comprehend and etc...review!