A/N: Just a little one-shot I thought up after watching the new Now or Never promo. Drew better not die in the actual show, but for the sake of fanfiction (and for the sake of finally curing the fatal disease known as writer's block) here's my take on what would happen if he did.

000

Bianca DeSousa flicked the lighter on, watching the flame dance slightly above the silver metal with empty eyes. Her therapist reached over and took the lighter delicately, giving Bianca a disapproving look, but the girl didn't respond. She was past caring about anyone.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" There it was, the gentle, caring voice. Fake. All fake. This woman didn't understand at all; she didn't understand that Bianca had caused her boyfriend's death. She didn't, she couldn't, understand the weight of the guilt, the hatred that Bianca felt for herself.

"Please don't kill me."

And then the gunshot. So loud. For the rest of her life, Bianca knew that she would hear that shot, forever ringing in her ears. And then, so loud that she practically drowned out the noise, her piercing scream as she saw the blood. The death.

Bianca sat there silently, her eyes fixed to a point above her therapist's head. She couldn't remember this woman's name; Maggie or Molly or something like that, with a color last name, like Brown or White. Whatever it was, she wasn't going to talk to her. She had nothing to say.

"Your boyfriend died, I understand. I know it must be hard on you."

You don't know anything, Bianca thought.

"It must be difficult, losing someone you love."

Love. Drew was the first guy she had ever really fallen in love with. She hadn't told him, had barely admitted it to herself, and now she'd never tell him. Because he was gone.

On his gravestone, it read Beloved son and brother. There was nothing about her. Then again, what would it have said? Beloved son, brother, and boyfriend just wasn't the same.

She'd loved him, and he'd died because he had protected her. Basically, he'd died because of her. Because she couldn't protect herself and had dragged him into this whole terrifying mess.

Listening to the therapist go on and on about the hardships of young love and how death came to everyone, Bianca suddenly wished that she was anywhere, anywhere, but here. This was not a hardship of young love. This was death, not some unfortunate fight or accident, not her parents catching her sneaking out, not worrying about possible pregnancy or the morning-after pill. Those were things you could get over, things you could move on from. There was no moving on from this.

Death came to everyone, but why Drew? Why someone like him, someone who had his whole damned life ahead of him? How was this idiot Maggie/Molly even a therapist? She obviously didn't know anything about this; Bianca would bet a hundred dollars that the woman had had a picture-perfect life. No blips on the radar ahead, no regrets from the past. No hardships. If her boyfriend had died, she wouldn't be here, telling people that they could improve their lives.

Sometimes, when you hit rock bottom, you kept on falling.

A single tear ran down Bianca's cheek, and she sniffed and wiped it away. Damn it. Maggie/Molly smiled, probably thinking that she had finally managed to reach through to her patient after nearly a month of failed therapy sessions.

"It's okay to cry, sweetie. Just let it all out."

Bianca had let it all out. Again and again and again. She cried without meaning to, without realizing it. She would be thinking about something, even if it wasn't Drew- which was a rare occurrence- and she would feel the familiar, salty wetness rolling down her face, leaving a tiny trail on her skin.

I can't take this anymore, Bianca thought. In an instant, she was up, out of her chair and then through the door. Out of the building. Blowing past the people on the sidewalk. Running and crying until she hit a familiar destination; the ravine.

She didn't know what she took, what she drank, what she did to herself. All that she wanted to do was forget, to get the image of her boyfriend's blood-drenched body with the bullet hole in his skull out of her head. As much as she hated life, she was didn't want to die, either. Dying wasn't a release; she would go straight to hell for what she had done.

The last thing that she remembered was collapsing in a heap, someone leaning over her, cell phone out to either take pictures or call 911, she wasn't sure. Before the blackness closed in, she felt something strange. Disappointment. A pessimist is never disappointed, that was the rule Bianca practically lived by. But staring up at the strange guy with the worried face and the cell phone, she wanted to scream in disappointment.

Because he wasn't the guy she wanted to see standing over her.

And because she knew that she would never be able to forget what happened. She would never be able to forget that she had killed the one person in her life who she had ever really loved.

000

A/N: I think that this proves that it is impossible for me to write anything with a happy ending. Oh well.

I do not own Degrassi.

-ThirteenWishes