Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Degrassi, because if I did all of these story ideas I have would be kept a strict secret until appearing on-screen, and would not be a fanfiction.
4th installment in my series of one-shots dealing with characters thoughts on Season 4 events. I make it pretty obvious which character I am talking about, but I never mention the name, because I want you to guess. Anyway, this one is really tough for me to write, because it's a character I really have trouble understanding sometimes. But I'm going to give it a try. And thank you everyone for the reviews for the other 3 in the series of one-shots! Spoilers for season 4 episodes after Bark at the Moon.
Summary: "I feel guilty. The guilt eats at me every time I see your name in the From: spot in my e-mail inbox or on a return address line in an unopened letter, or on my missed calls alert on my cell phone. But should I regret that I'm happy? Here… without you?" Another character's thoughts on some important season 4 events. Spoilers post Bark at the Moon.
Should I Regret That I'm Happy?
I stare at the computer screen. I haven't opened my e-mail in days… I haven't read any of them in over a month. The last time I checked, there were 46 unopened messages. Sixteen were from you. I didn't open them. I tried to, you know. I would move the arrow on the message, and would start to lift my finger to click… and my finger would pause there, unmoving, for a moment, until I swiftly moved the arrow to the sign-out box and quickly pressed the button, barely taking the time to turn off the computer properly before rushing out of the room… out of the apartment, off to have fun with my new friends. I can't deal with you yet. I feel guilty. The guilt eats at me every time I see your name in the From: spot in my e-mail inbox or on a return address line in an unopened letter, or on my missed calls alert on my cell phone. But should I regret that I'm happy? Here… without you?
Your unopened letters sit on the corner of my desk, beckoning me to open them. You write me twice a week, but I cannot bring myself to see your handwriting, so messy and sloppy and so endearingly yours, and read your words. "I miss you, I love you." Would be your endless litany. "When are you coming home?" you would ask. "I can't wait to see you when you come home." You would write. You probably even wrote me a song. I know this without reading them, because I know you so well. Your unopened letters are filled with missing me and loving me and needing me. So why can't I read them, if I know what they say?
I have three of your voice mails on my cell phone, waiting, for when I can bring myself to listen to your voice – to hear your words. I know what you would say. "I miss you." "I love you." "I need you." "Call me, please." You would beg. But if I know what your messages would say, why can't I listen to them?
Because to read your letters would mean I would have to reply. I would have to pick up a pen and write back to you. To open your e-mails would mean I would have to compose a message to you, to write back to you. To return your phone calls would mean I would have to talk to you, listen to your voice, hear your words. And I find I cannot do it, any of it. I can't find the words to say to you. I have tried. So many times when I have found a spare moment, I have picked up my pen and started to write, to try to express in words what I am feeling. But the words do not come. Because try as I might, I cannot find the words you would want to hear, the words that you need to hear.
Do I love you? Yes, of course I do, but.. Do I miss you? Yes of course I do, but… Do I need you?
That's where the problem lies. Do I need you? Do I need you as much as you need me?
And I feel guilty every time I try to open your letters, open your e-mails, dial your phone number. I feel guilty because you need me, and I feel your need tightening like a noose around my neck. I feel guilty because I left you, because I needed a break, from you, from us. But I felt like I was losing myself in your illness, always worrying, and wondering, and waiting for your next outburst or for a time when you would forget to take your pills. I needed to get away – from you, from us.
And I came here, alone, to get away. I have found friends here, MY friends, not OUR friends. I have my Dad and Chris here, my family. I have my music here. I have composed so many songs since I came here, without you. I have found a life here, without you. I have found myself again, here, without you. I am happy, here, without you.
And as I look at the words I have written here, to you, I know what will become of this e-mail, like so many others I have tried to write. The delete key is beckoning me, to rid my computer of this message. I have tried so often to write to you. But I cannot write what you want… what you need… to hear. I cannot write "I love you" without adding the "but.." at the end. I cannot write "I miss you" without the "but" at the end. I cannot write "I need you." Because I have found that I do not need you to be happy. Because I am happy, here, without you. I feel guilty that I'm happy, here, without you. Should I regret that I'm happy? Here, in London, without you?