Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,

War, death or sickness did lay siege to it,

Making it momentany as a sound,

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream.

~ Lysander, A Midsummer Night's Dream

Quite a hard hitting first chapter, but it will get lighter after this, I promise. There'll be plenty of Nikki & Tom drabble to come in later chapters...

"Josh, open the door."

Finn, perched on the sink in the boys' toilets, glanced between his English teacher and the unresponsive door. "Miss, you shouldn't be in here."

She just gave him a look.

"I'm going to find Mr Clarkson," he slipped down and disappeared.

The toilets felt too quiet. The taps dripped and the water gurgled in the drain; distant voices chattered in the corridor. The silence between her and the boy she was trying so desperately to connect with, though, stung Nikki, made her feel numb.

"Josh, please."

"I want my dad."

"I know. He's coming – Finn's gone to get him," she leant against the door, heard his heavy breathing, "Can't you talk to me until he's here?"

"I don't know."

"I just want to help you."

He sniffed, "I'm scared."

She'd seen him run in here with his head in his hands, followed by a bewildered Finn. She could hear the crackling of a packet inside the cubicle now, and the truth was she was scared too. "I know, Josh. But it's going to be okay. Just open the door for me."

"You don't understand."

"Explain it to me, then," she could hear her own voice trembling. The woman who, a couple of weeks ago, had been marching children around the yard screaming at them, reduced to a wreck by this boy and his struggle. What was this place, Waterloo Road? What was it doing to her? What was he doing to her?

"Okay, has someone said something to you?"

"No."

"Has someone hurt you?"

"No."

"Are you ill?"

He sighed.

She supposed that was a bit of a stupid question, even by her standards. She wondered where Tom was; whether Finn had found him yet. Would he come running, worried about his child? Would he just despair even more? They'd always been close, from what she'd heard, but they seemed so far apart right now.

"Josh, all I want to do is help you. I've always helped you, remember? When we went on that jog?" she smiled at the memory, bittersweet, "Come on, sweetheart. Please."

She couldn't remember ever calling anyone sweetheart, except perhaps her dog. He'd been called Teddy. He'd died last year, and yes she'd cried, a lot. She lived alone now. And no, she hadn't had a boyfriend for a while. And no, she was not a lesbian.

She could just imagine the kind of rumours circulating about her at the moment – she remembered when she'd been the one spreading them at her own school as a child. Karma, hey? Everything always came back round, eventually.

"Josh?"

He opened the door, and she almost fell forwards on to him.

"That's it; good boy," she regained her balance and crouched down beside him; he was sitting on the toilet, his feet curled up, "It's okay. Now come on, Josh, just tell me what's going on. It's okay."

"It's not okay."

"What isn't?"

He held out a packet of tablets. She noted the name: the same ones she'd researched on the computer the other day, the ones for Schizophrenia. Every tablet was gone from its hole. His face was pale, his eyes empty.

"Okay, Josh," she pulled him up from the toilet, "Okay. Come on, you need to get rid of them, okay? You need to..."

He looked at her silently.

She pushed him back down beside the toilet, like she was using a puppet, like he was just a game, "Come on, make yourself sick; you need to get rid of the tablets. Do you understand, Josh? You need to be sick."

He shoved his fingers down his throat, and she almost threw up all over him at the sight of a child deliberately doing that to himself. She'd told him to do it.

She remembered her best friend at high school – she'd been bulimic. She'd been hospitalised eventually, and they'd lost contact. God knew where she was now. Why did life do these things, make everything so hard? Why did she do it to herself?

She took her phone from her pocket silently, gagging.

"What are you doing?" he stood up, wiping his mouth, his hands shaking, his hair damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, "What are you doing with the phone?"

"I'm... I'm calling for an ambulance, Josh."

"What?"

"An ambulance. To take you to the hospital."

"No, no, I don't need..."

She shook her head, "You're ill, Josh. You've been ill for a while, and I know it's hard to admit that sort of thing, but if you pretend you're fine then nothing is ever going to be solved, is it? You need help, sweetheart."

"I don't."

"I'm sorry," she dialled two of the nines.

Before she could reach the third, he pushed past her in fury, and when she tried to catch his arm he pushed her backwards. It wasn't a hard push, because he wasn't in any state to be strong, but she fell and her head slammed against the side of the cubicle.

She struggled up, and raised a hand to the back of her head where the pain was excruciating. Wet, sticky blood. Tears formed in her eyes, and she wasn't sure if that was for the pain or for the blood or for Josh, who stood frozen staring at her, as though he couldn't believe what he'd just done.

"I'm sorry," he gave a sob.

"It's okay, Josh, just..." she began softly, but he'd already run.

The door slammed, and suddenly it was even quieter than before, and she could barely breathe for the pain. She didn't know how long she stood there, but when the door opened again she was on the floor, blood all over her hands, silently crying.

"Nikki," Tom whispered, kneeling down, "What happened?"

Finn picked up her abandoned phone, pressed the final nine and stepped outside to make the phone call. Tom felt a flicker of pride; he was a good head boy. Then he saw Nikki's face again, stained with blood and tears, and he knew his son had done that.

"I'm... I'm okay."

"You're not," he said, "Can you stand up? We need to get you to the office; there's first aid stuff, and we'll get Michael."

"Josh..."

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know. I tried to... he took tablets..." she sniffed, "I made him throw them up... I didn't know, oh my God, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay," he said softly, lifting her up in his arms, pressing a hand to her head to stem the bleeding. She was light, and she smelled sweet. "You're going to be okay. You don't need to apologise – it's not your fault."

"You need... to find him."

"Yeah, I know," he stroked her hair back from her face, carried her out of the toilets, "I know. It's okay."

"Yeah. Waterloo Road. She's got head injuries," Finn was talking into the phone, calmly and yet urgently. Tom gave him a silent nod of gratitude as he passed.

"Oh my God," Janeece screeched as they reached the office, "Michael!"

"I'm... I'm okay."

"Yeah, you're okay," Tom whispered as he laid her down on the sofa, and Michael and Janeece fussed around with first aid kits and blankets, and soft conversation filled the air. He bent and kissed her head. "I'll find him, Nikki, I promise. I'll be back soon. You're going to be okay, just be brave."

"Yeah," she whispered.

Another door slammed. She fell into unconsciousness without struggling.

XxXxX

For everyone who loves Waterloo Road.

I don't own anything, but I wish I did.

Please review xx