Collide
Written by Tears of Mercury
Pairing: Sean and Emma
A/N: Hey, guys! This is my first ever Degrassi fanfic. I've read a lot of Sean/Emma fics on this site (I have two accounts, this one and OnTheOutsideLookingIn), but this is my first time trying my hand at one. I definitely appreciate and welcome your input on how to make it better or more realistic, but please be gentle; this fic and couple are both very close to my heart! I'm posting the prologue and the first chapter on the same day, so review whichever one you want (or both! lol). I'm going to try to end this long-winded author's note now, but just as an informational bit: the prologue is about a quarter of the size of my usual chapters, and takes place at the beginning of the summer. The story is Emma's POV, but there will be occasional breaks where I do a third person POV following Sean. Please read and review!
Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi… or Daniel Clark… or Emma Nelson… wistful sigh …
Do you ever have that feeling at the back of your eyes and in the center of your chest? It's when you can't cry but want to, or you're crying but you need to stop; or sometimes just when it's all hollow. It's like, all of a sudden there's pressure everywhere and it just hurts so bad that you can barely breathe – and you know you won't be able to unless you let it all out somehow. I find myself feeling like that a lot lately. It kind of crept up on me: when I was talking to Snake in the hallway and he asked me how the wife that he cheated on was doing all by herself – except for me, of course. She had me. Or when I made myself throw up because it was the only way that I could even look in the mirror, but I still knew on some level that I shouldn't have… and really, I didn't want to. It happened when I was lying in a hospital bed with my best friend in the world (who I'd managed to insult and hurt in the worst possible ways) next to me crying because there's something wrong with me and my mom was fixing that look on me that I knew so well; when all that I could think was that I had to force it somehow. I had to be guilty and contrite and ready to turn around because it's what they wanted, needed even. And what people need from me has always been the most important thing.
My boyfriend Peter didn't visit me at all the day I was in the hospital. He came by later, but it didn't really mean as much. I may have been struggling to breathe, but a panic attack doesn't render you senseless; I knew that he couldn't even move when he saw me lying there. It wouldn't have hurt as much if he'd been able to run away. I didn't expect some grand, sweeping gesture, like rushing to me and carrying me all the way to the hospital – but the asshole could've at least held my hand if he wasn't going to call 911. I couldn't see his face, but I know exactly what I would've seen if I had: that perfect mixture of shock and disgust and hesitation that I expected from everyone. Strange that no one but him reacted how I predicted. I do know you just a little bit after all, boyfriend. You'll still look out for number one and forget about me when push comes to shove; not that I blame you.
I go to these therapy sessions a lot. This lady, her name is Rosa, is always trying to get me to talk about my inner turmoil, teen angst; all of the crap that's causing me to view myself as a monster of cow-sized proportion. I thought that she would have a field day when she was informed that Snake isn't my biological dad; the thought of abandonment issues dating that far back into my childhood was apparently the missing piece of the puzzle. The fact that my dad didn't abandon me as I eventually found out just made it even more central to all of my emotional issues. She likes to talk about Jay a lot, and how not dealing with that has made me someone that I don't want to be. Of course, I don't know that I don't want to be the way I am on a conscious level. That would be too easy. Maybe I'm being unfair, but I'm sick and tired of spending my Thursday afternoons sitting in a cramped room listening to someone tell me all of the reasons why I'm so completely screwed up after interrogation methods don't work. I just don't think that anyone else can help me if I can't help myself.
Telling her about Jordan was a mistake. I guess that if you put pressure on an object for long enough it'll crack; I certainly proved that theory to be true, at least. The horrified look on her face when I talked about what he did to me (which wasn't really that much considering what he might have done had my mom and Snake gotten there too late) was a little over the top, but the compassion there… it helped. It helped a lot, even if she wouldn't stop asking me to talk about it after that. I never really had a choice before whether or not I wanted to think about that point in my life. My mom was so concerned, so devastated; so sure that it was somehow her fault. What we needed was to move forward and forget about it. At least, that's what I think. When I try to think about how I was feeling back then, things are kind of hazy, like sunlight filtered through a dark piece of cloth. Feelings came later.
Manny isn't sure how to act around me sometimes. It's only for a minute or so, and half of the time even I don't catch it. It's just when we're at the movies and we stop at the concession stand, or the topic of boys comes up and we start talking about Peter. I know that she worries about me for more than one reason, that it's hard for her to say nothing when she just wants to bring something up. She's somehow become the strong one for both of us, though, and she always steamrolls right through those moments, blinking quickly until that look in her eyes is gone or reaching out for my arm when her hand is resting in midair. And then she laughs and smiles and she's Manny again, and I love her for it. We're back to tripping through the day, neither of us really believing that time is passing as we go or that any time at all has passed since we were in grade seven, half of the dynamic foursome. Those moments make me feel like she's my best friend again, a feeling that I miss. No, that's not right; I think that what I miss is feeling like I'm her best friend.
I obsess a lot these days about the past. Do you realize how different your life would be if you'd made just one different choice? If I hadn't gotten Sean stuck in Saturday detention, he might not have ended up with Ellie. If I had chosen to keep Peter out of the picture, Manny and I wouldn't have that gap between us; the stress might not have gotten to me so much that I had to starve myself so I could control something, and I wouldn't be stuck with a boyfriend that sometimes I'm not sure I want. Saying that I'm stuck with him is a pretty good indicator of my feelings right now. Not just about him, either.
Someone is always around me. When I go to the bathroom, Manny comes with me and redoes her makeup in the bedroom mirror so that I'm not tempted to purge. When I'm at the table, Snake and Spike are always sitting by me, prodding me gently to eat and backing me into a corner without even realizing it. My own house is a prison, and my parents don't trust me. I haven't really given them reason to, though. I just need to get away sometimes, and I can't. I wouldn't have anywhere to go if I could.
I promised Manny and my mom that I would fight this thing, and I try. I eat just enough at dinner for Spike to worry but let it go, I stay away from empty bathrooms and ravines. I smile at Peter and kiss him and hold hands and listen when he's talking about something important to him. I have awful karaoke moments in front of the mirror using a hairbrush as a microphone with Manny by my side doing the exact same thing. My heart isn't in it, though, and sometimes I can feel it boiling under the surface, just waiting for the right moment to claw its way to the top. Some day I'll throw up whatever I'm eating and shy away from all other food, I'll manipulate people so that I can keep going the way I am, and I'll lash out at whoever tries to help me. But until then I'll sit in an office once a week and with a complete stranger's help I'll try to turn my life around. Maybe someday I'll believe that that's even possible.