A/N: This was mostly inspired by John Green's Looking For Alaska and by Summersetlights's beautiful writing.
I hope you guys enjoy and please REVIEW and tell me what you thought! :)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Degrassi.
The cigarette tastes like shit in between my lips but I take a drag and move the cigarette away from my face and blow. I make circles with the smoke and sometimes make it come out of my nose. It's amusing, I remark, and the girl laughs at me when I cough. She's reading a book, what kind? I have no clue, but she seems to be fixated into it.
It's more amusing to see her read than smoke. I don't smoke for fun, I smoke to die. It's better to end the process quickly, right? Not right. When I see her I don't want to die – I want to live. I want the opposite of everything I've ever longed for when I see her face.
Her eyes twinkle and a smile spreads across her face and I knew she was reading something that made her happy. Most likely something to rid her mind off all of the horrible things that happens in this world. That's something I like about her. She reads to forget. Just like me, she reads to be able to get away.
"What are you reading?" I ask out loud without thinking, and I blow again.
She doesn't respond, so I hit her foot with mine and she hits me back with hers. Footsy?
"Nothing," she responds in a witty way.
"You're such a smart ass," I tell her, and she closes her eyes, as if thinking.
We stay in silence, knowing that there's nothing to talk about between us. The only things heard are the insects outside of the hearse. The flipping of the pages and my coughs in-between drags. We make a tune of our own and soon enough, the cigarette is done and I throw the butt to the ground. Once it hits, I close my eyes and rest my head against the car seat.
She sighs loudly and hits my foot with hers so I hit her back and she hits me back. It's a child game between us but we enjoy it.
"What are you thinking?" She says unexpectedly.
"Nothing," I respond.
"Hm," she closes the book and puts it on her lap and crawls towards me, and I catch a glimpse of her bra.
It's white. It's simple, with no patterns. It represents her. She's simple and white. And although white is supposed to be for pureness she's the opposite of pure.
"Stop staring," she deadpans, and I narrow my eyes. "Pass me one?"
I give her the pack of cigarettes and she lights one up and drags, sitting back against the car door.
"I should probably sell this hearse," I muse out, stretching and hitting her foot.
"Why? You know the things we could do in here?"
Of course I do.
"Anyways, I know you're thinking of something," she persists, hitting my foot again.
Why do you want to know, Clare Edwards? I'm not an interesting person, you should know better. If you get too involved you can become a mess like me. Fuck, don't become a mess like me. You deserve better.
"Tell me," she whines, hitting my foot harder, and takes a long drag, coughing afterwards.
"I'm not thinking of anything."
"That's what they all say," she retorts, grabbing her book once more and flashing me the book cover so I could read the title.
General In His Labyrinth.
"God dammit, how am I supposed to get out of here?" That's what Simon Bolivar says in the end, right? Then I wonder; how do you get out? By dying? No, I don't think so. I think the way to get out of your labyrinth, to have a chance of living normally, is if you have someone by your side. I hope it's like that. Because like Simon Bolivar, I'm stuck in a labyrinth.
So, how do you get out?
"You're at it again," she tells me, and I blink.
"What?" It wasn't supposed to be a question.
"The way your nose wrinkles up and the way your eyebrows furrow and how you squint – you're thinking of something, Goldswrothy. Spit it out," she says, throwing the cigarette out her window.
I sigh then. "You know how in the end the general says how do you get out of here?" I tell her, and she nods. "What if we all just die."
"Stop joking around, Eli," she responds, throwing me the book. "There's other ways, you know."
"Like ho –"
She grabs my hand and puts it over her breast. I blush. What the hell are you doing, Edwards?
"Feel that?" I nod like an idiot. "My heart is pounding, isn't it? I'm living, you're living. Let's keep it like that," she tells me, her eyes softening.
Oh, her eyes. How beautiful. They sing to me and I love it. She's still staring at me and I'm not paying attention to what she's saying because I'm only focusing on her eyes. They sparkle and they waver and they water and they are simply beautiful.
"You love me and I you, Eli. That's good enough," she's says, but I'm not following what she's saying anymore because her eyes trapped me in a trance. "You feel that way, right?"
I stay silent, of course. My lips part, my nose scrunches up, my brows pin together. I'm thinking of something, you're right, Clare Edwards. I'm thinking of you and death. Isn't that pathetic? Thinking of a woman and thinking of a way to get out of the cycle of life. Can we go together- at the same time?
"Your eyes," I tell her, and she blinks, confused, because she and I both don't know what I'm about to say. "They drew me to you," I tell her. She's chewing on her lower lip. She does that when she feels nervous or when she's about to cry.
"That doesn't even have to do with –"
"I'm telling you that I do feel the same, Clare. Once I gazed into them I knew you were the one for me," I say, and she blinks many times, trying to fit things together even though what I said and what she said and what everything we've been doing doesn't make sense.
She leans back into her seat and hits my foot.
"Really? My eyes? That's what made you fall for me?"
"Your eyes are what make me think twice when it comes to killing myself, you know," I tell her seriously, but she laughs, thinking I'm joking. "I'm not kidding."
She stops. She looks at me. She smiles.
"You're funny. Why would you want to kill yourself?" She asks like a child.
Why must you be so naïve?
"Eli," she starts, holding her breath before letting it go. "Your labyrinth is hell, isn't it? Hell on Earth? Mine is, too. But with you – knowing that you love me makes me feel that… life on Earth isn't hell."
"When I read I feel like that, but when I stop reading I have to come back to reality," I blurt out, and she nods.
"I agree which is why I –"
"-can't loose you," we say at the same time, and laugh.
"This is too corny for me, Clare," I say, and she agrees.
So we stop talking, and she picks up her book. She flips to the page she was on and I grab another cigarette and light it. The sun is setting and we aren't speaking. Our feet are playing with each other and I feel that I found the exit to my labyrinth.