Authors Note: I was sick and needed something to take my attention away from how crappy I feel. I'm not certain if I'm happy with this or not, but still, its my first Skins fic, so be nice! P.S. Just a one shot, maybe others to come.

Disclaimer: If only I were so lucky as to own Skins, in a world where I'd be able to pull off Cassie's style effortlessly and Tony would be all mine. We can all dream, though, right?

Bleed Like Me

Her halo was crooked, not yet broken but close to it. The world fought against her so hard, but she kept her will to survive. Others saw her actions as a cry for help, others believed it was her way of saying she was ready to end her life. He knew, deep down, that the real reason she did the things she did was not because she wanted help, or because she wanted attention or someones eyes on her for a change. We all bloody well know that without her imperfections she would still hold the attention of every guy in the room.

No, she fucked up and acted completely mental because thats who she was - just another fucked up, mental girl in this big, fucked up, mental world. She got so tired of all the false pretenses, of false hope and false upbringings. She wasn't perfect and she was highly aware of that fact, so why had everyone looked at her as if she was for the longest of times? Thats why she quit eating. Thats why she cut. Thats why she always had that fucking goofy smile on her face, filled with a bitter charm and loveliness towards the entire world that it could make your stomach churn with an awful distaste. All she wanted was to fit in, and to fit into a world like this you had to be a bit screwed up. When your sickened by the fakeness of everything it can drive you to do quite stupid, idiotic things.

She was a lot like me in that aspect, I suppose, and maybe thats what drove my attractions towards her. We were both messed up beyong repair, and when we saught refugee in one another it wasn't about being fixed or having hope handed over to us on a silver platter. No, it was just about feeling good about being broken, and being broken together.

I had never taken much notice of her before my accident. I had been all cocky and a total fucking wanker, caught up in myself and not needing the comfort of others. And while others might of assumed that I just acted that way, as if I didn't need anyone or anything, thats not the case. Back then, I really did feel as if I didn't need anyone or anything. It wasn't some pathetic act or show I put on for the world. It was just how I really was.

But now, now everythings different. I'm broken beyond repair, and I no longer have reasons to act like that cocky asshole. My hands tremble, unmoving and stiff. I fumble and fall and end up crawling around, begging for the help of others that I used to walk all over. And now, like I would expect them to do, they take advantage of my condition and I'm left feeling like the shit on the bottom of their shoe. But really, who can blame them? Revenge. Its sweet, never bitter.

But she, she never did that. She looked at me with that knowing stare, delving through my bullshit mannerisms and seeing how I truly was. I remember that first interaction, the first real time she mattered, perfectly.

"Oh, wow, thats just lovely." I heard her speak before I saw her, but that distant, mockingly happy voice of hers was completely recognizable. She must of heard the sound of my slow, shuffling feet coming up behind her, because next thing I know she's blurring into focus and grinning goofily at me.

"Oh wow, you look wonderful!" I read between the lines of her voice and knew what she was getting at - for a bastard as slow as I had become, I looked pretty normal.

"Yeah, well, getting ran over by a bus is wonderful for the complexion." She giggled slightly, running a hand through her mess of hair and glancing down at her bright pink pumps, before resting her know all eyes on me again.

"Your too funny." She paused a second, before continuing with a drawled out tone, "So like, what brings you here?" With my arms hanging limply at my sides, I kept in stride with her slow pace as we walked around the green park. That was another thing I liked about her. She didn't rush me around, or ask if I would like for her to slow down for me. No, she just walked leisurely, taking in all of her surroundings and observing the world with wide eyes.

"I just needed to get out of the house, you know?" I had dropped my bullshit act completely after the accident, no longer seeking comfort in my hard words. When your a broken toy, there's no need to ask for a child to play with you anymore. You know, deep down, that your just going to wind up being pushed into the back of their toy box or worse, tossed out with the trash. And yet still, she made me feel as if my bullshit was still somewhat tolerable, and so that aspect of the old me shined through on ocassion when spending time with her. I was like the broken toy never forgotten, never given up but not often played with.

"What about you?" I questioned, out of an honest to goodness wonderment than anything else.

"Oh, well, it was like the wind was calling to me, you know? I felt so closed off in the hospital, they kept sticking this horrible pricks into my skin. And so I got Misses Suzanne, this wonderfully lovely nurse to sign me out. It was lovely." Oh, of course. I had forgotten she had been placed back into the hospital a couple days before.

"Fuck, I could use a fag." She giggled yet again and pulled a cig out of her pocket, lighting it up and placing it carefully between my lips. My hands were shit, so she pulled it in and out for me. She didn't even ask or question if I wanted her to do it, she just did. Like I was just some empty body standing next to her, her imaginary friend. I was grateful and remorseful for her actions of this all at the same time, but ended up taking no hit against it. Because when you thought about it, the world to her was like some vast, imaginary place. And we were all just make believe people in it.

"Thanks." I mumbled, feeling slightly more numb and humbled then before. Before I knew what was happening, she had grasped my sweaty palm in her own and was leading my around the park, narrating for all the birds and forgotten trash littering the whole fucking place. She got so animated, so overly excited and happy that it slightly rubbed off on me, and I felt myself loosening into the day, too.

She wasn't fake, she wasn't pretending, and she most definitely was not happy. She was just lost in her own little world, living up to her own expectations of fuck ups and being content with that. She put on the grin for everyone else, but she was who she was - however complicated you might like to try and make it, in the end it just came down to that. She was who she was. And she taught me that I was who I was, and it was just that simple.

Cassie and I, we're not friends. We're not lovers, we're not fuck buddies, and hell, we sure aren't enemies - not anymore. We're just together, walking around the park on sunny afternoons, sharing pieces of our broken hearts with one another and enjoying the world in all its fucked up glory. And its as simple as that. For once, simplicity rules out all the complexities our lives bring us, and together, our broken pieces fit perfectly.