AN: This is a two part chapter, since the climax happens both chapters and I didn't want them to be this very large chapter. And last night's episode was... wow. I watched it a few minutes ago (I had work last night) and I'm surprised they decided to do a suicide plot; that hasn't been done since Degrassi High. Anyway, I think a lot of people expected it, especially me in some way.

Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.


After coming home from foreign boy's house, I barely want leave my room. Why should I? Everyone would see the fresh bite mark and I would be in trouble. I don't want to, and I don't need to.

"Dinner's ready," I hear my mother say from the kitchenette.

I groan inwardly and make a hasty retreat to the bathroom. I never thought I would say this, but thank The person responsible for inventing makeup. If there wasn't any makeup, we'd look at tons of ugly girls underneath the caked stuff, as well as see the true nature of hickeys for sexually active, young teenage girls and boys. I retrieve the makeup kit from the medicine cabinet and find what I'm looking for—concealer—and with natural talent, I dab the awfully ticklish, dirty sponge onto my neck, making sure the makeup covers the redness and the bite mark. The concealer is the same color as my skin tone, I notice, so the makeup won't just look like a blob of hyperpigmentation.

I look in the mirror, and it's barely there.

I put everything away, clean up my hands, and leave the bathroom so no one in this house would dare to ask me what's on my neck during dinner.

-x-

I feel so unwanted around Cam. He never wants to do anything worth my time anymore, simply because two of his—I mean, my—so-called 'friends' die and he can't get over that. Dude, seriously? You don't even know that Tristan posed as me on FaceRange so how is he your friend? And you wouldn't have known Tori if it wasn't for me.

I groan as Cam moves his face to the side as I try to kiss him. "What the hell?"

"I just..." He stops, and sighs deeply. It's been this way since her stupid death, and I'm tired of it.

"Just what?" I ask, a bit exasperatingly. "You've been distant. Like, a lot."

"I think we should at least talk about this," the hockey player tries to pathetically explain. "You're obviously acting out because you're not over your two friends dying, and it's been a big issue so..."

I drain him out, getting really bored of the conversation. What would it take for him to realize that I don't give a shit about those two? God, life is so much easier when you expose your true nature. I hate living a lie, and I have been for a while.

I don't know when he stopped talking because he waves his hand in my face, losing my train of thought. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, sorry," I pretend to be disoriented and shake my head from the lack of thoughts I had a minute ago. "I know that you've been depressed about the deaths of my friends, but it's taken a toll on our relationship." Psh, like I care about any of those issues.

"I just... I wished it would be easier to forget," he sighs.

Oh god, what's the deal with this idiot? He never liked any of my 'friends'! "Yeah me too, but what happens, happens. We just need to move on and hope for the best."

Complete bullshit. "You're right," he sighs and leans closer to me. I finally feel happier now that he can finally shut up and pay attention to me, rather than the stupid deaths of two stupid friends. "I promise - I'll pay more attention to you now." We both smile, and close the gap between us. Although I feel absolutely nothing but chapped lips against mine, almost like a wall, I pretend to kiss back and feel like I'm enjoying something.
As we pull away, at the corner of my eye, I see foreign boy Zig staring coldly at us. I laugh inwardly, and when Cam walks away from me, I walk over to him.

"What do you want?"

I feign a taken-aback look, just so he could never suspect my true nature of not caring about anything. "Why're you being so mean all of a sudden?"

"Why are you playing the both of us?" He questions, causing me to cock an eyebrow in suspicion. What, I'm not playing anyone. Cam's simply a mask, and the guy standing before me is not a mask. I laugh inwardly at him, although I have a face, stone-cold with no emotion.

"I'm playing who, exactly?" I play the innocent card. I know what I'm doing, but foreign boy Zig here is being a desperate little bitch, thinking that I was going to leave my mask for someone else. That would make me look like a backstabber, a homewrecker, and a slut, words that my sister used to explain half of the girls in this school, especially Bianca.

"You're playing me, and you're playing Cam."

I shake my head, feigning disbelief. "Okay, first, you played Tori, so you shouldn't be talking. Second, I'm not playing you because we're not dating. And third, why did you get the presumption that I was going to leave Cam for you, while this school is still apparently mourning over Tori's death?"

"I - you made it clear that we had something," he stresses. "In the dressing room on top of the vanity, yesterday against my door—"

"A couple of trysts do not solidify anything other than sexual release," I conclude.

His face contorts to a look of anger. "Why are you being like this?"

"Because you thought that since we fucked each other more than once, that I would leave my good and loyal boyfriend for you," I say. "Come on, be realistic. How would that make me look?"

"How you look?" He laughs incredulously. "You know what, why am I wasting my time here? You just proved to me that you obviously care about yourself, and you used me. That's fine, you can keep playing your friend over there who's completely oblivious to your true nature but you won't play me any longer."

Before I have a chance to reply, he walks away without looking back at me. He'll come back; they always come back.

-x-

I look at the shoes in front of me, the one I used to lethally attack my opponent after the pageant not too long ago. They are the same color as my dress, although sporting, as of now, crusty blood. I don't understand why I never cleaned the shoes; they are horribly light blue and blood red, and that's not really a fashion statement. Then again, I know I will never wear those shoes again. They made my feet hurt! God, it hurts being a lady sometimes.

I shrug, and I receive a link about the new update on Tori's death. Yes, I keep an update on those things just in case if they find a clue that makes me look suspicious. Now they update it with the pictures of the marks all over her face of where I attacked her the most, with my shoe. I sigh and close the laptop, and contemplate what I should do with these shoes.

They're pretty, yes, but I don't want them any longer. If I don't throw them away soon, Katie may ransack my room again and find them.

I put my sneakers back on, and put the shoes in the same plastic bag they were hiding it. I open the door, trying to see if the coast is clear so I can sneak out of here. When I feel the house almost empty, I leave my room and head for the front door, but suddenly I hear a door slam.

"Mom? Dad?" I hear my stupid older sister trying to call for our parents. They're not here, oh smart one.

I hastily grab the doorknob and try to open the door, but my sister makes her way to the foyer. "Maya! Where are you going?"

"Uh," I try to think of a logical lie to my sudden sneaking out but surprisingly, I have nothing. Seriously, there's a reason why my room's in the first floor, and I should use the window more often.

"What's in the bag?" She asks.

I look at the plastic bag in my hand, and suddenly made up a lie. "I - I'm just taking out the garbage in my room."

"Garbage?" Katie frowns. "And you felt the need to leave the garbage in our house for others to pick up? You might as well take out the garbage from the kitchen—"

"No," I interrupt her. "This garbage needs to be thrown away... like, burned."

Shit! Why did I say that?

"Uh, I'm pretty sure it's not that serious," she laughs, and tries to grab the plastic bag from me.

"What are you doing?" I ask, trying to move the bag from her peripheral grip.

"Well, it's a little suspicious that your garbage contents need to be burned," she points out. "So what's in there that needs to be burned?"

"Garbage?" I reply obviously. "Look, I have to go throw this away, like now—"

"What's in the bag?" she asks again, a little louder and firmer, and suddenly tries to get the bag from me. I resist, and try to move away from her, but she grabs my wrist, and snatches the bag from my grip. However, I snatch it back and try to get it away from her grip.

"You're ripping the bag!" I argue.

She ignores my comment, and starts tugging on the bag. Suddenly, in almost in a slow-motion scene, the bag rips, and the bloody shoes spill out of the bag. I hear a loud gasp, and then there's silence, complete silence.