A/N: Sorry about last night! I updated the wrong doc. My apologies x20394850928345098 bajillion for being so dang inconsistent.

Thanks for sticking with me! I very much 'ppreciate it.

And I'm thinking I'll be wrapping this story up within the next few chapters...we'll see how that goes...I'm still not all that sure about the ending and where this is going and yeah.

Enjoy, please?

It took so long just to feel alright
Remember how to put back the light in my eyes

Mark nodded vaguely as Clare looked up at the dark sky above them. She knew he didn't understand. Not really. She herself hardly knew what she was saying.

Her life never used to be this complicated. But now it seemed as if she'd be tangled forever in this…mess. No, her life hadn't always been this way. Once, she was normal, unbroken. But life had made her jaded, yet dare she say it?—strong.

She might be confused and torn and unsure of her feelings for the boy before her and her best friend, but at least now she was standing on her own. She'd given up on the hope of closure shortly after Vegas Night but still Clare liked to think she was at least healed now. Yes, you could still see her scars, barely visible through the façade of the everyday life she's built up protectively around herself along with her ever budding friendship with Eli and the rest of the kids of Degrassi.

But even Fitzy took note of the scars. He knew he was to blame. Perhaps that was why he saw them so clearly. If only he had noticed her and seen her—really seen her—before this…mess. Maybe then the scars wouldn't even be there now, messing with her beautiful face, making her look older, wiser. But they were there. They were there because of him. And the thought left Mark at a loss for words. He suddenly forgot why he was here at all in the first place. Clare seemed to have made it clear that this even was shocking and…unnecessary? Fitz stared at his hands. He couldn't read her anymore, like he used to.

I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed
'Cause you broke all your promises

For a solid few moments, the crash of rain on earth and pavement became the only sound heard. Clare's eyes remained trained on the sky, not caring in the slightest that she was getting soaked. Slowly, something inside her swam to the surface. A confidence she never seemed to have. A voice. Clear, smooth, devoid of emotion. Careful.

"It's been a year, Fitz. Is there a reason you're here?"

His head snapped up, no longer examining his nail bitten fingers. He noticed how she didn't call him by his first name. She was really the only one besides his mother who called him that. Even Principal Simpson referred to him by his nickname. But nonetheless, she had addressed him and he searched desperately for something to say to her.

As she waited, Clare made sure her face arranged itself into an inscrutable expression. There was too much going on inside her head. It was all she could do not to let it show.

And now you're back

His hands shook. "I just need to talk to you."

Clare kept her eyes steady, but her voice she could no longer control. It was too much. All too much. "It's been a year," she repeated, incredulous. "Mark, it's been a whole year." Just as her tears had stopped, they picked up once again. All too much.

Head bent. A seemingly different person. "I know. That's why I need to talk to you."

Clare openly gaped. She found herself shaking her head. She owed him nothing. Not her time, not her—

"Please," he pleaded with her. "To apologize."

Clare looked heavenwards. Then almost without even realizing it, she opened the door wider, letting him inside out of the rain.

You don't get to get me back

"Clare, I—" There he stood in her home, sopping wet, the rain running off his soaked hoodie and onto the floor. He shivered and Clare felt her resolve waver ever so slightly. She left the room and returned with a towel. Slowly, she held it out to him.

Taken aback, Mark thanked her and pulled the towel around over his shoulders.

"Look," Clare cleared her throat, breaking the silence, praying to God in Heaven that he wasn't getting the wrong idea. The thought was too much and Clare knew such an idea was terribly unhealthy for the both of them. "My mother already hates your guts. I can't imagine what she'd say if you ruined her carpet." Clare kept her tone flat, without humor.

Fitz nodded. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Clare shut her eyes tight, waiting for him to speak. As she stood there blindly, she noticed how much of her life she spent waiting on him, waiting for the truth, waiting for him to come around. Standing there, she realized what a child she was being, eyes shut as if the "I can't see you/you can't see me" three year old mentality would make it hurt less.

Finally he spoke. "Can I sit down?"

Who do you think you are?
Running round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart

Clare's eyes flew open and quickly she nodded dumbly as Mark took a seat on the stairs. As the seconds ticked by and still Fitz stared at his hands, head bent, Clare wondered what he could possibly say to her after all this time. She kept her distance, her back resting on the closed front door and her hand lay unconsciously on the door knob, as if her subconscious was preparing in the event of an emergency escape.

When it seemed evident Mark wasn't ready to speak up, she found her voice. "You know, you didn't have to come here."

Startled and eyes glassy, Mark's head snapped up. "But I need to."

Clare let out a dark laugh that seemed to come out of nowhere. "You need to what? Explain? Well, save your breath." She couldn't believe she'd let him into her house. She felt sick to her stomach. Fitz's face looked pained as he continued to sit there on the steps. "Clare, I am so—"

"Oh!" Clare couldn't help but interrupt, not even wanting to hear him finish that sentence. She didn't believe it. She couldn't. All too much. "Now you're sorry? You're sorry you almost managed to kill Eli? Sorry you broke me into pieces? Sorry you were too busy getting high all the time to care? Well, I don't want to hear it!" By now, Clare's chest was heaving and she'd long since past the welcome mat of hysteria.

"I know." Again, Mark spoke to his hands, his voice unbelievably small. "I was—am—so many things. I don't think I could even expect you to ever be able to forgive me."

Learned to live, half alive

For a while, there was silence Clare couldn't break. Then just as quiet: "So why are you here?"

Finally he looked up into her eyes. "I told you. To apologize." Pause. Admitting, "I was messed up, Clare."

Messed up.

Messed up.

Clare hugged her arms, holding herself together.

So many. So many people. Messed up in the head. In the heart.

Tearing love apart

Her first thought was Alli.

Freshman year. Mascara running, hair falling out, an absolute rats nest. Holding her hand as her friend's eyes overflowed in one ugly mess.

"He told me he loved me, that I was his first." Clare graciously offered her the box of tissues, staying quiet in solidarity. "God, this is so unfair." Alli complied as she spoke through her tears, the tissues turning an ominous black from the water droplets masked by mascara. "Clare. Clare, you have no idea how lucky I am to have you here."

How to put back the light in my eyes?

And then Adam in the school yard, alone at the picnic table, dressed in pink. Clare walking up to say hello. Instantly spotting the knife. The scars on his arm. In an instant, covering them with her fingertips.

"Clare," he choked, as if it were an apology of some sort. "I just can't be her anymore." Looking anywhere but Clare. "Gracie's like this nightmare I can never wake up from." She quietly watched the evident pain flash in he eyes. "I can't do this on my own anymore.

Leaving scars

Eli. His eyes shot red. Knuckles white, clinging for dear life, clutching the steering wheel of the hearse. Desperately, Clare ached to loosen his fingers from the wheel but she didn't know how. Too busy silently watching his face contort in emotion all too painful.

"I'm scared to forget her, Clare…but I'm terrified to remember. And," he swallowed, his eyes never leaving the dashboard, "I'm afraid she's ruining my life."

Clare felt her own eyes fill up. "Oh, you don't mean that," Clare protested weakly, not knowing what words to say.

"Yes," Eli's voice rose. "I do." Hanging his head, forehead resting on the wheel. "Because I'm just stuck here… I need to move forward. For you. For Cece and Bullfrog. For me…I need to live. But…I can't."

Clare was sure she had never seen Eli this way. In her mind, he stood on some sort of pedestal, above such things as tears. Clearly she was wrong.

Eli lifted his head for just a moment. "Don't you see how messed up this is?" Clare didn't have an answer. "Just," he hesitated, finally lifting his head from the wheel. "Just promise me you'll stick by me? I know it's a lot to ask. Just…please—"

"I'll always be your friend, Eli."

Half alive

And that night at the hospital. Breaking down in a ladies room stall. Believing Eli dead and thinking Fitz might as well be. Rocking back and forth on the cold tile floor, her heart beating so unjustly loud, it hurt her chest, praying that her best friend would see the light of day. Praying for a life any better than this. Messed up.

Collecting your jar of hearts

"Yes." Clare felt herself nod in recognition. She knew the feeling all too well. "Aren't we all?"