Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.

Chapter 11: Provoked

"It's not a bad look for you," Marco commented as I pulled the door shut behind me. He was referring to my hair, or lack thereof. "I kind of like it – a return to your olden golden goth days."

"Yeah, thanks," I said hastily, rushing past him towards the stairs.

"Hey, uh –" Marco held up our Sociology textbook. "Studying, remember? Or are you an olden golden drop-out now?"

"No, hon, that's me," said Paige as she swept through the room with a pile of shirts over her arm. She addressed me: "I highly recommend it! It tends to get you hot week-long trips to…that's right, New York." And she disappeared up the stairs.

"Later, Marco, I promise." But I knew as I followed Paige up the stairs that later wouldn't come today, and probably wouldn't come tomorrow either. I was terrified that he would want to "talk." And I was so confused about what was going on inside of me that I couldn't stand having to answer to someone else.

What I needed was a plan. A Plan. A Plan-with-a-capital-P. A…Plizzan. What do I really want?, I asked myself. All I had wanted throughout the entire school year had been Jessie- and Core-related, and I had thrown that all away, not to mention that I had flung myself into the trash bin along with it. But my desire to be a part of The Core had preceded my Jessie days. The reason I had even met him was because I had taken my Amberley-invective to The Core with stars in my eyes. But I had not had just stars in my eyes – I had had confidence. Spunk. Dignity.

That's what I wanted: I wanted that dignity back. Didn't I deserve that much? But how could I get it? I sat at my desk, as if settling to set out a brilliant story, and puzzled out the details. What's the cause of dignity? Hm…it was easier to figure out what the cause of losing dignity was. Six-letter word, starts with J, rhymes with "Messy"…

Okay. Part of what that dignity had come from was not knowing Jessie. So somehow I had to erase him from my mind. That made my desire to be a part of The Core very difficult, however. Especially since Jessie was lined up to do his Master's next year and had been nominated to continue his position of editor. There was no way I could avoid him next year. Assuming I made it to next year…

I brushed away that dark thought, but in the pit of my stomach I was perturbed. Last night, I had lost control. Whenever I cut before, it was because I was taking back control. Taking back my dignity. Still, when I did it, it was like I became disconnected from my body. I almost laughed at myself in my mind, told myself, this is so weird! But I simply stared down at my wrist and relished the sight of the blood. I let myself keep going. I made myself keep going. And at the same time, it's like it happened without me really controlling it.

And last night was no different. I had vaguely thought how strange I must look. If I were Paige and had encountered unprovoked screaming not to mention a tub smeared with blood and clumps of long red hair, I would have reacted with anything but her calm. Yet I kept at it. At the time it felt like the only thing to do. And again, it was completely unprovoked. I had spent the previous hour in class, I had just parted with my best friend Marco. Everything was normal. He was off to work and I was headed home to study.

But no, life's not like that. There's always a darkness inside to contend with, a darkness that is only mirrored by the taunts of the untouched textbooks and the melodramatic sexual encounters, the hole of an absent father, the hole of a bottled mother…and, the scars on my wrists and my arms.

So in a sense, it was perfectly normal for me to lock myself in the bathroom and enact the violence of that darkness. No one else around…no one else to patronize me, to lock me into unwanted contracts, to interpret my own life for me. I could finally do it all to myself. The violence, the condescension, the indifference, the anger, the judgment, the interpretation, the creation…and, the absence. I was in control of all these things. I owned them. They were mine.

Last night was the beginning of me taking it all back.

I rubbed my sore, yet satisfyingly smooth head.

I might be no one. But "no one" was going to control me. I, no one, was taking it all back.