"Just because I'm smiling doesn't mean I'm happy...because it takes one smile to cover up a million tears." - Anonymous

Clare reached up to brush her fingers along the edge of the bruise around Eli's eye, frowning in concern. Her fingertips were soft and cool, and her lips were parted slightly.

He wanted to kiss her.

The thought was sudden and shocking. Eli wanted to kiss Clare Edwards.

But he couldn't think like that about anyone, especially not Clare. So he shoved the thought out of his mind.

"What happened?" she asked, her soft blue eyes staring into his dark green ones. She looked almost too fragile, too innocent, as always.

How could a suicide look like that? How could someone so broken, so fucked up, look innocent at the same time?

Take a guess, Blue Eyes.

"Nothing," he replied. He didn't want Clare to worry about him. This was his own problem, and he didn't want to get her involved. He could take care of himself, more or less, and this… issue of his didn't concern her.

"What happened?" she repeated, stubbornly this time.

Eli sighed. "I tripped. Smacked my head on the table."

"I don't believe you."

Of course she didn't.

"It's none of your business."

"Eli, we're… English partners. We're friends now. If someone hurt you-"

"Like I said, it was an accident."

"Like I said, I don't believe you."

Damn, she could be pigheaded when she wanted to be. But that was his story, the same story he'd told his parents, and he was sticking to it. If Clare knew what really happened, she'd be sucked into this mess he'd made, and he… well, he cared about her too much to let that happen.

Somewhere along the line, he started caring about Clare Edwards. Caring way, way too much.

Fuck his life.

"Don't worry about me, Blue Eyes."

To be perfectly honest, he wanted her to worry about him. He wanted her to care about him. He wanted to think that someone, somehow, actually gave a damn about him, for whatever reason. Even his parents… they didn't have a choice. He was their son. But Clare… she had no obligation, no contract signed in blood that said that she had to even give him a second glance, and she did anyways. Ever since Julia died, though he would never admit it, he had wanted someone, anyone, to actually care enough to do something about him, something for him.

He couldn't think like that, either. He couldn't.

She shrugged, pulling her hand away. "Can't help it."

What's that supposed to mean?

Eli was afraid to guess, afraid to ask, afraid of whatever answer she would give.

He, Elijah Goldsworthy, was scared half to death of the tiny, delicate Clare Edwards. Because he knew that she had the power to hurt him again. He'd let himself be weak enough to give her the power over him to hurt him. If she said a certain thing, if she acted in a certain way, if she left him like everyone else had… he'd break again.

What was she doing to him?

Eli understood how people hundreds of years before had believed in witches. If he hadn't known better, he would've sworn that Clare had cast some kind of spell over him.

Because he'd promised himself that he would never care about anyone enough to let them hurt him. Never again.

And now he had.

Eli wasn't sure how it had happened. It was just… all of the sudden, he realized that he really did care about her. He'd done the impossible. He'd broken his promise, to Julia and to himself.

"And before you ask me if I want to skip… no, I don't. I actually want to try to make it through the whole day, okay?"

She was catching on to him.

Eli simply smirked and replied, "Okay."

Clare hesitated, even though if she wanted to get to class on time, she would have to practically sprint through the hallways now. "You… you'll stay here, right? I mean, you'll be here, at Degrassi, if I need you?"

She needs me.

"Of course," he promised.

But he knew that he couldn't. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't always be there when she needed him. He couldn't be her knight in shining armor, and it was killing him.

He just kept making promises that he knew he was going to break.

And he hated himself because of it.

000

Clare knew that she had to stop doing this to herself.

She knew that someday, someone might find out. She knew that she couldn't keep secrets forever. She knew that. She wasn't stupid.

To be honest, she wanted someone to see. She wanted someone to care enough, to see the scars and help her. Deep, deep down, she wanted to get better, and this was her cry for help. She knew that it was futile; she knew that no one would ever care.

But she couldn't stop.

It wasn't just the cutting anymore.

Not just the slash.

Not just the blood.

Not just the pain.

It was more than that.

Clare held the razor delicately between her thumb and forefinger, taking a deep breath and then pressing the edge against the inside of her arm. She slowly pulled it across her skin, closing her eyes.

"Clare, I'm sorry!"

"You said that before! Why should I believe you this time?"

Mark caught her wrists, holding them securely in his hands, and she winced in pain. They were already bruised from the night before, when he'd shown up at her door, unannounced and drunk, just like he always was these days.

"Clare, I… just listen to me. Please. I'm really, really sorry. It's just… you were pissing me off, and I… well, I just couldn't help myself. I was just so mad at you, and… I'm really sorry."

"You were drunk! You told me that you'd stop drinking! For me, remember, Mark? You said that you'd stop drinking for me."

Mark sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry. Please forgive me, Clare. Please."

"I… I don't know if I can."

"But you're a Christian, aren't you? You're supposed to forgive, right?"

Clare could feel tears prickling behind her eyes. She had been brought up believing that everyone deserved a second chance. Of course, she'd already given Mark a second chance, but… was she a horrible person if she didn't forgive him? Was she a cold-hearted bitch if she didn't believe him? He looked so sincere, so apologetic, and… how could she not take him back? How could she not accept his apology?

"It'll never happen again, right?" Clare nearly whimpered. "You promise that you'll never hit me again?"'

Mark wrapped his arms gently around her. "I promise."

She should have known better.

Clare twisted the knob on the sink, icy cold water running from the faucet. She stuck her arm underneath and waited until the water had washed the cut clean before she rinsed off the blade.

She didn't want to stop.

She knew that it was wrong, but she didn't want to stop.

Not because it felt good. It didn't.

But because she just couldn't.

And nobody cared enough to help her.

000

Darcy locked Clare's door behind her, telling herself, I have to do this. I have to do this for her.

She slid Clare's diary off of the bookshelf and flipped towards the end, praying to God for forgiveness of what she was about to do.

…I don't know what to do anymore, Clare had written. I don't know how to feel. Everything I do makes him mad. Maybe, if I was a better girlfriend, if I was a better person, he wouldn't do this to me. Maybe it really is my fault.

Darcy's eyes widened in shock. What was Clare talking about? What was happening to her?

She flipped back and forth a few pages, scanning her sister's neat handwriting anxiously. Little passages, phrases of words clumped together in slightly smeared pen ink, jumped out at her.

…he hit me again today… it's getting harder to hide the bruises… he always apologizes… he brought me flowers… he was drunk again… he promised that he'll never do it again… he's right, it's all my fault… everything's all my fault… I can barely move today… some secrets are best kept secrets… if anyone knew, they'd hate me forever… I deserve this…

Darcy didn't realize that she was crying until the drop of water fell onto the page, splattering the ink.

How could something like this have happened to her baby sister for so long and no one ever knew? How could Clare have kept this hidden from everyone? If Darcy had been there… oh, God, if she had just been there, if she had just visited home or, better yet, never have gone to Kenya, maybe she couldn't stopped this. Maybe she could've helped Clare.

Throughout the entire diary, Clare never mentioned his name.

But it wasn't so hard to guess.

Darcy snapped Clare's diary closed, shoving it back into its place on the bookshelf. She didn't think that she could force herself to read another word of that.

The tears were coming in earnest now, and Darcy fumbled with the lock, bursting out of her sister's room and running straight down the stairs and out the door.

She had to get out of that house, just for a little while. Just to clear her head before she tried to figure out what the fuck she was going to do about it.

She was crying and running and every part of her was screaming in horror.

This was all too close, all too real.

This couldn't be happening.

000

"Clare! Hey, Clare, wait up!"

Clare turned to see Adam jogging towards her, holding a piece of folded notebook paper in his hand. He gave her and Eli a slightly uneasy smile before handing her the paper.

"Some guy gave it to me yesterday. He told me to give it to you next time I saw you… said his name was Fitz or something."

Fitz.

Clare was the only one who was allowed to call him Mark. She'd stupidly thought that that meant that he was opening up to her, that she was good for him.

He cared about her. He said that he did, and she had no choice but to believe him, because he was the only person who ever would.

Clare didn't even notice Adam walking away. She simply stared at the folded paper, trying to breathe, but she couldn't. Her lungs rejected even the possibility of oxygen.

"Clare?" Eli murmured, but he didn't touch her.

Clare didn't answer. She opened the creased paper slowly, her fingers clenching it so hard, the paper was almost tearing in half.

Three simple words.

I miss you.

Three simple words brought her whole world, every shred of sanity she had left, crashing and burning all the way down.

000

A/N: (I would PM this person, but like I said before, my computer freezes every time I try.) Last chapter, someone asked me if I've ever cut myself. Yes, I have. I was going through a tough period of my life a while ago for reasons that I'd rather keep private, and I used to cut. I don't anymore, but I used to, and I remember what it felt like.

Cutting is like alcohol. I know it's bad for me and I know that I shouldn't do it, but I still want to, just like an alcoholic would still want a drink, even though it's been months since I've cut.

Depression is not a joke. It's a serious condition that many people, including me, have struggled with their entire lives and will continue to battle for as long as they live.

I just want to say that if any of my readers self-harm, I hope that things get better for you. I'm not going to pretend like I understand what's going on in your life, but certain things in my life did get better for me and I hope that they do for you as well. Stay strong.

I do not own Degrassi.