I was warm. Extremely warm. And a pair of soft hands were running over my face.

It felt...wonderful, like someone was trying to memorize every plane, every slope of my features. I was dimly aware that there was also pain- a dull ache that flared slightly when gentle fingers applied too much pressure- but it was minute in comparison to the the sweeping caress. My eyes fluttered but I didn't want to open them. I was afraid that, if I did, the gentle touch would disappear, that it would all be a figment of my imagination. So I kept them shut in hopes that the contact would never end.

And I listened.

The sounds around me were odd- a constant beeping, like a medical monitor, a television- on low- crackling in the background, and then...a small, familiar sigh.

"Oh Eli, what were you thinking?" The musical tones of her voice were higher than usual- choked with concern- and her warm breath played over my face.

Clare.

She was in the room with me, close enough for me to feel her.

The incessant beeping in the room increased and I realized that it coincided with the rhythmic beating of my heart. Furrowing my brows, I hissed as a sharp pain shot through my head. Eyes snapping open, I looked around in hesitaton and blinked, thinking that what I saw had to be my imagination.

I was in the hospital.

Drab green walls, tacky curtains hanging from dull dowels, institutional bedding in white and gray...and Clare, sitting in the middle of it all, a single star in a colorless void. She was next to me on the bed, wearing a simple green dress that brought out the emerald flecks in her eyes. Her bottom lip was between her teeth and she nibbled it the way she did when she was nervous. When she saw that I was awake, she pulled her hands away and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Clare?"

She nodded, a curt smile tugging at her lips. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

I cocked my head to get a better look at her, groaning as a stabbing pain coursed down my back. I wondered when I had morphed into a human voodoo doll.

"Like shit," I admitted. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" she asked.

I was about to shake my head but decided against it. "No..." I paused as an image of Fitz slamming his fist into my gut shot to the forefront of my mind. "Oh, wait...Fitz..."

Clare shook her head. "Why on earth would you try and fight him?" she asked, a tiny line forming between her brows.

I smirked and then grimaced. "Me? He was the one who was out for blood!"

Clare looked skeptical. "He told me otherwise," she replied.

The disbelief in her voice made my stomach turn. She believes Fitz over me? How could this be? Clare and I are friends, we have a connection, we are meant to be together, we...My thoughts stalled when I looked at her. She was gazing down at me- a mixture of pain and sheer torment playing over her face- and I finally made the connection.

I'd lost her trust.

Two nights ago I had reached in, taken Clare's heart in my hands, and broken it in two. She had put her faith in me, trusted me, and I had taken advantage of that. I remembered the way she looked at me- the affection and honesty in her eyes- it was almost too much for me to take now. How could I have done it? I had left her...alone, confused, mussed, heartbroken...and Fitz had been the one to walk her home, to comfort her where I couldn't. No wonder Clare didn't believe me- she didn't have any reason to.

And it hurt. It hurt like hell.

"Look," she paused, clenching her fists and pulling a deep breath, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

I frowned in disappointment. "Clare, I...I'm so sorry," I said, my eyes dropping to my hands. They looked bad- my knuckles were still ripped open, just barely beginning to scab over.

She lifted her chin- the same, defiant move she'd used just months before. "For what?" she questioned.

I looked up, throwing every bit of remorse I had at her. "For...leaving you," I whispered. "I wasn't thinking."

"You weren't thinking?" she repeated, her voice cold. "What...you weren't thinking before you kissed me? Or perhaps before you read me that damn poem?"

I blinked, surprised by her use of an expletive. "No, I only meant that I shouldn't have kissed you while I was drunk," I replied, trying to appease her. "It was wrong and it made me...do things that I wouldn't normally do."

She was standing now, glaring down at me in anger. "Right, like kiss me," she snapped.

I sighed. She wasn't listening- she only heard what she wanted to hear. "Clare," I stressed her name, "that is not what I meant at all. You need to listen-"

"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" she shrieked. "You got drunk and then you took advantage of the fact that I liked you!"

I tried not to wince at her use of the word liked- as in, past tense.

"You just love playing with people, don't you, Eli?" she continued, her sweet voice riddled with accusation. "It's some sick game to you. Everything that's happened- Fitz, the ID scam, that poem, this fight- everything!" She scowled and shook her head. "You'd rather own people than love them. Hell, you probably don't even know what love is!"

I narrowed my eyes as anger shot through me. Sitting up, I ignored the sheer agony that was my body. "You're right," I snapped. "I had no clue what love was!"

She gave me a smug look and I matched it with one of my own. "Until I met you."

Clare's eyes widened and she opened her mouth but I cut her off.

"You think my life has always been a pleasure cruise?" I said, face twisting in pain. "Well you're sorely mistaken. You don't know what it's like to live with a father that's never there, to live alone, when you're seventeen years old. You don't know what it's like to have a mother who could barely function because her husband neglected her- buried himself in his work, cheated with countless whores to show up the boys at the office. You couldn't possibly understand what it's like to battle the memories of finding her out cold, in a puddle of her own puke, time after time...of having the same talk about making changes- about giving up the booze- and then finding her again, only this time she'd gone too far..." I choked as the tears began to well in my eyes, "...stuffing as many pills as she could down her throat, guzzling an entire gallon of alcohol- all because she'd found your father with another woman...again."

Clare covered her mouth and shook her head. "Eli, I..." she trailed off when she noticed the torment on my face.

I ran a shakey hand through my hair and hissed when my muscles protested against the movement. It hurt but it was nothing compared to misery's sharp edge. It ripped through my heart, tearing it to shreds as the memories descended on me. I let them bow me forward, turbulent waves pounding, one after the other.

And the girl who meant everything to me witnessed it all.

She watched as I cut open my soul, watched as the black toxins spilled out of me, all over the floor in front of her. There would be no more hiding...I couldn't run away this time...it was just me. Sordid, dark, defiled, rotten...Eli.

Clare stared at me, her mouth agape, regret dancing in her eyes. Her expression made me want to do one of two things- laugh or cry- which, I wasn't quite sure.

But I wasn't done yet.

Clenching the sheet in my hands, I gritted my teeth. "She died," I whispered. "She left me...alone, confused, mussed, heartbroken. She left me with that...that asshole." I breathed in a few times before I finally met her eyes. "I swore I would never love again- I was too afraid, afraid of getting hurt, of feeling something only to have it ripped away."

Looking down at her feet, Clare bit back a sob. I could tell she was trying not to cry and it made me love her that much more. God, why did I even try to deny it? This girl has ruined me...

I closed my eyes. "And then I met you...and I fell for you, hard. I tried not to, really, I did, but I couldn't help myself. You're just so...amazing. You're a lot like my mother."

I heard a tiny gasp and opened my eyes. Clare looked a bit startled.

I smirked. "Not when she was blasted, mind you," I clarified.

Her lips twitched. I noticed that her eyes had softened and that her jaw was no longer clenched. It gave me hope.

"I can remember, when I was a little boy and life was actually going the way it was supposed to, my mother...she was wonderful. She made me feel like I could do anything- she challenged me, made me feel alive." I looked up. "Just like you."

Clare took a step forward. She was biting her lip, brows furrowed in concentration.

"What is it?" I asked, intrigued by her sudden focus.

"I was just thinking about what you said, about life going the way it was supposed to," Clare replied, sitting down next to me on the bed.

I leaned back against the pillows as she bent forward, winding her fingers through my hair. "Did you ever consider the idea that maybe all this," she waggled a finger between the two of us, "is the way it's supposed to be?"

I blinked as the concept dawned on me. Was it possible that my mother's death had not been in vain? That it had served as the catalyst for this, for...us? I thought back to my dream a few months before. My mother had told me that I had motivation and then she had shown me Clare. After that, I had tried to ignore the connections, the things that pointed to our inevitable union, but it was no use.

Clare and I were meant to be.

Everything in my life had led up to meeting this girl. I was supposed to have a horrible father, I was supposed to lose my mother to an overdose, I was supposed to leave Edmonton and come to Degrassi...it was all a precursor to my meeting Clare. She was meant to heal me, to be the light to my dark, the yin to my yang. I had never believed in fate, hell, I still didn't, but there was something to be said about the way life played out. I had gone through the moves, I had let it control me...but when it came to Clare, I revolted. From the very beginning I assumed I was no good for her and I told myself I wouldn't fall. But something within defied that logic- heart. My black, broken heart had experienced catharsis- all because this girl had looked past all the gloom and doom- right at me.

I peeked up at her in astonishment and my breath caught in my throat. She was close...so close that the goddamn heart monitor sounded like it was about to explode. I saw a ghost of a smirk on Clare's face as she leaned into me, nuzzling against my neck. In retrospect, I should have given her hell for it but I was severely distracted by the cacophony in the room- the endless beeping, the fuzzy television, my labored breath, the rustling of Clare's dress against the sheet- it was an agitated symphony but I liked it- a lot.

"What do you think, Eli?" she asked, her lips grazing my ear.

I swallowed hard and turned my head to face her. "I think you might just have a point there, Edwards."

Clare's face split into a wide smile and I smirked back at her. "I love you, Clare."

"I love you too, Eli."

The resulting kiss was not tender. In fact, it hurt like hell, but I ignored it...figured that could be my just retribution for leaving Clare in the alley. Her hands gripped my hair and I gripped her waist, pulling her into bed with me and earning a tiny whimper in return. She was light, so the added weight wasn't too terrible, and extremely soft- softer than I remembered. I trailed my hands over her face, down her neck, and along her back. She shivered and a small sigh escaped her. I took the opportunity to slide my tongue into her mouth and she reciprocated, ur tongues dancing a slow, measured tango. The pain in my body ebbed when Clare's hands snaked around my waist and I thought I might lose consciousness altogether when her knee brushed against me right there.

"Clare, I'm trying really hard to be a gentleman here," I rasped and I felt her giggle against me. She stopped playing and snuggled into my chest. It felt wonderful, having her in my arms, and I squeezed her tight- never wanting to let go.

"Alright, asshol-y shit!" Adam's voice echoed through the room and Clare shot up out of the bed as if I'd just burned her.

I groaned from the loss of her touch and from the sudden pounding in my body. "Clare, the next time I'm beaten to a bloody pulp do you think you could vault off of me with a little less momentum? I mean, I know we're going for the gold here, but Christ!"

She narrowed her eyes. "Watch your mouth, mister," she shot back.

"Ah yes, I seem to have forgotten myself," I retorted. "Time to hit the confessional!"

She swatted me in the arm and I gave her a disbelieving look. "Woman, I am bruised to the hilt, are you trying make me completely black?"

"Uh, Eli...that's not exactly a challenge," she shot back, rolling her eyes.

Adam threw up his hands. "Am I even in the room?" he muttered.

I shot him a sly look. "Hey man, how's it going?"

He shook his head. "Pretty well, though I see it's going very well here..."

Clare blushed furiously and I chuckled. "Yeah, I finally found a way to make it up to dollface, here."

Adam frowned. "Oh yeah, and how'd you do that?"

I smirked, lacing my hands behind my head. "Incompetence."

They both looked at me like I had lost my mind.

I snickered and sat up a bit. "Didn't you know? Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent..."

Clare scoffed and shook her head. "Isaac Asimov, Eli?"

I grinned, impressed that Clare was familiar with my favorite science fiction writer. Was there anything about this girl that wasn't magnificent? I smiled to myself, knowing damn well what the answer to that question was.

Not a chance...