Ellie chewed on her lip and tried to force her mind to go blank. Dr. Cavanaugh, astute as always, noticed the look on her face.
"Talk to me," she said gently. "What's on your mind?"
Ellie hesitated for a long time before answering. It was early the next morning. She hadn't slept well, and that, as well as her circumstances, were starting to overwhelm her. She was having a hard time not blurting everything out. She couldn't quite pinpoint why she felt the need not to talk, but she didn't question it, either. Eventually, though, the burden of not talking about it won out.
"That night," she said quietly. "I can't even kill myself right. It's pathetic. I mean, the whole time, I had stop myself from yelling for someone to come rescue me. It was ridiculous. I just had to keep reminding myself why I was doing what I was doing." She looked away, studying the wall.
"And why was that?" Dr. Cavanaugh asked. Ellie only shrugged. The psychiatrist decided to momentarily switch tactics. "The dots on the ceiling," she said. "They mark where the pipes are and so on, so if they have to get at them, they don't have to take everything apart, just those tiles. Much less interesting than my explanation, I think."
Ellie smiled slightly. "You remembered," she said, pleasantly surprised. "I wasn't expecting that."
"The question was burning my brain," Dr. Cavanaugh said. "I had to know. Just thought I'd pass it along."
"It wasn't any one thing," Ellie said. It took the doctor a moment to realize what she was saying. "It was just kind of... I don't know. Forget it." Dr. Cavanaugh shook her head gently and Ellie stared at the ceiling for a moment, then forced herself to continue. "Everything just built up. My mom was home and drinking and things with Spinner were weird, and then at Sean's I just kind of lost it. I felt like such an idiot for showing up there and it was just pain all the time every day and I was sick of it. I've always been a wimp. You know, avoidance and all that other shit. So I just did it before I had a chance to change my mind."
"Do you regret it?" The question was rather impulsive, but Ellie had to think a moment.
"No," she said finally. "I regret getting caught. I regret getting stuck in this place. But I don't regret trying it."
"Can you tell me about?" Dr. Cavanaugh said softly. "Help me understand what happened, exactly?" This time Ellie's reluctance was obvious, even to the untrained eye. Her entire body stiffened, and she was shaking her head before the psychiatrist even finished talking. "Please?" She didn't want to push too hard, but she knew she would have to push a little to get Ellie to say anything. She could only hope she would find a middle ground.
Ellie chewed on her lip for a long moment. "I think I'd almost made my decision before I got there," she said. "Even before the run-in with my mother." She ignored the doctor's questioning look. "I mean, that stuff, it was just an excuse. I couldn't do it sober. So I left Bueller by Sean so he'd remember about him, and stole a bottle of his parents' vodka. It's always been Mom's favorite, so I thought it would be fitting. Found my ballpoint pen and traced my veins so I wouldn't have to look so hard when I was actually doing it." She took a deep breath. "Realized I didn't have blades on me, so I went to the bathroom and found Sean's razor. It was a safety razor, so I broke the the thing open to get just the blades. Too hard to go deep otherwise, although it does make for some good painful skin shredding. Downed the drink and started slicing. Up the tracks not across or however the saying goes. I mean, I'm not stupid. I'm not going to do anything half-assed."
The doctor nodded. "Feel any better now?"
Ellie wrinkled her nose. "Why would I? I gave in and told the details of my pathetic existance to someone I don't even know. Can I go back to my room now?" Dr. Sutherland sighed before giving a very slight nod of permission. Ellie didn't ask twice.
They gave Ellie a sleeping pill that night, and it was then that she began to formulate her plan.
------------------------
Sean's first day back to school seemed to have been a fluke. His second day was an utter pain in the ass. It wasn't just school that was the problem. His father woke him up mumbling some accusation about a missing bottle of vodka. When Sean made the suggestion that perhaps his father had consumed it while drunk, he had to duck to avoid flying fists. He somehow came up with the idea that it would be funny to steal the rest of his parents' alcohol, and then of course, had to find somewhere to keep it. He later wondered why at the time, his backpack had seemed like a logical place.
He knew things were different the moment the school was in sight. He was filled with an all-too-familiar feeling--a combination of guilt, anxiety, and desperation. He found a parking spot, and had to force himself not to take a swig from any of the bottles he had with him.
It was a long time before he was able to make himself enter the building, and longer still before he made it to class. Mlle. Deslauriers gave him a funny look, but said nothing. He was a zombie through his other classes, and was grateful when lunch came--until he remembered his promise to get extra French help.
He showed up and she greeted him pleasantly enough, but when he pulled his textbook out of his bag, then tossed the bag on the floor without thinking about it, he knew he was in trouble. There was a muffled sound of glass breaking, and then the smell of alcohol seeped into the room.
"Ouvrez votre sac, s'il-vous-plaît," the teacher said. "Your bag. Open it, please."
He'd always been one to get immediately defensive. "It's my property," he said, a trace of anger in his voice. "You can't make me."
"Security could," she said. "You're underage. Open it." He did so, not shying away from her gaze. "Want to explain why you have those on school property?" she asked.
He decided to go the semi-honest route. "I'm keeping them away from my parents. I didn't drink any." He was doubly thankful that he'd resisted the urge. "Do you want me to breathe in your face and prove it?"
She shook her head. "You're pushing it," she said quietly. "Take your lunch hour and dispose of those. If I catch you doing anything even remotely against the rules in the future, I'm going to have to report you. Be here after school today instead, so I can get you caught up, and maybe lecture you a bit more." She said the last sentence with a slight smile. "You're a good kid, Sean. You try not to be sometimes, but you are. Don't throw your life away because you want to maintain a certain image."
"Go to hell," he mumbled under his breath. Either she didn't hear him, or she pretended not to. Either way, he was relieved although he never would have admitted it. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the car, dodging the principal along the way.
He drove to a nearby park, then concluded that breaking one more rule wouldn't hurt. There was a sharp cliff at the edge of the property, and after rescuing a few things from his bag, he tossed the rest over the edge. He didn't go back to school until the final bell rang, and he knew in Mlle. Deslauriers would be waiting for him.