--Rest My Head--
Rating: R for explicit drug use, language, some violence, and sexual content.
Dedication: For Amy, because she digs drugs, Emma, and Ashlee Simpson.
Author's Note: Here I am again, warping the meaning of simple bubblegum songs. When I came up with the plot for this fic, I thought I'd come up with something terribly shocking and original. But then, lo and behold, "Secret" aired, and suddenly the shock-value and originality seem somewhat diminished. None the less, I'd worked too long and hard on this fic to quit half-way, so I went ahead and finished it. It was written mostly before season four aired, and therefore is basically AU. I put alot into this one. Hope you like it, reviews are really groovy. I don't own Degrassi, and I don't own "Pieces of Me" by Ashlee Simpson, to which this is a songfic.
Update: grumbles Took the songfic part out because of OBSCENE new policy. Sorry folks.
o o o o o o o
The high pitched wail of the school bell has gone off. People rush past me, moving like ants in convoluted but steady lines. I keep picking up my feet but it's like I'm going nowhere. The sea of bodies is pouring down the hallways, and they are all full of thoughts and wants and they are going places, but my feet are too heavy to carry. It's like, the thirty seconds it takes me to get from my locker to Media Immersion is stretching out for an entire eternity. I wonder how I will ever get through the week. It just takes so much strength to focus on the minutes and make them go faster. I just have to get through the door. Then through the class. Then through the rest of the day. Then through every day, every week, for the rest of my life. I have to keep swimming through this thick swamp of time. I try not to think about it too much. If I do, the hopelessness will drown me.
Suddenly I am sitting in the classroom and I get scared for a minute because I can't remember how I got here. I don't even think about the world anymore. I'm so used to this tired routine that my body just follows it, while my mind tries to shut out everything around me. Sometimes I try so hard to give a fuck. But all I feel is endless apathy, knocking me off my feet and dragging me along through this emptiness.
The tardy bell rings. Mr. Simpson walks into the classroom, late as always, struggling to balance his books and laptop and thermos of coffee. He's always clumsy like that. The left collar of his shirt is sticking up, and it's driving me crazy. Fix your damn shirt, Archie, I think to myself. The assymetry of it is screaming in my head, and what really kills me is that he doesn't even notice. How can someone so scatterbrained possibly expect to provide for a family?
And yet he does. He totally does. He's what makes us a family. He fills our house with strength and love and happiness and God, I just wish I could feel those things again. I lower my sleepy head and rest it on my arm. I stare at the purple rubber bracelets around my bony wrist and note the messages scribbled on my hand in blue ink. I can't even keep my life together any more. I used to be the goddess of all things organized and efficient. Now I have to write reminders on my hand just to make it through the day. I close my eyes and begin to drift.
"Emma," he says harshly, stopping his lecture mid-sentence. I jerk awake and look around. Everyone is staring at me. "I'd appreciate it if you stay awake for my class, please."
"I'm sorry," I manage to choke out. I can barely speak to him. He looks at me, right through me, as if I'm just another hopeless trouble-maker, and continues on with his lecture. I feel a black hole burning inside me. I wish he could look at me and see something he's proud of. He's only been part of my life for a few years now, so technically, he doesn't have to love me. I'm not his real daughter, it's not required. Sometimes I worry he's only pretending to care about me, because he has to. All I want is to be his daughter. But now that I'm not perfect any more, I worry he might be tired of me. I can no longer be what he wants me to be. I can't be what anyone wants me to be.
Please, Dad, don't look at me that way. I need you. I need you to still have faith in me.
I feel the dull vibration of the cell phone in my pocket, and discretely pull it out. The tiny glowing screen bears a text message: Meet me at your locker. I feel a brief wave of relief, followed by an unbearable backlash of guilt. It's only Monday. I shouldn't want this. I should at least be strong enough to make it to the weekend. I told myself when this started I would only do it on the weekends.
But the week is so, so long, and I can't make it through on my own. I'll be there, I text message back.
After what feels like hours, the tedium of trying to stay awake in class is over and yet again I find my feet taking me to where I need to be. I open up my locker and pretend to be looking for something, but in reality I'm just waiting for him. I start to sweat, my brain starts to race, I tap my foot impatiently, why is he taking so long? At last he saunters up, taking his sweet time, not realizing the urgency of the situation. He lifts up his sunglasses and rests them over the backwards cap on top of his head.
"Sup, Nelson?" he says, licking his lips.
I try not to look at him. I reach into my pocket and pull out a crumpled twenty. I slip it into his hand without saying a word. He takes the money with a revolting grin and a few seconds later he inconspicously slips a small plastic bag into my pocket. I can't stand feeling him this close to me. He reeks of gasoline and pot and sweaty boyness. He places his hand on my shoulder and I just want to scream. But I am quiet, because there's nothing I can do.
"Don't spend it all in one place," he instructs jokingly, hissing in my ear. I feel my body tense up and I know I'm about to snap. He knows it, too, so he takes a few steps back. "Easy, tiger. You don't want to fuck with Jay. Jay's your friend, right?"
Jay is not my friend. Even if all my friends turn their backs on me, even if my family disowns me, even if I have no one left in the world to turn to, Jay will never be my friend. I just turn away and pretend to suddenly be extremely interested in the contents of my locker. Jay chuckles. His laughter makes my skin crawl.
"You know, there's gonna be this great party Friday, at Towerz's house. You know Towerz, right? He runs around with your little Van Zandt friend. We should go together."
"I don't think that would be a good idea," I say through gritted teeth. "I'll see you later, Jay." He lingers for a moment, smiling as if this is all some huge joke to him. Finally he leaves, and I exhale. I stick my hand in my pocket and touch the contents he left there. It's worth it, I tell myself. It's worth it.
My next two classes are impossibly slow. I stare at the clock for hours and hours but it never moves. I tap my pen against my binder and chew my fingernails and draw stars across my wrist, and I keep glancing back up at the clock but it's like no time has passed at all. Time is a huge concrete wall that I am constantly pushing against. Just trying to get through this moment, this minute, this hour. Hanging by a thread.
Finally, finally, finally the lunch bell rings and I have twenty seven minutes that are all my own. I avoid friends in the hallway as I move as quickly as I can out of the building. I ignore Liberty when she tries to stop me to talk about yesterday's English assignment. I ignore Manny and J.T., the sickeningly happy couple, when they wave me towards their lunch table in the courtyard. I ignore Jay when he stares as I pass. I have only one thought, only one moment that I am reaching for.
I sneak off into the sheltering woods of the ravine and I've barely hidden myself before the little plastic bag from Jay is in my hand. I pour the white powder across my binder and use my library card to place it into neat, white lines. I wish I had something smoother, but I don't, and I want this so bad I don't give a fuck. I take the clear plastic cafeteria straw and shove it into my nose. I slide the straw along the lines, filling my nose with the delicious sting of a good meth hit.
It doesn't take long for to forget everything around me. Time, that heartless enslaver, is dead to me. I am this moment. I am this high. The world cannot touch me.
I am suddenly in love with the colors in the trees, the way the sunlight and blue sky break through all the glowing patches of green. I hear the flapping wings of every bird that sings, the footsteps of every ant that creeps along the tree bark. I have been resurrected from the dead. I am so alive and so in love and as I wander back towards the school I feel like I can do anything. I'll go sit with Manny and J.T., and listen to them act stupid and smitten, and pretend to have fun, while I finish the English assignment I blew off so I can turn it in next period.
As I walk through the halls to get the textbook from my locker, I see a twisted blur of Alex appear out of nowhere. She pushes me hard against the metal lockers and pins me. I feel the back of my head slam into the cold metal, but I can barely feel it. She stares me down, and I notice how much her eyes resemble endangered black panthers.
"Stay away from Jay, bitch," she hisses into my face. Her fingers are digging so hard into my arms as she holds me to the wall, they're leaving bruises. "If you so much as look at him, I'll make you wish you were never born."
It's funny that she says that, because I already sometimes wish I was never born. I start laughing, because I can't think of anything more ridiculous than Alex standing here telling me to stay away from her boyfriend, who I loathe more than almost anyone in the world, and threatening to hurt me if I don't. I honestly doubt that she could teach me pain I don't already know about.
My laughter makes her even angrier and she presses harder against me. "Something funny?"
"Oh, get OFF of me," I say without any conviction, making a half-assed attempt to push her away. I still chuckle lightly. My head is flying miles away, and I just wish she would go away.
I feel her calloused hand smack my face and it leaves a slight sting. "I'm not fucking kidding, cuntface." She gives me an intimidating growl, throws me to the ground, and walks away.
I sigh as I get up slowly. I touch the back of my head, tender with bruises. The walls suddenly seem too close to me, and they're making it hard to breathe. I have to get out of this place. I leave the school building, and instead of stopping with Manny and J.T., I just keep walking. Past the the courtyard, past The Dot, away from all the things that trouble me. I wander down the sidewalk, saying hello to everyone I meet, smiling and feeling like I finally have the strength to carry my own feet again. This is me. This is Emma. This is the only way I can feel like myself anymore.
When I grow bored of the streets I go home. I do all the homework I've been neglecting for the past few days. I finish knitting a pink scarf for Manny's birthday. I download MP3s and make myself a mix CD. I clean the kitchen sink, sort my sock drawer, and rearrange the furniture of my bedroom. I make such wonderful use of my time and I am so, so, proud of myself. When I run out of things to do I paint my nails purple, then paint over them with blue, then with pink. I have to keep doing something, I have to keep busy, I have to keep moving. Moving. Moving.
Mom comes home and I tell her to relax on the couch and let me put away all the groceries. Half-way through the job, though, I find a box of Strawberry Pop-tarts and forget what I'm doing. I occupy myself with counting the red sprinkles in the picture on the cardboard box.
"Emma, are you okay?" Mom asks, walking into the kitchen. Jack, who has gotten so big I can't believe it, toddles in behind her.
I look over at her innocently and smile. "Of course. I'm fine."
She sees that I have slacked in my grocery distributing duties and picks up where I left off. She glances over at me with a smirk as she works. "Are you actually going to eat those Pop-tarts or are you just going to look at them all day?"
I laugh and with a great deal of strength, I manage to tear my eyes away from the pretty colors and put the box away. "Sorry. Guess I zoned out."
Mom finishes with the groceries and turns to me, leaning against the counter. "I can make you something, you know. Snake and I are going out tonight, but I want to make sure you have something to eat before I go."
The thought of food makes me nauseous. My head begins to spin. "No thanks, Mom. I'm not really hungry right now. I'll make myself something later."
She frowns. "Emma, you have to eat. Your appetite has been slipping lately. I'm getting worried."
My appetite has been slipping. As she says this, I am finding it incredibly hard not to burst into laughter. I mean, this is fucking ridiculous. I am so high right now it's not even funny. I can barely even focus on a single task, or string together a coherent sentence. I am stoned off my ass! I've been doing speed, stealing money from my friends and parents to pay for speed, and pissing everything in my life away for speed over the past few weeks. And the one thing my mother notices is that my appetite is slipping.
"I'll eat later, I promise," I say with a dazzling Emma Nelson smile. "Teenage eating habits, Mom. They're crazy. Don't ask me to explain why."
Mom sighs and smiles softly as she strokes my hair. "All right, honey." She places a kiss on my forehead and leaves the kitchen to go get ready.
Turn around, Mommy, I think bitterly to myself. I want her to turn around and look at me. I want her to see past my smile. I want her to see that I'm rotting away underneath my skin. Maybe, just maybe, I want her to save me. But she won't turn around. Her little girl is dying and she won't turn around.
For the rest of the night, I fly. I fly high on the euphoria I crave so much, holding tight to every last drop. I know that I'll come down eventually but I try to forget about that. I forget about the limitations of time. I forget about my life. I forget about my fucking parents who can never love me the way I want them to. I forget who I am. I shed my name and I love it.
I start to come down around four in the morning, and the crash is more than I can stand. I stifle my tears and screams of pain with my pillow. I bury myself so deep I worry I can't breathe, and what's scary is that I almost don't care. Suck the life out of me right now, because I don't want to go back to the way things were. I've got no money left. I'll have to wait until Friday before I can get high again, and I just don't think I have the strength for that.
Quietly I sneak upstairs and start my searching. I dig through the couch cushions, under all the furniture, in every last crevice of the house. I'll go anywhere. I'll do anything. I just need to find a little cash. I just need a little bit to tie me over. I search undaunted for two hours, until finally my stepdad walks into the room to start the morning coffee.
"Em?" he says tiredly. "What are you doing?"
I am frozen where I stand, hovering over the counter where I was busily peering behind the flour jar. "Nothing. Just getting some breakfast." I open the cupboard and pull out a box of cereal. I've gotten so good at lying.
He folds his arms and looks at me the same way he did yesterday. I feel the familiar sensation that I am falling away from him. "Have you been up all night, Emma? You're still wearing what you wore yesterday."
I laugh softly, and pretend to be very tired. "Yeah, I stayed up really late working on a paper. I kind of fell asleep in my clothes."
His eyes are cold and accusing on my skin. He doesn't believe me. He just sighs and goes to the coffee pot. He doesn't look at me. I pour myself a bowl of cereal that I don't intend to eat and slip quietly back into my room. It takes all the strength I have left to change my clothes, throw my unclean hair into a ponytail, and walk out the door.
School is hell. My head is screaming. First period drags on for hours, and the entire time I am forced to sit in the frigid chill that I feel coming from my stepfather. He hates me. I know it. Why does he look at me that way? Does he know how much I'm hurting? Maybe he does, and he just doesn't care. He hates me. I want to scream.
When I finally hear the heavenly tone of the bell, I waste no time in running out of the room. I hear Snake say my name, but I am already out the door and there's no way I'm turning back. I'm sick of this place. I need another hit. Instead of going to my next class, I linger. I creep quietly against the swarming masses and sneak out to the soccer field. The sun is overwhelmingly bright. I go underneath the bleachers to hide away, but it turns out I'm not the only one who had this brilliant idea. I see a mess of Craig Manning squatting in the dirt in his Hendrix t-shirt, smoking discretely from a small metal pipe.
"Emma," he says, coughing and blushing. "Shouldn't you, uh, be in class?"
It's no secret on campus that Craig's a notorious pothead, but he looks embarrassed to be caught all the same. I guess he never wanted me of all people to see him like this. Our relationship had always existed in a place outside the realm of high school drama. Despite the different paths we'd taken, we were bonded by our memories of innocence. If he only knew.
"I didn't feel like going," I tell him, taking a seat beside him. The light filters in through the bleachers, letting bars of shadow and light to fall on top of us. We are trapped in a prison. "Can I have some?"
He takes a hit from his pipe and blows bleak gray smoke out of the corner of his mouth as he raises his eyebrows in surprise. "What, this?"
Yeah, that, Sherlock. I sigh with impatience and take the pipe from him. I take a long hit and let the toxins slip inside. I exhale with disappointment and hand it back to him. I can barely feel a thing. "Whoever sold this to you ripped you off," I tell him with disinterest. I stare into the distance. I begin to wonder where Jay is this period. "It's so weak it's not even funny."
Craig seems shocked and interested at the same time. I know what he's thinking. He can't believe this is the same Emma that used to babysit his little sister and play dress-up with Manny. He's curious. He wants to know what I've become, what's going on in my life right now. But the story is too long to tell, and frankly all I can think about right now is finding another hit. I look at Craig. "Do you have any money?" I ask him. "I'm kind of in a tight spot."
He shrugs. "Not on me. What's it for?"
"Nothing." Everything.
He frowns and takes another hit. "Are you okay, Em? People have been talking about you. I hear you're running around with Jay and shit."
"You can't believe everything you hear. You wouldn't believe some of things people say about you." I hope that this will shut him up. But it doesn't. He just looks at me with sad, worrysome eyes and keeps going.
"If you have a problem, you should go to someone, you know? It will help."
"Yeah, well I don't have a problem. So fuck off." I stand up and brush the grass off my jeans. I'm tired of Craig. I need to find Jay.
Craig stands up and comes after me as I walk away. "Do you want to know what else they say about you, Emma? They say you're a junkie. They say sometimes they see you in the hall and you're so strung out you look like you don't even know where you're going." He touches my arm. He has no right to touch me. "I didn't think they were telling the truth, but... maybe you need help, Em."
I'm losing it. I feel it. I take his hand off of me and shove him hard. "Leave me alone, Craig. You don't fucking know me any more. Don't try to pretend like we're suddenly best friends and you suddenly care. You're a stoner who got my best friend pregnant. Who are you to tell me I need help?"
I run fast. I leave him standing there. He doesn't follow me. I go to the autoshop class and walk inside unnoticed. It's a scattered, unorganized class full of skeeves and losers. I blend right in. I spot Jay working with Sean on a car engine and I smile for the first time all day.
"Jay," I say, surprised by the desperation in my voice. "I need to talk to you for a minute."
Jay smirks. He is completely unsurprised to see me. "No problem. I'll be right back, Sean."
I feel Sean's accusing eyes follow me as Jay and I slip out the back door. A breeze has picked up, I notice. Loose tendrils of blonde hair whip around my face as I stand helplessly in front of Jay. "I need some more," I tell him. "But I can't pay you until Friday."
He laughs. I wish I had a blunt object to knock that arrogant smile from his face. "No way. I'm not running a charity here. When you get the money, you get the shit. That's the way it works, no exceptions."
I want to cry. He can't do this to me. "But I need it now. Please. You know me, I'm good for it. I'll pay you on Friday, I promise. Just please. I'll do anything."
His smile is cold and devious. I get the foreboding feeling that I just promised my soul to the devil. "Tell you what, blondie. We'll work out a payment plan. You can suck my dick now, and hand over the cash on Friday. Deal?"
He's joking. He knows that someone like Emma Nelson would never do something like that. But I look at his face, and he's completely serious. He's such an arrogant jackass, he thinks I'll actually do it. But then I find myself nodding slowly. I realize with a lurching feeling in my stomach that Jay holds all the cards. I can't leave this place without a hit. I can't go on without it. I have lost all control.
We sneak around the corner. Jay leans against the building and waits for me to pull down his pants. I drop to my knees and unbuckle his belt. I lower his jeans and boxers, and I want to vomit. Jay just smiles and exhales as he waits for me to start. I should just bite it off. I should walk away, run away, never look back. I should get out of this right now. But I can't. I am powerless. Think of the high, I tell myself. Just think of the high. This will be over soon. It will be worth it.
I put his dick in my mouth and suddenly I feel less than human. I go numb, because I have hit the bottom. Feminism. Dignity. Humanity. Those things are dead to me now. You can't save the world, Emma. That's what everyone always told me. Now I am finding out that I can't even save myself. I am shattered. I was so busy chasing the high that I lost sight of myself in the process. Now I can't even remember what I was running from. All I have is a drug. My only source of comfort is a high-priced lie.
I spit the cum to the concrete and Jay grins as he zips up his pants. I'm still on the ground. He touches my hair. For the first time, I don't care. Touch me all you want. I'm dead now. "Not bad for a tree hugger. I'm impressed."
"Just give me the shit," I say. I don't look at him
He reaches into his jacket pocket and puts a plastic bag in my hand. "This is the good shit, Em. I was saving it for a bigger sale, but hey, you've been such a good sport. You deserve it." He laughs again and walks away. It's worth it, I try to convince myself. I have what I came for, and nothing else matters. Once I'm high, I can forget all the hurt.
I waste no time. Mere seconds is all it takes to put the nectarine speed in my system. I need it, need it, need it now. Take over my life, please god, I ask the drug. I have come this far, it damn well better be worth it. It's all I have left. I need to feel it. And oh, as the hit soaks into me, I am whole again. The mess of the world I'm living in, the web of lies I have trapped myself in, the raw emotions I can't even remember any more; all of that begins to blur as the high takes control of my senses. Control. Control is something I don't have any more. Something I don't want anymore. When I'm in control, I fuck it up. I suffocate. I am more than willing to surrender control to the drug.
I go back inside the school building, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, face devoid of awareness. The bell rings as I saunter along in my daze. My heart is pounding, I feel alive. The reality around me seems less than real. It's one big dream I'm walking through. Students begin to pour into the hallways, hurrying along to their lockers and their friends and their classes. I don't even know what period it is, what class I have next. People stare at me as I move aimlessly, but I don't care. Their stares mean nothing. This place means nothing. My life means nothing. I'm too stoned to give a shit.
Suddenly I feel like the halls are getting smaller. There are too many people here. Hundreds of them, closing in, coming after me. The world turns sideways and I can't remember where I am. I stumble, fall to the ground, can't stand up again. People start laughing. The laughter sounds louder than it really is. Shit, I shouldn't have taken it all at once. I stand up and try to run, but I've lost all sense of gravity. I stumble again and this time I crash into the arms of a man. I look up with my strung out eyes and see my stepfather, clutching me tightly, looking back at me like he's scared to death. Glancing past him, I see Craig standing there, sort of nervous. He's told Snake everything. My secret is revealed. I feel so vulnerable. Exposed. Naked in the wind.
"Something wrong, Dad?" I whisper. Tears start to trickle gently down my face as I smile and lie to him. "I was just heading to class..." I break free from his grasp and start walking again, falling over myself and shaking uncontrollably. There's just no way to disguise how fucked up I am. Snake grabs hold of me once more and drags me into his class room, shutting the door behind us. I slide to the floor, crying, smiling, hiding. I look away.
"Em," he snaps, squatting down beside me. He tries to get me to look him in the eye but I just stare at the wall. He's breathing heavily, shaking hard. "Emma, what are you doing to yourself? Why are you... How could you..." He pauses and I wince, thinking he's about to start yelling at me. But when nothing comes, I turn my head and look at him. He's crying. He's choking on his tears. He reaches out and pulls me close to him, sheltering me from something I can't be sheltered from.
And suddenly I feel so, so safe. He knows everything. There is no reason to lie, because he already knows the truth. And I love the way that feels, because I don't want to hide anymore. God, I don't want to hide anymore. I wrap my arms around him and hold tight, letting my tears soak into his uneven collar.
He holds me and tells me it's going to be okay. I don't know if he's right, but for the moment I don't care. I ask him to tell me he loves me and he does, over and over again. That's all I want to feel right now. Loved. He lets me wipe my runny nose on his sleeve. He takes my shaking hand and helps me to my feet. Together we walk through the hallways, past the swarm of curious eyes. We pass Craig on the way and I reach out, touching his arm ever so briefly. I'm deeply stoned right now but I hope that I can remember this moment, and remember to thank Craig later. Snake takes the rest of the day off and takes me home, where we cry some more and let the truth slowly unravel. It hurts. It's hard. It gets even harder as the high fades away and I start to crash. But in his arms I feel comfort. I have strength in him. And that's just enough to keep me going. That's just enough to give me hope.