I Need You So Much Closer

A/N: I'm kind of newly addicted to this song. I have liked it for awhile, but all of the sudden, I've just not been able to stop listening to it. I love it. Yes, some crazy ass feelings are involved in this chapter. I'm really hoping everyone reading this is like "nooooo way!" and "please, no, stop, do NOT do/say/think that!" Yea, it's supposed to be a shocker chapter. Review if you are, in fact, shocked. There's a lot of drinking because there's a lot of drinking in the song, but Sean's not going to relapse into being an alcoholic again.

Psssss... shameless self-promotion: go read A Stupid, Worthless Boy and my one shot (Glory Fades). They need love too, ya know.

Chapter 3: Jude Law and a Semester Abroad

Disclaimer: "Jude Law and a Semester Abroad" is just another reason why Brand New kicks ass. My butchering of the song due to the fact that the lyrics are meant for an EXACT occasion and very hard to otherwise fit the outline of a story such as mine. Degrassi is just another reason why CTV and Epitome pictures kick ass.

I sit, still staring at Ashley, hoping she's kidding. Marriage? Has she completely flipped her lid? I'm 18. She's 18. We could never pull it off. As close to marriage as our lifestyle is, it isn't official. I could leave right now. And as of right now, I feel like leaving.

"Ashley," I say, trying to keep my voice lacking in any and all emotion, "marriage is a really big deal."

"I know, I know," she says exasperatedly leaning back against the couch. I can't believe she ruined my Sunday with this. "It's not what I want, either, exactly, but..."

"Yes?" I prompt her because she seems distant.

"We both know I need to go to college, so taking a year off isn't an option. If I have a dorm room and never stay there, it will be a waste of money and an open invitation to all people wanting to know every detail about our personal life. If I get the dorm and actually stay there..." She didn't need to finish. It was crystal clear.

This isn't fair. Why does the Canadian University system hate me so much? "It would be nice for you to stay here," I concede.

"If I could schedule my classes right, I could drop you off and make it to my first class, and hopefully not have anything during the hour that you're home, and still be able to take you to work." God, I hated it when Ashley made a good point.

I still didn't want to be a married senior in high school. People would wonder. "When's the baby?" Then I remember Emma. What is she going to do? I'm glad I get to see her tonight. Maybe I'll be able to have a nice conversation with her. Yea, I definitely needed to talk to Emma.

"I need to think about it," I say honestly.

"Of course," Ash says, too sickeningly sweet for me to be pleased by it. "I'm going looking for tiles for the kitchen. I think I'm going to redo it."

Finally, I realize why I have been eating about half of what I usually do everyday. She's saving up to remodel the house. She's leaving her mark, so I cannot kick her out. I have a passing thought of starting an argument, but it's not worth it. If she's gone most of the day, I won't have to deal with our marital difficulties.

I slam the cupboard hard a few seconds after she softly clicks the door closed to mark her departure. I curse aloud, pissed off that Ashley hid my vodka. There's some beer in the fridge, but I need something hard enough to make me forget, for a few hours at least. I pick up the phone and let out a deep sigh before I even dial.

It rings a few times, and I feel more idiotic with each one. It's not noon yet, so she might not be awake. She picks up on the fourth ring, and her voice sounds tired. "I need something. Ashley threw everything out, and I need some so bad. Please."

"Sean, is that you?" she asks.

"Yes. Do you have anything for me, Amy? I need something. I'm not kidding."

"Sure, I'm like the fucking 7-11. What are you craving now-a-days, Cameron?"

I ignore her blatant sexual reference. "Vo'ka. Any kind."

"Alright. You know my price."

I sigh. Damnit. "Yea sure, Ashley's gone, bring it over."

"I'll be over in 15." I hear her sneering through the phone, and I cringe.

The knock comes about 20 minutes later while I'm totally engrossed in some new movie Ash wanted us to watch to get into 'the mood.' I'm sure Amy will be pleased with my selection, and that thought is almost enough to make me turn it off. "Come in," I call, knowing that the door is unlocked and probably not even shut all the way.

She comes in with a brown lunch bag in her left hand. She pulls out the bottle. I lift her off the ground for a second before greedily snatching the bottle out of her hands. "You're a lifesaver," I say. She reaches back into the bag and grabs a box of condoms.

Before I can even sigh, she covers my lips with her own. I back up to the coffee table, Amy still on me like a male dog on a bitch in heat, and place the bottle down. Her tongue invades my mouth, and I keep remembering the vodka she brought. She glances at the TV and finally breaks the kiss. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the bedroom, but if this is our viewing pleasure, than we might as well stay out here," she says with raised eyebrows.

I grunt. "I'm just going to lock the door." I slam the door closed and deadbolt it. It's a good thing the movie got me hard as a rock, because otherwise, I don't think I'd be able to even touch Amy. I've fucked her before; it's like riding a hot dog down an interstate.

It takes fifteen minutes. Afterwards, she cuddles up to me, but I kick her out. I still have to get totally shit faced and then sobered up by the time Ash comes home, and definitely by the time I see Emma tonight. It's early but, still, I don't want to risk it. "Whatever," she said indifferently, gathering her clothes, "you're still the best." She plants her lips onto mine, and then quickly removes them before I get a chance to protest.

I roll my eyes. "That's not what you said in grade 9 when you broke up with me."

"You're a sex god. You just kind of suck as a boyfriend."

I glare at her until she turns on her heel and leaves. It takes her a few seconds to unlock the door and everything, so I'm already doing shots before she slams the door.

"Whatever poisons in this bottle,
Will leave me broken, sore and stiff,
But it's the genie at the bottom who I'm sucking at,
He owes me one last wish."

I hear a knock at my door, and turn onto my side, grunting, hoping they'll go away. "J.T. get up!" the voice calls. "Are you decent?"

"Yea sure," I answer. I look down. It was a hot night for March, and since we can't open any windows, I slept in my boxers and without covers. Laurie pushes the door open since we can't have locks.

"I have some good news," she says happily.

I'm hoping Ashley's back, although I'm not sure why she would come so early. "What time is it?" I ask.

"Eight. Anyways, the doctors all think you made an excellent improvement, and they want to send you home today! Your parents were already called; they'll be here in an hour." I silently thank whatever god is now smiling on me.

"Wow, cool," I manage.

"Oh J.T.," she says, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. "I'm going to miss you!"

I pat her back a few times with my right hand. "Ditto."

She pulls away, and I see a genuine sadness and loneliness in her eyes. She rubs my arms a few times, and I really feel for the lady. Who wants a job like this, dealing with kids like me? "Well, I just wanted to tell you the good news myself. I better go wake up the 8 AM'ers. Bye J.T. Good luck."

"Wait," I say grabbing onto her arm as she turns to leave. "Write your number down," I say, offering her a piece of paper and a pen.

"J.T., I appreciate it, but I can't..."

"Just do it. I'll bring my friends up sometime, and we'll have a cook-out. You need to see how fine I am, or will be."

She laughs and shakes her head slightly. "If anyone finds out about this, I'm dead," she mutters under her breath as she scribbles down her digits.

"No one will," I assure her. We hug again, and she leaves.

They show up late, but it's not really a shocker or anything. They're probably pissed the fuck off that I'm coming home, and they'll have to deal with me again. I roll my eyes at their attempts to be normal parents, making over me like I'm a newborn or something. Every time they have an audience...

The car ride home is deathly silent, except for some meager chit chat on the part of my father telling my mother that he's going to Vancouver on business this weekend... again. He must have another family in Vancouver, or else the prostitutes there are really cheap. I know my father and my mother. It's the same old routine. It's so pathetic.

We get home, and I immediately notice my room's been tampered with. They searched it for more evidence to my insanity. Mom gives me my cell phone as she passes by on the way to put the laundry basket in her room. 18 new voice messages. Fuckin' hell.

It's too much to deal with, so I don't. I decide to skip calling Toby, and I opt to skateboard to his house instead. He's home, as per usual, and he's so excited that he invites me in to play Halo. I hate that game. We walk up towards his room, which is after Ashley's. I glance in unconsciously, and I see a totally renovated guest room. "This place isn't the same without Ash," he comments.

"Can't I tell?" I spend about a half hour with Toby, but my mind is other places. With Ashley, mostly. I need to see her, even if she's just my friend. Maybe she'll want me, now that a bunch of doctors pronounced me sane.

I board to Sean's house, since the general consensus is that she lives here now. I don't see her car, so I want to give up, but I press myself forward. I knock twice and wait anxiously for the response. It's Sean. "Can I help you?" he slurs out sarcastically. I immediately realize two things: 1. Sean Cameron is not my biggest fan, and 2. He's totally trashed.

"I, uh, is Ash here?"

"Naw dog, but why you looking for her? She's with me now, bro."

Even though it's Sean, I didn't think he talked like that. "I just wanted to tell her that I'm out..."

"I'll pass along the message."

"No you won't. I'll just see her in school tomorrow." Apparently I said the wrong thing, since he slammed me up against the door.

"No, you won't. You won't see her anymore, got me?"

"You have no authority over who she fucking sees," I say, and I take a swing at him. It lands squarely in his jaw, and I'm lucky for this because it leaves him dazed for a minute. I immediately punch him in the gut without thinking and push him onto the ground. I know I just fucked up big time. This is Sean fucking Cameron. This kid used to be the captain of the wrestling team. I'm so fucked.

I begin to back track, when something stops me. He's staggering. He's so fucking drunk that he can't even stand up straight. This is my battle to win. For once. I want to take full advantage of it, leave him in a coma, but I know better than to press my luck. "Get out," he growls.

I obey him, turning and making my way out. Before he slams the door, I turn around and mumble, "Tell Ash I came by."

"What was it, cold in hell this morning, Yorke?" he grumbles before slamming the door.

I smirk. "Nah dawg," I say to no one, "but I did see some pigs flying."

"So here's a present to let you know I still exist.
I hope the next boy that you kiss has,
Something terribly contagious on his lips."

I'm always the rational one. Everyone else is allowed to go out and do anything and everything they damn well please, and I'm left to clean up their mess. Honestly, I'm tired of it. I love my friends, but I really need the chance to fuck things up myself.

Little do they know, everything is fucked up. I have my own little world in which I can totally destroy myself; however, I am totally fine when I go back into reality. That's what is so wonderful about the wide world of alcohol. If you can hide it well, it promises to be your best friend. And unlike real friends, your alcohol has no other loyalties.

I started about three months ago. Over the years, I had been gradually introduced to beer and wine at parties that I was invited to because of J.T., or my current girlfriend, or her.

There are so many reasons to hate myself for thinking of her "like that." For one, she ignored me for the most part until her life fell to ruins, and then I had to come to the rescue. For another, she dated my best friend. And lastly, and definitely the most important, she's related to me.

Before I feel the massive amount of guilt that my conscious is sure to pile on, I feel an urge to make my case. Firstly, I've always felt the need to impress Ashley. When we first moved in together, I knew my place. She was popular; I was not. Even then, I wasn't good enough for her. Ever since then, I've tried my hardest to do anything for Ashley Kerwin. She has been my life. When she moved out, my heart shattered into fifty million pieces.

The night that she slept in my bed, I knew I was in love. I wanted to hold her and love her ways that J.T. and Sean could never dream of. I'm a virgin; it's as much my decision as it is Liberty's. I'm holding out for her. If I could make her scream, if I could make her love me, then I would be so insanely happy.

Yes, my stepsister, the one who disowned my family, is the only person who will ever be able to make me happy. I can't tell her, note the aforementioned reasons, yet, I'm constantly drawn to her. And as corny and inconsequential as it may sound, she is my reason for breathing.

Without her, I am forever Toby Isaacs, nobody addition to the human race, forgotten to anyone and everyone. Maybe someday she'll see the error of her ways. Maybe someday, she'll want to shock this worthless country as much as I do.

Until that day, I have only one friend. He lives in my bottle. So, I drink to you, Ashley Kerwin, may reason and rationality lie on your shoulders next.

"But I got a plan (I got a plan),
To drink for forty days and forty nights,
A sip for every second-hand tick,
And every time you fed the line,
'You mean so much to me.'
I'm without you."

"Look at this," I say, picking my shirt up a little and pinching my stomach for effect. "How am I going to get grossly fat? I'm going to die."

Craig grabs me by the waist and pulls me down next to him and kisses my neck softly. "I think you'll look gorgeous."

I'm not satisfied, but I don't push it. He'll see in time. "So, it's cool that I can stay here tonight, right?" I ask petting his hair.

"Sure. But how long is this going to last?" he asks in reference to my mom's need for space from me.

I sigh. "I don't know. If I can't go back soon, I'll find somewhere else to stay."

"That's not why I was asking."

"Then why were you asking?"

"Well," he says pushing himself up so he's at my eye level, "it might just be easier for us to find our own place."

I scoff at the thought. "Where? We have no money, and we're still in school."

"We could move to the states. You know, New York."

"And what the hell would we do in New York?"

"I could work, and you could go to school, or not, it's up to you. And I could go to college."

"Where?" I ask sarcastically.

"Columbia."

"Craig, honey, they said no."

He takes a deep breath. "No, they said yes. I got in."

I flick him on the forehead. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

"It would be easier to stay in Toronto before. Now, you know, it would be easier to get away. Far away."

I can't be happier, but I still don't think it will work. We're broke. A college student and a pregnant high school student trying to make a life somewhere many, many moons away from home? I couldn't work, obviously, I'd be taking care of a child. And, at best, Craig could get a part time job. I glance dramatically at my watch. "It's time to go."

He needs to go, but do I need to go with him?

"Tell all the American girls you meet,
Bout the Canadian girl not in the states,
The Canadian girl you date,
Who will do anything you say."

"I said 'goodbye Dylan,'" I reiterate over the phone line.

"You're crazy if you think you can end it," he says smugly.

"How about I just did?" I say slamming the phone back into its cradle. I check the clock. 6:14. He'll be here in exactly 4 minutes, 27 seconds. It happens every time.

By 6:19, I'm on my front porch screaming. "Leave then! You think I care? Honestly, do you? I hope you move to Australia, and I hope you're miserable! I hope you're as miserable as I've always been." The last part I don't say as loudly. I wrap my jacket tighter around myself before storming back into my house and slamming the door.

"Marco?" my sister questions pointing to the door.

"I don't want to get into it," I say, pushing past her so I can get up the steps to my room. She grabs my shoulder before I hit the middle step.

"Now, Marco," she says through clenched teeth.

I take a deep breath and let it out. "We got in a fight. It's over." I look at the expression on her face, one not of shock or even disappointment, but rather, a dumbfounded 'so what?' look. "It's over for good this time."

"It's never over for good."

"Shut up, will you!" I scream. It's okay; Papa's at work and Mama's out shopping for the day. No one can hear. "He's moving. He's gone for good, and I, for one, couldn't care less." That is not the truth though, and she knows it. It is quite painfully obvious, but yet still somehow heartbreaking enough that I allow it to consume me.

"You look tired," she says, defeated. "You should get more sleep."

She disappears from the stairs, and I make my escape as soon as freedom is offered. I fall onto my bed, but I will not allow myself to cry. I trash around a bit, kicking and punching the air. Soon, though, the only emotion I feel is hate. I hate Dylan. The love has died. Our time has come. The flame is gone. And, the only thing left, as in most cases, is a nagging, vengeful hate.

"And even if his plane crashes tonight,
He'll find some way to disappoint me,
By not burning in the wreckage,
Or drowning at the bottom of the sea."

I manage a slightly sobering catnap before Ashley comes banging into the house. There is no evidence of any crime. The bottles are cleared out, and I even brushed my teeth. So much more has happened in this death house, but none of it leaves the slightest evidence. "I heard J.T. is out," Ash says, glancing up at me.

"Yea, I heard that, too."

"From who? You didn't leave all day," she says, finding herself very clever.

"I'uno," I respond idly. "I just think it would be a good idea if you stayed away from him for awhile..."

She interrupts me. "We're meeting Craig and Emma in a half hour. You look like shit."

"Like you look better?" I retort.

She grabs a rubber band out of her hair, and it falls around her face unevenly. "I'm jumping in the shower now," she assures me.

I run a wet brush through my hair and change out of my drinking/sex/fighting clothes into something, more, wearable. Ashley's going all out, wearing a dress and earrings and all of that. I grumble a bit, but I grab a tie just to appease her. 'Craig will be wearing a tie,' I mock silently behind her back.

By the time she starts the car, we're already five minutes late, and the restaurant is 15 minutes away. I simply sigh and turn up the radio. You don't get any more fashionably late than us.

This place is rather fancy. The maître d gives me an odd look, most likely for my lack of a sports coat. Ash and I breeze past him since she already sees Craig and Emma, and I merely shrug, following my wife.

The glow of pregnancy looks magnificent on Emma. Craig's got to be the happiest man on the planet. He looks the part, beaming with pride. Emma, although glowing and quite extraordinary in a simple red dress (yes, the symbolism is obvious, white is for those members of society who wait until the legal confines of marriage to be impregnated), looks emotionally unattached and distant.

Craig and Ashley participate fantastically in the ritual of small talk. Craig asks about my job, and Ashley inquires into Emma's school activities. We both give minimal answers, so they give up on us, focusing on each other instead. After ordering something that I'm sure will take weeks to pay off, Craig and Ashley both exclaim "we have news!" at exactly the precise time.

You think that this is for the movies, but alas, in real life it is more horrid than one might dream. They playfully dance around the subject of who is to speak first. I'm not even sure what our news is. We're remodeling the house, guys, please don't faint! I roll my eyes as Craig finally decides to go first.

"Well, we have a lot of news, don't we, babe?" Craig asks looking at Emma. She nods, so he continues. "Firstly, we're pregnant!" he says giddily. Ashley screams a little and then blurts out congratulations with the best of them. The happy couple smiles, and Craig reassuringly pats Emma's hand on the table. "There's more," he says, and this kid is practically busting at the seams. "I got into Columbia, which, as you know, is my dream college. So, we may be moving. Emma hasn't decided yet."

"We probably are, but the costs are going to be a struggle," Emma says quietly.

"Oh, wow, that's amazing," Ashley says over and over.

"Hey, congratulations you two," I manage in between Ashley's fits.

"Oh, we're so rude," Craig says stopping me, "you two had news!"

"We're getting married!" Ash squealed. I gave her the look of absolute horror, and then I proceeded to bolt out of the restaurant as fast as anyone has ever done so in the long and prestigious history of the place.

It's only once I'm outside, pacing like a madman, that I realized someone followed me. Emma followed me. She stands a few feet away, watching me, studying me. "Are you okay?" she finally asks.

"Are you?" I retort as soon as she asks.

"No, not really, but I also didn't flip out in there. What's wrong?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I ask, turning so I can be face to face with her. "I love her and all, but I'm not ready to get married."

"I'm not ready to be a mom," she offers.

I rest on a step, and Emma is quick to do the same. It's out here, on this deserted step, that Emma consoles me the best way she knows how. Emma offers every word in her vocabulary, but I seem to be panicking more. So, she does the only thing that's left.

She presses her lips against mine, hard. As soon as I register it, I take a step back to breathe. I felt the tension in the air, but I hadn't wanted to be kissed. Not now, not by her, although I did and still do love her, but it's not right. I'm in love, and it's not with her.

"Emma, I'm sorry, I can't," I say, and I make my way to the main street to find a taxi. I turn back once more, and she's still standing there, staring at the ground, unable to move.

"Yes, I still taste you, and thus reserve my right to hate you.
And all this empty space that you create,
Does nothing for my flawless sense of style."

You can't explain that. Your mind cannot handle the overload of emotions and explanations. It should be easy enough. I did what my muscles needed to do. They fought me to the bitter end. If resisted, drastic muscle spasms may have occurred. Instead, I believe my brain will cease to function any emotion, due to a complete and utter overload.

He steps into the taxi, and it's just like a movie. The rain starts to fall murderously as soon as he's safe in the cab. It drives away, not slowly but slow enough, and I stare at its retreat. I'm getting drenched now, and for the life of me, I cannot tell you where this rain has come from. It's not in the least expected. He turns around once, in dramatic fashion, but he turns quickly back at the state of things.

It takes approximately six minutes and eighteen seconds for Craig and Ashley to find me. Craig, the eternal caregiver, quickly wraps his coat around my shoulders and leads me to his car. My dress, at this point, is ruined. Maybe if I had given up two minutes into the sudden thunderstorm, Mom could've salvaged it. Nothing can at this point. I snort a laugh quickly, remembering that when you gain fifty pounds, certain dresses aren't appropriate to wear, and other than that, simply won't fit.

I tell Ashley that Sean's caught a cold or something, and so he went home to quickly remedy it. She doesn't believe me for a second, but I don't care since she leaves. Craig doesn't ask a single question on the ride home. Not one. The silence sustains me, but it is awkward nonetheless. I want to explain it all, but there are no words left to do so. Not a word has been made to this day that can express my confusion.

We reach his house, and he leads me to the garage hand-in-hand. At the door, while he fiddles with keys and such, I decide to tell him. "I've always wanted to do New York," I say casually, rubbing his arm.

He looks up from the keyhole. "Really?"

"It's 8:45 (it's 8:45), the weather is getting better by the hour.
I hope it rains there all the time.
And if you ever said you missed me then don't say you never lied;
I'm without you."