Author's Note: Hi everyone, here is the promised chapter! Before reading, I would like to make it clear this fanfiction will deal with heavier, potentially triggering topics such as depression and suicidal ideation. This chapter alludes to suicide ideation but is not explicit. I will be sure to be clear on anything that may be triggering. I hope that reading this helps you as much as writing did for me. Life can be difficult, but you are not alone.

I have developed a playlist for this chapter. I recommend queuing up these songs and listening in order.

"Absence makes life a lot simpler" Playlist

1. Trying My Best by Anson Seabra, 2. You Make Me Wanna Die by The Shivas, 3. In My Head by Bedroom, 4. Look Who's Inside Again by Bo Burnham, 5. As It Was by Hozier, 6. Forever Now by Michael Bublé, 7. I Can't Carry This Anymore by Anson Seabra, 8. i'll die anyway. by girl in red

P.S. I don't own Total Drama or any of these characters.

Chapter 1: Absence makes life a lot simpler

Loss didn't come easily to Courtney; in fact, it didn't come at all. Despite being the senior class vice president instead of president, the second chair for violin, oh, don't forget losing several seasons of a game show, Courtney had the wonderful gift of emptiness. Nothing made her feel defeated. She could argue that she felt angry over such failure, but if she felt particularly exhausted one day, she couldn't keep up the façade of caring.

On the other hand, she knew she was very successful. She had exceeded all her parents' expectations and even the few she had of her own. At 18, Courtney was her class' valedictorian and had already gotten into her top college. She had many things to be proud of, so many accomplishments to celebrate, and more support from her family than she could ever need. So, why did she still feel empty?

It's that very question that had pushed her to self-reflect. Seeing as she had already done everything she needed—aced her exams, gotten into multiple colleges, and maintained her status within her elitist family—Courtney had reached a territory of desperation. There was no way to explain it, but she had this gut feeling that there was nothing more to life. It would always be fitting within society's standards, exceeding any and all expectations. She knew she could do it—be successful—but did she want to? If life was limited to these insignificant and trivial milestones, would there ever be a time she would feel content?

Usually, such self-reflection would not be harmful. But when these incessant thoughts were speeding through her mind while she held a contract from the Total Drama franchise…well, she stopped being rational. This could be it! This could be the thing that makes her feel connected to something. She didn't expect it to give her a new purpose in life or anything, but it may buy her enough time to figure out how she could continue this way. Clearly, the structure of her normal life wasn't doing the trick. Still as done with life as ever, Courtney felt that a change of scenery might be the trick to unlock something in her again. She had faked caring for so many seasons now, what's one more? Maybe faking it could turn into the real thing? If she left this season feeling connected to ONE person or ONE thing, it could be enough. Anything had to be better than this floating state she's existed in for what feels like forever. So, she signed on the dotted line. Not without challenge, though.

"There is no way in hell that you are going back on that show," her father raised his voice as much as he could, but it wasn't in his nature.

"Dad, it's over summer. I'd miss no classes. Why would I not go?" Courtney had picked up the habit of speaking bluntly and shortly.

"Why not? Why not," her dad had started laughing, almost manically. "Maybe your mother can talk some sense into you."

The pairs of eyes turned to Courtney's mom, who had been studying her own PDA. Her mom's eyes lifted as if she heard a plea from her husband. She turned her gaze to her daughter, narrowing her eyes. "Frankly, you were embarrassing to watch. Prancing around trying to complete dumb, dangerous whims on behalf of both the producers and you. Don't put us through that again."

"That was not what I was looking for," her dad huffed, placing his head down on the table.

Courtney crossed her arms. There was no anger, no shame, nothing in her. Her mom literally just called her an embarrassment, but she failed to have the emotional capacity to care. Maybe if she pushed harder...

"Mom, let's not forget who paid for that Tesla outside," Courtney quipped, knowing very well it was her Total Drama salary that got that car—yes, the contestants were paid for their time on the show after the first season. The contestants can thank her lawyer for that.

There was a gasp—Courtney wasn't sure if it was from her dad or mom—and a slam—definitely from her mom. Courtney's mom's PDA was squeezed tightly in her fist. "I have no clue what has gotten into you, but I don't have time for it—"

"Exactly! You wouldn't even notice I'm gone, you're so busy!" Courtney interrupted, hoping to derail whatever argument her mother had already constructed.

Before the two of them could "discuss" the matter further, Courtney's father had slipped over to her mother. He leaned down to whisper God knows what into her ear, but whatever it was it seemed to calm her mother down. Her parents' relationship was nowhere near healthy, but, somehow, they had managed 20 years of marriage. Her father being the mediator to any personal arguments and her mother handling ones in the courtroom.

He took the PDA from her mother's hand and replaced it with his own. Both of them were facing Courtney as if she were on trial. But instead of being her attorney, it felt like they were the jury, sitting there, judging her. Isn't that fitting? They had gotten to decide her every move for 18 years, and now they'll get to decide the next. She felt as if the space between the kitchen table and the island was growing. Like they saw something she didn't. Felt something she didn't. Was there some exhibit that wasn't introduced to her?

"We don't want to see you get hurt again."

Her father's words echoed throughout the courtroom-esque kitchen. Or maybe it was just her mind. Was she hurt? Obviously, they were talking about her loss, both in relationships and competitions. But she didn't feel hurt. Not anymore. Somewhere along the way, the hurt morphed into numbness which eventually felt like nothingness. If anything, Courtney would argue she's desperate to be hurt again. She would go as far as to say if she didn't feel something soon, then that nothingness would swallow her up whole.

Her parents knew this. They had noticed how the late nights working morphed into early bedtimes only for her to not get out of bed until the last minute. Her parents stopped recognizing her after she started high school. She wasn't sure if it was because of the show or if her existence was predestined for this hollow expanse. Her parents knew she could still function—she was still surpassing most of her peers in school—but they noticed the usual smugness fall from her demeanor. It was both relieving and insulting that this was the final straw for her parents. Her parents could overlook the oversleeping, the skipping meals, the no friends; the one thing they couldn't overlook? Losing her pride. Pride was everything in this family, without it she could no longer fake being a part of it. When this straw fell, they scheduled a therapist appointment after the second season of Total Drama; stating matter-of-factly that if she wasn't going to talk to them, she had to talk to someone. It's safe to say she didn't say much in therapy as there wasn't anything to say. She wasn't having a good time. There wasn't anything else to it.

"I know." What else was she supposed to say?

Silence filled the room. The three of them shared looks, but clearly, Courtney was a bystander. She never could understand how they compromised without sharing a word. Her mom never relented unless her dad's eyes begged. His look must have been present; moments later, her mother finally spoke.

"We get to read over the entire contract and send over revisions."

That wasn't a no.

"So," she smirked at her parents, "I can go?"

Another shared look between the two locked the decision in place.

"We're not happy about it," her father resigned. "But if this is how you'd like to spend your last summer before college, we won't stop you."

Courtney shot out of her chair and hugged the two of them, ignoring the exhaustion that was clouding the moment. "Thank you," she exclaimed, pulling the two closer.

"Don't get too excited," her mother pulled away, fixing her blouse. "We may not be saying no, but that shithead Chris might after he reads our revisions."

…

Her mother was right; Chris did not take the revisions kindly. It helped that Courtney had no investment in returning to the show. She was able to wager her place in the show for adequate pay and security. Anyone who has ever seen Total Drama knew that serious injuries were practically a guarantee for contestants. Despite securing those benefits, she was not able to secure proper housing. Total Drama's representatives revealed little about the season's setting, but she was informed that housing would not be stable. Under what she imagined to be usual circumstances, she would have objected to such ambiguity—her mother did for an hour—but she decided that the change in scenery could be an adventure.

Her last week at home was the usual silence. She didn't have anyone to tell about the show, but she imagined this is something a friend would be excited over. She took after her mom, who refused to change her schedule for the occasion, meaning she was at home after 9 PM and gone before 8 the next morning. She ordered Courtney to be home Friday night—still acting like she might have somewhere to be—as they'd all be having a mandatory family dinner and movie night. These nights became rarer through the years after her mother became a partner at the firm. On the other hand, her father had become a well-established Special Education Tutor; he worked one-on-one and kept his schedule light. It wasn't always that way. He was passionate about teaching and making education an accessible resource. At one point, he was training others to become multi-grade learning specialists. Courtney was never sure of specifics, but it was obvious her father's job was for fulfillment not pay. She noticed how his schedule became near-empty but was not at all surprised. After all, the change was marked by her therapist requesting a family session.

…

Courtney felt uncomfortable sitting on the middle cushion of the couch, her parents on both sides of her. A confining silence filled the room as the three of them were waiting on her therapist to say anything. Her mother felt that this was a waste of time; she had made her stance clear in the parking lot that whatever "this" is, it was something that Courtney was more than capable of handling on her own. This statement was immediately shut down by her father, emphasized by him getting out of the car. His seriousness translated by the slam of the door.

To be completely honest, Courtney wasn't sure who to believe. She didn't even know what "this" is. If she had existed without "this" before, certainly she could do it again. But did she even like Before? She knew she didn't like Now. What's to say she'd like After? Her mom hadn't bothered to look up from her PDA when the therapist sat down in their leather chair. It took several "ahem's" for her to look up. Courtney noticed her dad's fingers curl under, the nails pressing into his palms—one of the habits she picked up from him. He was annoyed with her mother, the conversation of priorities being a hot topic of the late.

It seemed she was able to decipher everyone else's emotions but her own.

The session was awkward, filled with many "I don't know's" and outright refusals to questions. Essentially, the therapist said nothing her parents weren't unaware of. Courtney had lost pleasure in activities she enjoyed—violin, debate, crushing her peers with her unsurpassable success. Courtney had been oversleeping. Courtney imagined no future.

Depression.

The way the therapist said it made it feel like a sentence on her own. Definite. Obviously, they had talked about it during their own individual sessions, but the word sounded different here. It sounded wrong? Well, more like it felt wrong due to her mother gasping and her dad slapping his hand over his mouth. Earlier conversations made her feel like this was still a topic of discussion; this being her mental health state. They had been meeting for months, the therapist getting to know her family and personal history. What changed? Before she was functional. Now she's depressed. What will she be after?

Her therapist would not like this train of thought as it implies functionality and depression are mutually exclusive. If that were the case, she wouldn't have managed the school year so well. But what was functional to her therapist was barely surviving to Courtney. Most of the time—if not all—she felt like she couldn't talk freely even in therapy. Certain rules were present. Instead of letting her flush out her feelings, the therapist would remind her of her cognitive distortion worksheet. Courtney was a big sucker for black-and-white thinking. Subscribing to this thought pattern also meant she got very anxious when she's told it's wrong and not healthy. Order and rules had helped her before. Now nothing helped, not even knowing how not to think.

"What could she possibly be depressed about?"

Her mother's voice accentuated the voice in her head. What did she have to be depressed about? At this point in the semester, she was gearing up for exams. She had gotten a standing ovation at her violin recital. She had already been accepted to her top college and several others. Those were all things to be happy about. She had done that gratitude list activity that her therapist recommended, being fully capable of recognizing what she should be grateful for. Obviously, the issue was that she wasn't.

She had zoned out for most of the session, answering only when called on. This definitely felt worse than Before. Something had shifted in her family with this announcement, and she wanted—needed—to go back to Before. But that wasn't an option. It was never an either-or situation. Any choice was muddled with drawbacks. If she were to go back to Before, she would value things again. But those things didn't contribute to a greater purpose or make her a better person. If she stayed in this Now, she'd have to admit to herself that this is a problem she doesn't know how to solve. There were no good things in the Now. Not to Courtney.

Her only option, though cleverly masked as if she had some autonomy in the matter, was to see a psychiatrist. A professional who would be able to define a formal diagnosis and treatment plan. What that actually meant was medication. Her father had cried at this recommendation. Her mother started pursuing the therapist for the best psychiatrist. She was silent, but she didn't like this idea. If this option was necessary, would she have to be on medication her whole life? What would happen if she were to ever stop? What if nothing changed? She felt it would be much worse to be on medication and have After be like Before—or this Now.

At this point, Courtney was confused about what her mind meant by Before, Now, and After. Time had blended and it all felt the same. Imagining life continuing like this, unchanged, was enough reason for her to continue with this option.

With this new resolve, Courtney spoke up. Agreeing that this was the best course of action. Her dad's arms circled around her, squeezing. The hug forced her to ground herself in that moment. She had to acknowledge this was happening. Things didn't happen when she stayed in her room all day. There was nothing to worry about as long as she stayed there. But they made her leave. Well, they didn't make her but she couldn't refuse. She was doing fine keeping her parents' worry at a steady level, but now it had just shot through the roof. She started imagining how the day would've gone if she had just stayed in bed. She would've reread her favorite classics. Color-coded her closet. Maybe she would've finally done yoga, her therapist had been recommending physical activity.

"Courtney, let's go."

Both of her parents were staring at her. She felt like she was sitting on an island, and they had just finished their visit. Riding away without her. If she stood up, this Now would become After. After guaranteed more change. Time shouldn't have to be linear, it always left her with no choice. So, she got up. She walked to the car. She stayed with her parents all night.

Then, she was back inside.

…

The memory of that session was broken up, but she couldn't act like it didn't happen. She was taking her medication and packed it away. To be honest, she didn't feel much of a difference. There was still nothing in her After, at least not in her mind. She was beginning to hope it would stay that way, but she kept that to herself. The unspoken rules of therapy have taught her that crossing that threshold resulted in increased attention. Last time that attention came in the form of a psychiatrist. She worried how it would form now that she was on medication but still hoping for such a thing. Forcing herself to move, she slowly packed her things; hesitant to overpack as her Befores at Total Drama never lasted long. Eventually, she settled on what she should take, checking her list one more time. By lunchtime, she brought her bags down to the living room. There, her father was looking through photo albums he created. He was always the sentimental type.

"Hey, Dad," Courtney spoke up, not wanting her father to be unaware of her presence. "I'm all packed up besides toiletries."

Her father's head shot up. He turned towards her and gave a weak smile. "That's good. Your mother should be home soon. Dinner is your favorite: not our cooking."

Courtney laughed—surprisingly, it was a natural reaction. To that, her father smiled wider and sat up taller. He patted the couch next to him, and she came to fill the spot. She leaned on his shoulder, trying to embrace the comfort she knew was waiting for her. This didn't feel natural. It felt disconnected. Would she ever feel close to her parents again?

"I was just looking at some albums I made." Her father's smile was so potent it was present in every syllable. He leaned forward, causing Courtney to sit up straight. He grabbed the lime green scrapbook off the coffee table; it had a photo of the two of them on the front. They were in their backyard. She was holding up a toy hammer, and her dad was holding her up. Her mother must have taken the picture as she wasn't in the picture. Behind them was the treehouse that they had built. It wasn't really "them", it was her dad, but he let her help with the last nail (that he had already nailed in but she believed—at the time—she did with a strong whack of her toy hammer).

"How old was I there?" Courtney asked, stopping him from opening the album.

Her father studied the picture, swallowing whatever emotions were coming up for him. "I think you just turned 6. On your birthday, you wished for your own house. So, we made one."

He liked to keep up the act that it was a group effort; with this and other things.

"A house to be like you and mom," Courtney remembered.

"Yes," he laughed. "You were always looking forward to the future. You even called your toy phone 'p-day' because you couldn't quite get the a right."

Courtney smiled and reached over to open the album. She flipped randomly to a page of her opening a violin case on Christmas day. She had asked for one from Santa that year because she thought the piano was an instrument too common among her peers. If she could go to that Before, she would've taught herself commonality wasn't inherently bad.

"Your fingers were too small then for the piano. I remember you refused to drink anything but milk until you could stretch your hands an octave. I decided the violin would be a good one to try because you could start right away." Her dad traced the bow picture Courtney was holding in the air.

"I don't remember that," Courtney's eyebrows furrowed.

Her father turned towards her with a raised eyebrow. "That's because you're capable of everything, and your mind knew you could try again later."

She stared at him. Surely there was sentiment there, but she was shocked that she couldn't recall trying the piano. If she had the energy to psychoanalyze herself, she was sure that had a deeper meaning to it. Or maybe it didn't. It didn't matter anyway; she can't change Before.

Her dad's laughter filled the room, reaching every corner and wrapping Courtney in warmth. This was a good Now.

"You probably don't remember because you don't like stepping down from a challenge. Once you started violin, you forgot all about piano. Every kid I've encountered has been so eager to cater to every whim that enters their head. You were more than eager. You were determined."

She nodded her head in agreement. "That makes more sense."

But a worry washed over her. If she didn't remember that Before, would she remember this Now?

"Courtney," her father called her out of her worry and turned towards her on the couch.

"Father," Courtney droned, mimicking her father.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"I know," Courtney cut him off.

"I know you know, but listen. You've always looked to the future and have had everything planned out. If you need to change that, you can. If you need more support to achieve that, I'll be an even louder cheerleader. But what I want, and what I hope for, is for you to be happy today. You will always be my little girl, and I will always be here to hold you up. I just—" her father was tearing up. Courtney had to inhale deeply while blinking to prevent herself from showing her emotions. He took a deep breath and continued, "I need you to know that I will always be here. Your mom, too."

She rushed forward, pulling her dad into a tight hug. She couldn't let him see the tears welling up in her eyes.

The hug didn't prohibit her father from finishing his pseudo speech. "No matter what, Court, I'm forever proud of you." He pulled back, keeping his hands on her shoulders, and looked straight into her eyes. "I love you. Forever."

His tears had stained his glasses and hers had stained her face. Courtney noticed how this Now felt longer than others. Regardless of its length, she knew she would never forget this moment, even when it was a distant Before. This was a Now that would never leave her. She felt a wave of relief wash over her as she realized that she could have missed this. She also felt a small resolution that maybe her After could be nothing, now that she had one potentially last moment with her dad.

"I love you, too, Dad. Forever."

But Courtney's forever didn't seem long.

…

The dinner was delicious. The movie was weird as both of her parents sat on each side of her. Courtney had been too warm due to the proximity but knew not to say anything. That moment was more for her parents than her. She knew she shouldn't spend her last few weeks before college away from home, but she needed this in some way. For the first time that she could remember, her mom had turned off all her devices when she entered the house. They all seemed to need this Now.

But Now turned into After. And Courtney's Now was a suffocating hug from her parents.

"Please do whatever you can to contact us," her father said into her hair.

Her mother pulled back and trained her eyes on Courtney. "Yes. Even if it means one of those ridiculous confessionals this show does. We must know you're okay throughout this process."

"And if you're not," her father pulled away, "say the word, and we will be there in the blink of an eye."

"Remember, we had your right to leave written into your contract."

"And don't forget to take care of yourself."

"You have your therapist on call."

"And you have us."

"Guys! I've got it," Courtney stopped their back-and-forth. It was nothing she hadn't already been told in the last 24 hours.

"Ok, ok." Her father seemed to be calming himself down as he placed a hand on her mother's shoulder. "Remember what I told you last night. We love you."

Her mother's hand covered his as she agreed, "We do."

"I know, I will. I love you both, too. I'll be home before you know it." Courtney found this fact comforting.

More heartfelt sentiments were shared, and then Courtney got on the train. She waved out the window by her seat until she couldn't see her parents anymore. She knew her parents and her home would be waiting for her when she was done. She could go home whenever she wants.

Going home wouldn't be a loss for her, but not going on the show would be. And even in this state, Courtney refuses to lose.

Author's Note: If you or your loved ones are having suicidal thoughts, please please please reach out to someone. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline can be reached at (800)-273-8255. If you are interested in supporting prevention efforts, please check out the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention for ways to get involved.

I have drawn a fanart of a moment in this chapter. Please take a look at my tumblr-uncorrelatedideas-to see it. As always, favorite and review!

With much much support,

RCR