Disclaimer: I don't own the Degrassi. Not at all.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I hope to continue this story at this pace. As always, please read, review, and enjoy!

The tile floor stretched on forever, as the whispers lurked in the shadows, growing more raspy and distorted. Footstep falls could be heard but their origin stood still in the night. The glass windows shook from the windy exterior but only the branches held no motion. The rows of empty seats lined the middle of the room, but only her small frame could be recognized. Her red hair shined brightly in the dark, textures of her tendrils seemed to flow as she walked toward him, her heels clicking with every step. Craig took a deep breath before she finally reached him, his hand trying to get there first. "What took you so long?"

"This isn't exactly close." Ellie crossed her arms, her patented cynical smirk etched on her face. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Because I want to make this right." He reached for her cheek, softly stroking it, watching her eyes close. "I love you. I've wanted to say that for a long time, and I mean that." He drew her closer, whispering in her ear. "I've always loved you."

Ellie opened her eyes, the corners of her mouth drooping. "You know this isn't real."

Craig pulled away, the moment lost. "I know."

"Than why are you doing this?"

"Because..." He leaned forward again, kissing her softly on her forehead. "I want to remember saying it to you, even if it wasn't what really happened. I want to remember you like this. I want to get the goodbye that we deserve."

Ellie pulled back than. "No, you want the goodbye you think you deserve." She rubbed away her kiss, crossing her arms. "What happened happened for a reason. You don't get a do over. You screwed up, and these are the consequences."

"But I want to make things right."

"Than make things right out there." She looked out of the windows, past the darks shadows of Craig's subconscious and into the harrowing moon above. "You can't really have me here. I'm not real. You're not real. This isn't real."

"But can it be?"

"You just have to find out, don't you?"

Craig stepped away, mirroring her crossed arms. "Tell me you love me."

"No."

"Please. Just once."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't." And as mysteriously and suddenly as she appeared, she was gone.

Craig gasped from a deep sleep, panting as the cold sweat slid down his back and forehead. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, vibrating off the walls while his roommate snored obliviously across the room. Placing his bare feet on the floor, he was shocked back to reality again, past the empty corridors of the airport, away from the red-headed woman that tainted his dreams and still suffocated by the guilt that pumped through his veins.

He left his room, entering the shared bathroom, adjacent to another bedroom, before turning on the light. He splashed a handful of water on his face, trying to calm the chills. He had only recently been allowed to stay in his room, being transferred from a different ward, closer to the infirmary due to his intense withdraws. He had lost all control of his bladder, vomiting every four hours and eventually on an IV for several days. He had been at Pinewood for two weeks and had little interaction with the other patients, having his first group meeting that previous evening before dinner.

He had met several other recovery drug addicts, including three cocaine addicts. Their stories were similar to his own, most of them filled with regret and loss, confusion and hysteria, agony and alienation. One girl in particular, hid behind her dark brown veil of hair and spoke of her lowest point, having her younger sister walking into the room while she did a shot of heroin with her boyfriend. The image of Angie's face raced past Craig's at that moment, relieved that she was far away.

Clicking off the light, he noticed that Mikey was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. "You okay, man?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine." They hadn't made much of an impression on each other, belonging to two different groups, so they rarely saw one another. "Thanks."

Mikey clicked on the nearby lamp, pulling his blanket closer. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Craig chuckled. "Something like that." He scratched his head, sending his curls into a frenzy. "Just had a weird dream."

"Lemme guess. It has something to do with a girl."

"Isn't it always?"

"Of course." He mockingly put his hands under his chin, batting his eyes. "So, what's she like?"

Craig snorted as he mirrored Mikey's position in bed, leaning on the wall with his blanket near his chin. "She's funny. And smart. And beautiful." He turned to the lamp, looking into the light and seeing spots of red in the corner of his eyes. "But I never really saw that at first, the beauty part. I don't know, I just..." He tried to put all the things he felt for Ellie into words, but he couldn't seem to understand where he stood in his own feelings. "She was the best friend I ever had. Ever could have. She didn't judge my shortcomings or problems. She has them too." He closed his eyes, picturing her smiling face, bouncing along to his song in her living room, before everything went to shit. "She gets me."

"Real original." Mikey rolled his eyes, losing interest and turning away from Craig.

Craig continued, not caring if Mikey listened. "She's the funniest girl I've ever met. She's so cynical, but she has this way of making anything into an anecdote. She doesn't laugh, she snorts. She doesn't smile, she smirks. She's just... so cool."

Mikey scoffed, sitting up again and pushing his blanket to his knees. "So what the fuck happened?"

"I chose the prettier girl."

"Did she have bigger tits?"

Craig considered it for a moment, nodding but with no verbal response. "But it wasn't the reason why I chose her."

"I can see where this is going..."

"Well than. I guess I don't need to say anymore."

"Yeah." Mikey flipped the light out, tucking himself deeper into his bed. He turned toward Craig, shaking his head. "I just hope you figure out what you want by the time you get out of here."

"Yeah, me too."

The early morning sun drenched the walls of their small room as patients began to roam the halls, heading to the cafeteria for breakfast. Craig hadn't had to join them during his stay thus far, having his breakfast brought to him due to his weakness, but this was his first morning joining Mikey. He was slightly excited, if only to get more company than his four walls and meeting members from last night. The sunlight poured through the hallways, giving Craig the confidence to resemble a smile on his hardened face. He liked to think of himself as a night owl, always getting the best work in the weest hours of the night, but the light that touched the corners of the glass fortress allowed him hope.

He felt a shoulder nudge him, seeing a much shorter Mikey passing him. "Smart up, buddy. If you don't get there fast, all the biscuits will be gone."

Craig nodded, hands in his pockets as he followed the cattle to the end of the corridor and down three flights of stairs. The crowd was massive, slightly overwhelming to find so many more patients than he imagined. He found Mikey near the head of the line, munching on a straw when he beckoned Craig to join him.

"Took you long enough." He patted him on the back. "These are a few reluctant tenants." He pointed to the small group surrounding him. "They're a bunch of nerds, quite frankly."

"Whatever, man. I'm not the one who can quote Futurama on command." The taller man grabbed a tray, pointing to pan filled of eggs.

"Jealous, much?" Mikey took a tray as well, pointing to the same tray and nodding. "They have the best eggs here. Not too runny, not overcooked. Nice and fluffy."

"Nice." Craig followed in the same fashion, looking at the other choices and feeling nauseous. He hadn't been able to handle the food that was brought to him in the small room, but he fought the urge to vomit back, trying to find a place to belong. "Uh, can I have some sausage links?"

He found Mikey at a table near the windows, already in the mist of a serious discussion, looking very involved. Craig pulled out his chair, not realizing he bumped a chair behind him. "Oh, sorry." He turned to find the dark-haired girl from the meeting last night, looking surprised. "Oh, hi."

"Hi." She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking timid. "I thought you didn't come down here."

"Yeah, it's my first time." He offered the chair next to his own, watching her join him. "I'm Craig, by the way."

"Cassandra. But everyone calls me Cassie." She offered a smile, before digging into her food. After a few silent minutes as they ate, Cassie turned to Craig again. "You didn't talk much last night."

"Yeah, I was just auditing. You know, trying to see the vibe in the room."

"Right." Cassie didn't seem impressed by the answer, drinking more orange juice. "So, what was your observation?"

"The doctors seem friendly enough. They smile a lot."

"Yeah, that's so we don't feel intimidation. That we can feel safe around them." She shook her head, shoving another helping of eggs into her mouth. "It does more harm than good, if you ask me."

"Yeah, it just creeps me out." Craig pushed his eggs and sausage around his plate, wishing he could find the appetite he knew that lied underneath the tension. "I thought it would be a little less..."

"Phony?" She scoffed, reaching for another napkin. "It gets less annoying after a while. They just want you to feel comfortable. But once you get past the smiles, they actually have something decent to say. As long as you're willing to listen."

Craig had stopped attempting to eat, watching her instead. "How long have you been here?"

Cassie shrugged. "A few weeks, but I've been to other places. Far worse than this." She didn't elaborate, but Craig could see tension in her shoulders, as if images of the depths of her memories crept behind her. "Anyway, at least the food is good, right?"

"Yeah, Mikey's told me about the food. It's the only thing they do right."

"I don't think that's true." She wiped her mouth, pushing her tray away. "But it's easy to see why he would say that."

"How?"

"He has no other place to go." She turned, making sure they were enough away from the group at the other end of the table to be overheard. "Rumor has it he keeps coming back here because it's the only place that will take him. He's gotten kicked out of all the others in the province. But Pinewood keeps taking him back." She stood up, shrugging. "I guess it means a lot to be accepted for some people, no matter where that might be." She gave Craig a slight nod, squeezing past the other chairs and dumping her trash. She walked past a few others, disappearing into the distant halls.

Craig watched her before she vanished, noticing that Mikey and his disciples were calling him over. "Hey."

"Talking it up with Cassie, eh?" He patted an empty chair, looking curious. "She"s pretty hot."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Oh, that's right. You're lovelorn. Can't look at another girl without thinking of the one you lost." Mikey and the others laughed, sending Craig's blood pressure to a dangerous level. "Look, kid. Wherever that girl's at, she's not thinking about you. And if she is, she's doing her best not to. Let her go. You're damaged goods as far as she's concerned." He patted Craig on the back. "Besides, like the old saying goes, 'there's always more fish in the sea.'"

"Yeah." Craig absently shoved a helping of eggs in his mouth, thinking of Ellie again. He did his best to not think of her, but with every corner, he noticed something that would bring her back up to the surface. She was the very reason why he was here in the first place, so he knew it wouldn't stop, the dreams, the fantasies, the longing. He stood up than, giving the table a wave. "I'd better get ready for my therapy session."

"Okay, man. See you later." Mikey didn't look up at him, continuing to look at another member of the table, not making another glance.

Craig halfhearted thought about trying to find Cassie, thinking that she was the first person there that didn't seem annoyed by his simple presence. Instead, he walked past the library that was on the premises, seeing the stacks and carts of books, looking alluring. He had debated to skim the binds, but he continued down the hall, looking for his doctor's office. Finally arriving, he knocked until he heard a an answer. "Hi, Dr. Taylor."

"Craig, good to see you." She met him at the other side of her desk, offering her couch as she closed the door. "Take a seat." Once she reached her desk again, she took a seat herself and skimmed his file. "So, Craig. How do you feel today?"

"Anxious." He hadn't meant to be so blunt, but it was the only word that could explain his mannerisms that morning. He wasn't sure what to expect from minute to minute. Everything seemed so fresh and different, surprising himself that a rehabilitation center could be more than just a hospital. He was beginning to feel more like being in high school slowly but surely. "I feel like I didn't study for an exam and I'm gonna fail."

"Well, that's typical. You see this place as some sort of institution, filled of tests, exams, that test your knowledge or your limits and that if you don't meet the expectations or your own, which can be even higher, than you've somehow lost." She offered a genuine smile, the first he had seen during his stay at Pinewood. "I can tell you in full confidence that we are going to do our best here to make sure you not only pass these 'exams', but excel. You have all the power, as long as you know how to use it, you'll do great."

Craig nodded, leaning back further into the couch. "Thanks."

"Of course." Dr. Taylor pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. "Now, when was the last time you used?"

Craig closed his eyes, the image of his arm covered in the white power in a dirty bathroom, his torn jeans and nose rubbed in as well. "Two weeks ago."

"And when was the last time you had a withdraw?"

"Five minutes ago." He chuckled. "I think I might be having one now, but I can't tell." He rubbed his arm, feeling his skin crawl slightly. "I've been feeling like this for so long, I can't tell anymore."

"Yes, well your nerves are raw from the constant irritation, so you will still have the intense sensation of phantom usage for a few more weeks." She walked around her desk, perching on the edge. "What we are going to do over the course of the next few weeks is try to get to the root of why you used to begin with. We will start you off with several sessions of hypnotism, starting tomorrow, at least four times a week."

Craig nodded, closing his eyes. "Okay."

"After that, we will have more intense psychoanalytical sessions, involving your composition book. I, of course, won't read it, for anything in there is for your eyes and your eyes only. But if I will ask for certain entries, topics that we discuss here and elaborate on that." She flipped through his file again, looking over something more closely. "How are you handling your medication?"

"I've been off the IV for a few days, so I'm doing okay."

"No, I meant your medication for your bipolar disorder."

"Oh." He hadn't been asked to discuss that yet, always being highly protective of that characteristic of himself. "Fine. I've been taking it as prescribed."

"And you haven't had any bad reaction to them since being here?"

"I... I don't know." He hadn't thought about the reaction to them and the cocaine before, being so attached to his three pills that he had been on for the past two years. They were so much a part of who he was that he never accounted for them to have a different effect. "I don't think so."

"I see." She jotted a few notes before meeting his eye line again. "Did you stop taking your medication when you were using?"

"Yes." He didn't take them for three weeks when he toured earlier that year. He had forgotten to get another prescription before leaving. The stint didn't do much harm, but once he was back in Vancouver, he went back to the pills, without discussion.

"Mmhmm." She wrote more, nodding. "This is actually the first time you've been willing to talk to me." She chuckled. "What changed your mind?"

He thought about Cassie, her long brown hair and how she covered her face like a curtain. He thought about the emptiness and helplessness of Mikey and how he denied to find refuge inside these fortress walls. He thought about Joey and how he held him in their exchange. He had written him twice during his stay and kept his letters by his bed. Lastly, he thought of her, like always, and remembered her final words. "You need help." Craig shrugged, moving into a more comfortable position on the couch. "I need help."

Dr. Taylor smiled again, moving to a chair across from the couch to be closer to him. "Thank you, Craig. This pleases me greatly." She reached out and touched his knee, before putting her glasses higher on her nose. "Okay, than. I guess we should start off with the obvious question: when did you start using?"

Craig leaned back further into the couch, closing his eyes. "I, uh, I was with a band I hadn't played with before. They were new to the label and we were doing a set at this bar in Vancouver. I was coming back from a soundcheck when I saw them in the dressing room."

He took a deep breath, thinking back on the moment, when he saw the members crowded around the table, hunched over and laughing. They turned to the door when he entered, beckoning him to join them. Craig walked in, smiling. He didn't see what was on the table, taking a seat with his guitar.

"I asked them if they were ready for the set. It was an important show for them, me too. We were going to be performing in front of the most important music people in the city. Producers, video directors, and some prominent disc jockeys in the area. It was getting a lot of publicity and even a few music magazines editors were there. Tension was high, so I was really nervous. I used to smoke pot a lot back than, but the high took a long time since my medication halted it."

He pictured the setting again, the other band opening their huddle to reveal their stash. "They told me that it would get me high quicker than pot ever could and wouldn't last as long, which was what I was searching for. I just wanted to be high long enough for me to get through the set without getting nervous. I figured I'd do it the one time and that would be it." He watched himself in his mind's eye crouching over to the table, seeing the line of coke there, shaped in some kind of demonic smile, as if it was signaling his downfall.

"It only took me a minute or two to get the full effect." He could almost taste the first drip back, when it slid down his throat and burned it. "It tasted awful. I thought I had made a mistake, trying to cough it back up, but it was too late. The more I coughed, the higher I got. Before long, I couldn't feel my hands. It took over everything, like I was numb. But at the same time, it was like I was flying. I couldn't feel anything, couldn't touch anything. And than I jumped up, grabbed my guitar and started strumming it pretty vigorously. The other band started clapping their hands, laughing at me. We were all pretty giddy, and than after about twenty minutes, I was called to the stage."

Dr. Taylor had been writing during his story, looking up periodically. After a moment, she looked up again. "What made you come back for more?"

"The numbness."

"Not the high?"

"The high was great. I mean, the best I ever had. But it was right before the high. That moment when you can't remember what you were doing there, that moment when you can't think of anything else, complete clarity. It's comes and goes quickly, more fast with each time you use, but when you feel it, it's like... euphoria. You feel like God."

"And you think God feels nothing?"

"How could he feel everything? No one can feel everything, even him. So, the only thing is to feel nothing. And that's what it's like. Everything that's ever hurt you, everything that you can still feel, for a few seconds, you don't feel at all. You forget what anything feels like: hate, love, fear, pain. It's like you're born again."

"And do you want to born again?"

"Who wouldn't? Get to start over again. Fresh, new. A clean slate." He thought of Ellie than, her cough as she told him the answer to an oral exam. She snorted as he gave her a wink. "It's like everything, anything is possible."

"And you don't believe that now?"

"You can't change the past. As much as you might want to."

"And you have regrets?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

"Yes. I have regrets."

"What are they?"

Dr. Taylor considered him before answering. "I regret that I didn't travel enough when I was younger. I wanted to go to Europe, but never got the chance."

Craig rolled his eyes. "Europe is overrated."

Dr. Taylor chuckled. "Looking for something more juicy, eh?" Seeing Craig nod, she chuckled again. "Uh, I regret not having children. Or getting married."

"Why didn't you get married?"

"Like everything else, life got in the way." She took off her glasses, pinching her bridge. "We all have regrets, Craig. And it's natural to search for that 'numbness'. The complete emptiness of all emotion. It makes it easier to push the pain, the love, the feelings away."

"I know, but drugs aren't the answer."

"Yes, but that's not all. It's not that simple to just dismiss it all by being foolish as to use drugs to block out emotion." She uncrossed her legs, scooting her chair closer to him. "It has to start with what emotions you needed to be pushed away."

Craig tried to break her eye contact, but he couldn't. He knew that it wasn't that simple. That everything had an origin and that he would have to reveal that eventually. He finally broke it, looking at the clock and seeing that his hour was over. "I have to go."

"I know, Craig." She patted his knee again before writing something else down and ripping it out. "I want you to write at least seven pages worth of emotions you've felt today, and why. I know, it's silly, but you will find that writing these things down, even the most benign things, can help you get closer to the root of your problem."

Craig stood up and took the paper. He walked over to the door, looking at her words. "What if I already know the problem?"

"Than write that down. Whatever you're feeling, I want you to write it down. I'm not going to read it, remember? It's for you."

"What if I write nothing?"

"That's up to you. But might I say that venting is the best thing to do when you need something out. It's like your beloved 'numbness'. If you get them out, you have nothing to hold on to. I think the real question is: are you ready to let them go?"

Craig looked at her, not saying a word. He considered her words and opened the door. "See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, Craig." She left him with one final smile before disappearing behind her white door.

Craig meandered through the halls, them being more spacious and hallow from the previous hour as one or two patients filtered in and out of the corridors. Craig found his way back to the library, walking inside and gracefully grazing the binds of the books on the small shelves. There might have been only 1000 books in the entire room, but they were plenty. He pulled one down at random, taking it to a nearby table when he noticed it was already occupied. "Could I -"

The bespectacled boy looked up only momentarily before nodding. "Sure." He pulled his pile of books closer to him as Craig joined him at the table.

Craig gestured to the pile. "Anything good?"

"I suppose." The boy shrugged. "The collection isn't up to par of my own, but beggars can't be choosers."

"Yeah, right."

"I haven't seen you here before."

"Yeah, I got checked in a couple of weeks ago, but I was in the infirmary for most of that."

"Overdose?"

"Wicked bad withdraws."

"Ah." The boy pulled the book closer again, continuing his reading. "I was catatonic when they brought me here."

"Really?" Craig was taken aback by the bluntness of the small person. "What happened?"

"I attempted suicide. It didn't work."

"Oh."

"Yeah, my mother found me in my closet and she freaked out and once I came to, she threw me in here. I was only catatonic because 'I refused to allow the reality of my condition effect me'. Which in other words means I was pissed off I was still alive."

"Oh."

The boy pulled the book away, meeting Craig's eyes. "I'm not so upset anymore. If you're worried or anything."

"Oh, good."

"Yeah, I'm over it, really. I mean, it's an extraordinary thing, being that close to death, seeing it and the realness of it all."

Craig, despite his better judgment, leaned over with curiosity. "What did it feel like?"

The boy thought for a moment, before answering. "Numbness." He nodded, thinking harder. "Yeah, it was like knowing nothing, anything could have prepared you for it. I thought I would be scared, but for a moment, there was this emptiness, like the world was washed away. Like everything was missing and present, all at the same time."

Overwhelmed by emotion, Craig stood up. "I think I'd better go."

"Oh." The boy looked disappointed, nodding. "Yeah, I have the tendency of doing that."

"No, it's not like that. I just have a group meeting in a bit and I wanted to clean up first."

"Right." The boy waved. "Maybe I'll see you at lunch."

"Yeah, see ya." Craig raced through the library, dropping his book at a nearby cart and dashing through the hallways until he got into the safe confines of his room. Breathing a sigh of relief that Mikey wasn't there, he pulled out his composition book that was given to him on his first day, and withdrew a pen from a cup. Without preamble, he began to scribble random thoughts, anything that his fingers would curve and thrash. Before long, two pages were filled in. He felt inspiration for the first time in weeks, the pure energy of thought took over his senses. It didn't occur to him that time had been passing, that he was late for his meeting or would miss seeing the boy at lunch that day. Only thing that concerned him, the only thing that mattered was the pen in his hand and the words that illustrated his pages.

More to come...