A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter! It took us FOREVER to write this. Writer's Block is a poohead.

DISCLAIMER: We do not own Degrassi or any of it's characters, we're simply borrowing them.

SUMMARY

Elijah yearns for any way out; a trapped door that allows him to dodge the scorching knives whipped at his heart. But when she enters his world, that escape slips through his fingers, and the complicated story of his life begins to unfold. Little does Elijah know that there will be more than just ripped pages detracting from his tattered book.

Bleated Colors:

"Eli, are you even listening to me? I'm dying here!" Adam nudged my shoulder, causing me to jump. He had been rambling about Fiona and Drew for almost half an hour. After about ten minutes, I had tuned him out.

"Adam, I really don't care. I'm sorry, but I have way bigger things on my mind." I mumbled. My head was still buzzing.

"B-But Drew knows how I feel about her, and she knows how I feel about her! And then Drew, that fucktard, he forced himself on her!" He angrily picked at the weathered wood of the picnic table

"Did it look like she didn't want it, Adam?" I rolled my eyes. Fiona had been cheating on him with his brother since she and Adam had begun dating.

"Screw you, Eli." A hurt look crossed his face, and I felt bad. I didn't mean to make him upset.

"I'm sorry, Adam. I just have a lot going on." I pulled my knees up to my chest. His blue eyes met mine, and for a second, I thought he was going to yell at me for complaining about everything.

"Your mom called mine last night… uh… she's worried about what you might do, er, again." He uncomfortably took a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"We're not talking about that." I buried my head in my arms and tried to kick the newfound memory from my thoughts. I didn't want to remember. I wanted to just forget about it.

But now everything made sense. Why we moved, why I was in the hospital, why Piper hates me, why my father hates me, why I'm watched like a hawk, why we don't use candles unless we have to, why matches and lighters are locked up. It all clicked together. I was the psychotic son who should have been taken care of a long time ago.

I picked at my bagel as Adam stared at me. "You need to get out. You know, time away from your family… how about you sleep over my house?"

"I sleep over your house all the time, Adam."

"No, I mean, I'll invite a bunch of my friends over and you can, you know, chill, and chat, you know, all that bullshit."

"I don't want to meet your friends; they'll probably hate me anyway."

"See! That's the problem. You kick yourself when you're down! You think people are going to hate you before you even meet them. Now cheer up, because you're coming."

"My parents are never going to let me out of their sight."

"Dude, it's been like a month. Okay? They're over it. I'll handle it."

"Three weeks and two days and my dad still flips if I even glance in Piper's direction. What makes you think they'll let me go to your party?" There was one good thing about my imprisonment; nobody was around to see or hear my meltdowns, which were coming around more and more frequently.

Adam smirked, knowing what I was implying. "Dude, who said anything about a party? It's going to be me, you, and a couple friends."

I rolled my eyes, "Everything that involves you turns into a party, and you know it."

"I take that as a compliment. You need this, so be at my house at… eh… nine."

"My dad-" Adam shoved his hand in face.

"Hakuna Matata, Elijah. I'll take care of it." The bell sounded, signaling the end of fifth period. I dragged myself off the bench of the picnic table and followed Adam to English, which had become my least favorite class of the day.

My leaden feet painfully pulled me into Mrs. Dawes's classroom. Reluctantly, I took my usual seat and tried to focus on being normal for the forty-five minutes of class. My eyes locked on my desk and I dared not to lift them. I could see the outline of Clare's petite frame, slightly hunched like she was tired or upset. I shook my questioning thoughts. I had been trying to avoid her since Seth's dinner.

Avoiding Clare was a lot easier than I had thought. She had been keeping to herself, for the most part. Even when we were forced to speak to each other to complete our English assignments, she said very little. That was fine with me. I didn't necessarily want to talk to her, I didn't even like her. And I certainly didn't want to face her after what had happened at the dinner.

Clare's piercing, blue eyes shocked me out of my thoughts. Her face contorted as she moved her lips faster than I thought was humanly possible. It took me a few moments to comprehend that she was talking, but I couldn't hear anything she was saying.

"I-I'm sorry, what?" I uncomfortably shifted in my seat, avoiding her eyes.

"I said; which topic do you want?" She repeated herself, dragging out each syllable. I felt like an idiot.

"Uh… I don't follow." I murmured. She rolled her eyes exasperatedly. Her anger was evident. I was starting to miss the annoying Clare. The moody one was mean.

"The assignment for this week is for one of us to write a paper on our perspective on life, and the other one of us has to write a paper on our perspective on death. Which topic do you want?" She tapped her pen on her notebook, staring at me intently.

"I don't care." I shied away from her. I didn't feel like speaking today. I had enough on my plate worrying about Adam's party and my father and my shaky home life.

"Fine. You get life." Her smug face twisted up into a teasing smirk. I mentally cursed myself for not choosing death while I had the chance. At least I had a lot to write about then. What did I have to write about life?

Clare promptly turned to her own notebook and began writing. I sat staring blankly at mine. I was afraid to write on it. I hadn't written anything by hand since the day in English a month back.

Hesitantly, I picked up my black BIC pen and carefully wrote my name on the top line, spelling it out in my head.

E-L-I-J-A-H G-O-L-D-S-W-O-R-T-H-Y.

Since I didn't mess up or let my hand take over my brain, I started to feel a bit ambitious and began to write the date underneath my name.

M-A-Y 2-1-st, 2009.

A smile crept to my lips. I was quite proud of myself. I didn't care how pathetic that was. That was a big accomplishment, considering how the last time I wrote on a sheet of paper ended.

"Eli," Clare tapped my arm. Instantly, I lifted my head. "I need some help think of ideas. You're dark. Help me." I narrowed my eyes at her, slightly insulted.

"Ouch." My tongue skimmed over my bottom lip. "You help me first."

"I asked before you did." Stubborn, stubborn Clare.

"Death gives the living a hard time and the dying relief. Dying is easy. You don't have to think about it, it just happens. But watching someone die is hard. It depends who you ask. For some death is the end. For others death is a chance to start over." I was taken aback at how deep I sounded. "Your turn."

"Life is worth living, if you ask me." She quickly turned back to her notebook, leaving me with nothing. My mouth opened as if I was going to say something, but then clamped itself shut again.

Without thinking, I tugged on her shoulder like a child. She snapped her face to mine looking angrier than I had ever seen her. For a moment, I thought she looked truly hideous. Her face twisted into a snarl and her skin looked much paler than I had remembered. Her skin looked as if it were stretched over her face, causing her features look razor sharp. I cringed internally.

"What?" she spat.

"You didn't help me." I whispered, studying her face some more.

Her head seemed to shrink into her Degrassi Panthers sweatshirt that was probably at least three sizes too big for her. "You're a good writer, Eli. I'm sure you can get this by yourself. After all, it's kind of an opinion piece." Her face wavered when she realized I was staring at her. She seemed so different. She seemed sick.

"What are you looking at?" The corners of her lips fell into a frown, and for the first time in three weeks, I looked at her in the eye. I was shocked to be met by a pair of dull, dirty blue irises, surrounded by yellowing whites.

"Are you sick, Clare?" I didn't know why I cared. I shouldn't have. Clare and I were not friends. We were nothing to each other.

"I'm not sick. I'm fine." She growled. "And don't say anything to anyone else about this."

Her head whipped back around so fast I thought her curls were going to detach themselves from her thinning head. Even her auburn locks appeared thinner and dead.

My brain began to cycle through all of my thoughts. Spinning faster, and faster, and faster, blending them all together. The puzzle pieces were scattering again and I didn't even try to pick them up. I just let it happen.

I let it happen because there was something wrong with Clare and I didn't know why I cared so much. I let it happen because I was a social outcast in my own home. I let it happen because Adam was throwing a party that I didn't want to go to. I let it happen because there was no reason in trying to fight it.

I let it happen because there was something wrong with me. But there's something wrong with everyone, so why not let the cycling blend my thoughts into incoherency?

Why not?