Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.

Day 1

"I-I've failed you?" Her throat is shutting and her chest is tightening. He looks unimpressed at the spontaneous array of emotions displayed on her anxious face. She's done the unthinkable; she disappointed him. Her insides are folding onto each other and she takes a seat next to him, her shoulders slumping.

He's irritated with her emotion. He's irritated with her. "Clare, I've said this countless amount of times; you're talented. Your writing structure is sophisticated and neat and very…refreshing. But you don't have any edge. When I ask you to write about the protest that happened outside the local clothing store, I want the facts, but I want your voice with it. I want your opinion. I want your fierce tongue and dry humor."

He leans back in his chair and Clare winces at the low moan the metal legs give. After rewriting and rewriting, she thought that she had finally gotten the perfect result. She thought that he would enjoy her broad vocabulary and her strong sense of truth, because isn't that what journalism is; telling the truth?

"I…I can change it tonight. I mean, it'll take a while, but I think that I can finish it by-"

"No." His tone is short. It's stiff and small, and he's cold. So very cold. And she can't feel her fingers or her mind or her feet. But she can hear her heart thumping and pounding and she remembers reading somewhere that when you're in complete silence, you can hear your heart and every sound you make is audible, more audible that ever before.

She hates the sound of silence.

She nods in response, and she regrets every taking this opportunity. She always prided herself on being a great writer, and she had dreamed of being a journalist since she was a little girl and she saw her sister pick up a pamphlet for the career. But, now; in the ever-silent room, she knows that her once sound future is gone with the noise and the misplaced feeling of her limbs.

"Do you know why I picked you, Clare?" He stares intently at her. His eyes are bold and icy. She used to admire his poker face, but now it makes her skin feel cold.

"Because of my recommendations?"

He lets out a small laugh and shakes his head. "No. I picked you because I thought that you would give me something new. I've let a lot of teenagers go over the years, because they are dull and censored and they hand me processed crap that a freshman in high school could pump out. I liked your spark during our interview, and I thought that you were special, but the more I see of you…the more I realize that you have no spark. You are hiding yourself under a fierce and shaky mask, and sweetheart; people are going to see the real you someday."

She wants to tell him that she is still finding herself and she doesn't know who she is. She wants to tell him that her parents got a divorce and her mother remarried in the same year and her father makes no effort to talk to her. She wants to tell him that she's falling in love again and she's worried about her best friend. She wants to ask him if it's that noticeable that she is still a bit shaky.

She wants to cry.

"I'm sorry." She tries and he waves his hand, his frown impatient. She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know if there is actually something to say to him.

"Don't say sorry to me. You're not hurting me. You're hurting yourself, and someday you're going to wake up and think, 'who is the real Clare Edwards'. And you'll fall apart. I've seen girls like you. I know girls like you; the world tears them apart because of their weakness."

She suddenly wants her mother, but she remembers that her mother is gone on a business trip. She wants someone to take her home and make her hot chocolate and read The Little Prince to her. She's tempted to call Eli or Jake or Adam. Or anyone. Just someone.

"But," His voice breaks the silence, but she can still hear her heart, "I'm going to give you one more chance. I've seen many people change and become the writers they are and I've seen many people fall. And I'm…eager to see where you will stand. I give you five days. In five days, I'll tell you if you're worth it."

He swiftly rolls his chair so that he's sitting in front of her. His breath smells of old and pungent coffee and there's pit stains forming. He's repulsive and he's aggressive and he looks at her oddly sometimes, but she wants to impress him and him to tell her that she's going to make it. She gulps. She stares. She blinks. She's ready.

"What do I have to do?"

His lips find hers. They're chapped and rugged and she fights the urge to puke. She fights the urge to push him away and cry. But she thinks that maybe she deserves this? She did mess up the article and she did disappoint him. Maybe she just has to deal with it and let it go. Though, it's hard to let go when his tongue pushes into her mouth and his fingers grip into her hair. She thinks of Eli. She wonders what he is doing and if he's enjoying his night with Adam. She wonders about Alli and if she's getting any better with the Dave situation. She contemplates everybody's lives. Just not her own.

She finds solace in the small things; the ticking of the clock, the feeling of the ground underneath her feet, and the blankness in her mind. And her mind stays on these things until he pulls away, his eyes shining and a smile on his face.

"Oh, Clare Edwards, you're already doing it."

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"And then he threw the drumstick and guess what happened?"

"…You caught it?"

"God, no! But it hit my head! That counts for something, right?"

She smiles widely, but it's tight and forced and she wonders if he can tell. But Adam blunders on, and tells her about his encounter with the "totally hot girl that totally checked him out and was totally scared to ask for his number". His sweet enthusiasm makes her heart ache and she wonders what his secret is; what his secret to staying so positive is. She has always admired him, but just by seeing the happiness on his face and knowing what he's been through, she can't help but revel in his strong attitude.

She can feel Eli's stare, so she turns her smile on. It takes a while for her smile to warm up, but once it does, his stare becomes smaller and smaller, and soon settles on Adam- who still continues to talk.

They sit in their regular spot outside of Degrassi. It's where Adam told his biggest secret, and where they spent several hours after school talking. After Eli and Clare started dating again, Adam followed in easily, and they found themselves in the exact same place as before. Adam sits on the opposite side of them and she can tell that he's just happy to have them all together again. She's glad too. She really is. And she's almost tempted to confess her own secret, to confide in them about Asher.

She has tried not to think about it and to just let it leave her mind. But she can't not think about it. Every kiss that she shares with Eli, reminds her that yesterday, her boss kissed her and implied that the brief kiss was just the beginning. She feels dirty. Even though she took two showers that morning.

"Well, I gotta go home." Adam says, stuffing his books in his backpack, "My mother seems to think that Drew's going to get into another fight if I don't walk with him. She doesn't seem to understand that I attract fights like food attracts me." He laughs at his own joke and jumps up. He waves at the two and walks away quickly, and meets up with Bianca and Drew.

Clare watches the interaction between the brothers and Bianca. She's reminded of Darcy and her long stay at Kenya. She hasn't heard from Darcy in months, and is still waiting for a reply from her. They rely on e-mail, and Clare suspects that her sister gets all of her messages, but doesn't bother to say anything back. She imagines Darcy reading every word and closing out. Clare can't help but hate her for that. She thinks that it must be nice to run away from the people you love and your life.

"Clare?"

Eli's hand slips on top of her own, and she breathes deeply. She can feel Eli's concern, and she wants to apologize for that. She wants to be okay, because they just started to be okay.

"Yeah?" Her voice is soft and sweet, and he relaxes. She's Clare again. She smells of lavender and finds his Popeye imitation to be hilarious, even though it doesn't even slightly resemble the sailor. She's his girlfriend. And she's fine. She is.

"You're okay, right?"

She realizes that it's not a question. It's a fact posing as a question. He believes that she's fine. And she figures that she can't break that illusion, so she nods. She grins. She kisses his lips. She feels bile rising up her throat.

"Right."

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Day 2

His hand is wrapped around her waist, and for a minute, Clare sinks into his side and closes her eyes. Eli smells of fresh detergent and cool air. She doesn't really know how else to describe it, but he smells like an autumn day with a rush of wind. He's warm and her restless nights catch up to her as he pulls her closer.

"So, how's Asher's harsh work going?" He asks, and her eyes snap open and she pulls away from him and sighs. Eli rubs her shoulder sympathetically, and she can only imagine what he'd do if he knew the truth.

"It's…difficult. I'm just tired and I feel...horrible with him." It's the most honest that she's been with Eli about the situation.

"I know, but I think that you just have to sacrifice yourself sometimes for the things you want. And I know that he's tough and I know that you dislike him, but he can help you get better with your writing. He's here to help you."

Asher's words flash in her mind. His bitter and angry paragraphs fill her eyes and her body and she's disappointed at Eli's answer. She was expecting an Eli-esque answer, telling her to quit and to screw Asher and his big head, and that she could do better.

She's beginning to believe that she can't do better.

But, putting on a poker face that's modeled after Asher's, she grins up at her boyfriend. "You're right. Totally right. …Now, how's the play going?"

And he's off. He has so much to deal with, and she listens to his problems with everyone in the play. She gasps at all the right moments and she laughs at every comment he makes. She knows what to do and what to say, and she begins to think that between Eli and her, she's the darkest. She just doesn't show it, while Eli takes pride in it. But Clare's dripped in it. There's spots of darkness on her, and like grease, it won't come off. Eli's is just paint and it's coming off. She fears that her spots are permanent marker and will stay forever.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you could come to practice tomorrow. I really need someone to paint the props, and I think that you would be perfect for it. And, I could always use another eye, and I trust your judgment."

"You better trust my judgment." She jokes and Eli pokes her in the side, earning a small squeal.

"Or what?" He challenges, his eyes flashing. And she smiles sweetly, and takes his hand.

"Or I will be extremely sad, Eli."

"Well, in that case…nah, I'm still unsure about your judgment."

Clare throws her head back and laughs. Her body shakes with laughter and Eli looks at her in amusement.

All she knows is that she hasn't laughed like this in months.

She remembers hearing that the saddest people laugh the loudest.

Go figure.

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She orders his coffee and sets it on his desk carefully, afraid of getting a drop on any important papers. He always arrives right after her, so she quickly goes to her small desk and starts to find information on different protests relating to the one she wrote the paper on. She gets lost in the different articles, and she jumps when a hand touches her shoulder.

"Sh, it's just me." His voice is soft, and that makes her throat go dry, "I sent everybody home early. It is a Friday, after all. And they aren't dedicated like you are." His swift fingers drift underneath the strap of her shirt and grab her bra strap. He pulls it lightly and he lets it snap back. Her face is red and her throat is closing up and he's infecting her with dirt.

Or, as he walks away, she wonders if she was the one infecting him with dirt.

"Oh," He calls over his shoulder, "Is there anything new on the protests?"

She takes a deep breath and counts to five; one Mississippi two Mississippi three Mississippi four Mississippi five Mississippi…

"Yeah, it seems that the whole entire mall is corrupt, not just the one store. Employees are saying that people were fired due to race, sexual orientation, special needs, size, and sex."

"Juicy." He replies, and shuts his door. That's his answer to everything; to not listen and to shut the door. She watches him punch in a number on his phone, and she can tell that he's talking to his wife because his face is pinched and his laugh is forced. Clare met his wife about a month ago and she was surprised to see that the woman was pregnant. She was kind and she rubbed her stomach a lot and admired her husband from afar. Clare feels sick thinking about her now.

She hears silence from his room now. He's just quietly working on his work and it feels like old times again. It feels like it was before yesterday, when they kept their distance from each other, but Clare could still learn and trust him. His hand flies across the page, and everything feel okay. And then he stops.

He looks at her.

He smiles.

She is a deer caught in headlights.

He signals for her to come in. And she feels like a mouse going in for the cheese, almost knowing that she's going to die, but continues anyway. There's no reason to stop.

It scares her that she can't find a reason to turn back.

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She has to remind herself how to breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

He touch-

Out.

It hurts-

In.

The walk home is quick but her mind is slow. Her breathing is shallow. Everything hurts and her throat is sore from finally puking everything out. Her fingers and legs shake as she walks into her home. No one's home. No one left a note. Her footsteps create holes and voids in her body. With each echo of her shoes hitting the wooden floor, she becomes even more damaged.

She's alone. So utterly alone.

The stairs are painful to walk up. But she has a mission. A dangerous mission but there's something telling her to do it. There's something pushing her to write it. There's a voice in her, a voice that yells words and phrases and burned thoughts. She can't tell this voice to shut up. This voice hurts.

Getting her laptop out, she composes an e-mail. It's a quick write and she's doesn't proof-read and she doesn't want to. She can't breathe.

Darcy,

I think I get it now. I understand why you left us. It was easy. I get that now, and I don't blame you. At least, I don't think I do. I'm feeling like going away. Hopefully soon. I don't know where but I can't be here. And I hope that I can live somewhere in peace.

I don't even know if you check this account anymore. I almost hope you don't, because I think that there's nothing scarier than someone hearing what you have to say. Would you believe me if I told you that I work for a big-time editor? I'm just an intern. I'm nothing special, and I don't have any future in journalism. This job has made me realize and understand that.

He touched me.

I think that I should go now.

And…I get why you tried to end your life.

-Clare

Day 3

She walks home and feels lighter. She has the day off from Asher and the whole day was a blur. She walked from class to class and she talked to people like normal. She was normal. She's Clare Edwards. She has to be strong.

She almost doesn't want to go into her house. Jake and Katie had gotten there a few minutes prior and while she liked Katie, she just wasn't in the mood to see their lovefest. The thought of it made her insides scream. There was something about seeing someone else happy, while she was incredibly sick with her own mine, that made her body ache slightly.

She pushes the door open and quietly walks up the stairs, and ignores their voices. They laugh and they talk about organic fruit, and she tried not to cry. She needs to sleep or to maybe check her e-mail to see if Darcy contacted her back. She waits patiently for her computer loads. A part of her expects an e-mail back. Another part of her mocks the optimistic side and tells her that fuck; don't get your hopes up.

Clare almost laughs at the empty mailbox. She refreshes and refreshes. She restarts the computer. She reads a few pages of her book. She refreshes. She-

Her phone buzzes and she throws herself at it. She's expecting Darcy, but Eli's face pops up. She sighs, refreshes one more time, and answers.

"Hey!"

"Where are you?" His voice is laced with other sounds. Someone singing, someone speaking loudly…oh.

"Oh my gosh, Eli, I'm so sorry! I completely forgot about coming. I am so sorry, it totally slipped my mind!"

There's silence over the phone. It grows and grows and it's almost like tension. And she thinks that maybe she isn't as normal as she thinks she is.

"Clare, are you alright?" His voice is thick and soft and she wants to cry. She doesn't deserve to be spoken to in such a way. She hates her skin.

"Yeah, of course! I just…I'm just tired, I guess."

"You do know that when you said that you were all in, it meant that we had to be honest with each other?" His tone is almost harsh. He doesn't mean to, but she's glad that it is, "And I get if you don't want to tell me over the phone, but…you'll have to tell someone what's up someday."

"I can do someday." She says. She smiles at the word someday. It's vague. It's perfect.

And she hears a click and he's gone. Maybe for good. She doesn't know.

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Day 4

His hands grip her tightly and she squirms at the forming bruises. He has her and she's never realized how weak she is. She's stuck and she tears her face away from his lonely and bruised lips.

"You're almost there, Clare" He mutters, his hand reaching underneath her shirt, "Just one more day. Then you can have everything."

She chokes back a sob and coils away when he starts to unzip his pants. She covers her eyes and shudders at his amused chuckle. And it's not until she feels him unbuttoning her skirt does she break free and fall back on the floor. Her shaking fingers try to button them back up, but he roughly shoves them away.

"One. More. Day. And then you can be anything you want." He smells like he hasn't showered in days and he glances at her purity ring. It's shines too brightly for her and she hides it away.

"Not this." She mutters and steps back. Her eyes burn and everything blurs.

He pushes her back down. And she feels something form in her stomach. It's black and it's ugly and she's crying and the black is coming up, and it's all over his shoes. They stare at her sickness in silence and then she truly starts to cry. Her shoulders shake and she falls on her knees. She's not dripped in black anymore; she's swimming in it. She's wrong and grimy and she smells like him.

"Don't be such a bitch, Clare." And he's irritated again. She forgot that he doesn't like emotion. But she shakes harder and she can't stop. She can't even pretend anymore. And she feels a pain in her head. He's pulling at her hair.

Clare tries to break free once again, but she can't seem to loosen out. She's being unbuttoned again and she's trying to scream, but his hand covers her mouth. She bites down on his flesh when he touches her intimately. He screeches, and his bloody hand comes back towards her.

And Clare finds it funny that as she wishes for help, a siren is heard right outside of the building.

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Three days later

She realizes that her home isn't much of a home as she dips her finger in the cup of red paint; lifting it up and smiling sadly at it. She lets a drop of paint splatter to the wooden and ever-clean floor. It looks out of place, so she lets more paint plummet to the only-washed-once-and-still-clean-ground. She's dirtying it up. Maybe then she'll make herself feel less alone.

"I used to paint a lot, y'know. " She tells him casually, and smiles widely at the paint that almost looks like blood on her finger. "I don't know why I stopped. Probably something that I just…grew out of. Sad…isn't it? But I'm glad you asked me to paint props. I think that they look…okay." She points to some of the props that dry slowly, leaning on the wall.

She takes her already painted on paper and examines the different and strange lines that have no pattern. It seems to make sense to her, because she sighs in contentment and dips her paint brush in the rich purple paint.

Her eyes flicker up to his face and very quickly-with stealth learned only from lack of sleep and an unlimited amount of coffee-she presses the colored tip to his nose. A squeal of laughter leaves her lips and she drops the paintbrush to cover her mouth in surprise. Flecks of purple stain her bare legs and his black jeans and she finds them fascinating, and she smears some of the spots on her leg.

"You have some paint on your nose, Eli."

"Do I? Silly me; I didn't even notice."

"It's royal purple…you know what that means, don't you?" His silence makes her sigh and she dabs a napkin in the slightly stained-blue water in the cup, and presses it to his nose gently. "It means that you are royalty." She pulls the damp napkin away and giggles slightly at the light taint of purple still faded on his nose.

"I could have told you that, Edwards." He smiles at her but his eyes seem sad. She doesn't like that, so she busies herself with the paintbrush in her slightly shaking grip. Clare pulls her knees up to her chest and glances around the room with mild interest. She pushes her hair behind her ear and presses her finger up against her chapped lips, telling Eli to quiet down. He stifles down the urge to tell her that he wasn't talking.

She bites her lip and squints her blood-shot eyes. "You hear that?" She asks softly, her breathing getting shallower and faster.

"No…?"

"Exactly."

And it scares him how silent and still she is. And she isn't letting anything scaring her. She lets out a short laugh and it's genuine, but has a ring to it that makes him coil back into himself.

"You want to hear something funny?" He barely opens his mouth to say yes before she continues. He wonders if she's even talking to him. "This silence is funny. It's funny because it never used to be this quiet. And it's not funny in the 'haha! Wow! This is cracking me up' way, you know what I mean? I guess that it's ironic. Ironic in a bad way, too."

"Clare-"

"And, I mean, I guess that I'm used to the silence but it's nice to be around people every once in a while. That's all I'm saying."

She takes a new piece of blank paper and sets it in front of her. She uses Eli's royal purple first and then her blood red. And she begins to use yellow and orange and green and indigo. All the colors melt and blend together with ease. Eli watches her creative fingers more carefully with the brush as she mutters incoherent sentences. Her words slip and fade together but he doesn't need to hear her; he can only imagine what her pink lips are letting out.

"That's very…colorful." He tries, but it goes unnoticed. And it becomes a useless comment when she paints black all across the paper. The black and other colors swirl together, but she just adds more black until it's unclear that there's any light colors behind it. A goofy smile crosses her face and she looks at him, her eyes bright.

"I call it…Silence."

She notices that she's dirtier than the house, and that makes her laugh. She dips her paintbrush in the dirty water and swirls it around until the water moves by itself. The water laps around the edges and licks the higher places of the cup, like it's trying to get out.

He licks his lips and speaks through his dry tongue. It sounds like a different language, so he tries again.
"Did you tell them yet?"

"Tell what who?" Her voice is lost in the spinning cycle of water. Her eyes follow its every move and he wonders where she has gone.

"Have you told your parents about Asher…yet?" The words feel dirty in his mouth and the way her eyes stop following the water make him feel sick.

"Yeah. They…they were really great about it." Her voice is thick and scratchy and he wants her to crash and to stop the caffeine high and to get her spark back.

He smiles softly and lets a little bit of paint drop. He doesn't know why, and he doesn't think he ever will, but she smiles. Really smiles. And he can't see anything. She's stunning when she smiles and when she has life in her.

And he doesn't want this light in her to go away, so he breaks the silence and he starts to paint and he asks her questions about her world, and she answers with witty and charming answers. And they seem to collide together with their laughter and their desire to make everything okay. Sure, they know that she'll have to talk about it sooner or later, but now is not the time.

They let themselves forget the world and every once in a while, with a sly look, they let the paint drip; and they watch it puddle at first, and then dry.

And that's all that they need.

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Six Days Later

Her body aches a little less. There's a little more spring in her step. She doesn't mind Eli's kisses and she doesn't feel so alone anymore. Everything is blurry to her. After the siren was heard, and Asher was put into handcuffs, and she was sent to the hospital, she was told that an employee that had forgotten his jacket had called the police. The man remained anonymous, but she wishes that she could somehow thank him.

Eli was the first to find out. He wanted to pick her up and take her out for dinner, but that plan fell short when the ambulance waited ominously for her. But she told him the truth as they rode to the hospital. He handled it well, and wasn't mad at her. She expected him to hate her just like she hated herself, but he kissed her forehead and held her.

The next people to find out were her family. Everyone. Jake, her mom, her father, step-father, and Adam of course. They stood around her and all of them shed a tear or two. They all apologized for some reason, and Clare made it clear that it wasn't their fault. They couldn't have possibly known.

It all seems like a dream to her. A nightmare. When she gets home, she takes two showers in a row, and figures that that won't change. She fears that she'll always feel his breath in her ear and his words in her mind. She fears that maybe there is some truth to what he said, and that she doesn't have a future. She tries to stop these thoughts, but they often get the best of her. She can't help it. There's talk of a court date, but she doesn't want to dwell on that either.

And it's eight days later when it happens. She wakes up and listens to the birds. She slips on her robe and quickly goes onto her computer. She checks facerange and plans on meeting up with Alli for a night out. And then she checks her e-mail.

Darcy.

Clare stares at the unread message for a few moments, and then carefully clicks on it. In small, boxy letters, her sister wrote wrote:

Clare,

I'm coming home.

-Darcy

And for the second time of her life, Clare Edwards hears nothing but her heart beat and the blood rushing through her veins. Everything is silent, but this time it's okay.

She doesn't mind the sound of silence anymore.

This is a very serious subject, and I'm glad that Degrassi is handling it. And I do know that it's triggering, and I want anyone that has ever suffered from sexual abuse/harassment to know that you can talk to me if you want, because I know what you're going through. I'm available through twitter and tumblr (same username as mine on here: summersetlights) and if you don't feel comfortable with that, I will gladly give you my e-mail. Just know that you are not alone. And you will get through it.