Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Degrassi Franchise.

AN: I'm pretty sure we just know Campbell's host family as 'the Clarksons'. Therefore I had to create first names for them. Please feel free to correct me in a review if they do actually have names.

This story will contain fairly strong themes of self-harm. I will have a warning on any chapters that may be particularly upsetting to some people.

Additional AN. Please read: This story was posted before the airing of Bitter Sweet Symphony. When I started writing this Cam was still alive. So I've changed my description to say AU, as I guess it is now, please keep that in mind when you read the first couple of chapters though as the world of Degrassi is now remarkably different to when I began this story.

His world was awash with black. Everything was numb and he had no idea how to be alive again. His sister's cries filled his ears and she clung to him expecting some kind of mutual grief in return. Instead she was met with a wall; a stony faced boy who was unable to feel a thing. He felt an overwhelming sense of grief; a pain that only a boy who had been hundreds of kilometres away from his family for years could feel. He didn't get to hug her again, he didn't get to tell her how much he loved her, how important she really was. He didn't get to say thank you.

Maybe if he'd been there, maybe things would be different. She wouldn't have been stressed, she might not have been trying to get to school in time for his siblings; he could have been getting them instead. If he had been getting them she would have been safe in her office, still stressed, but not dead. No one had to die. No one would have died if only he'd been there. But instead he'd been hundreds of kilometres feeling the happiest he'd ever been since moving to play hockey.

What a selfish dick he was. His mother was stressed and tired and now she was dead. All because he had left to do what he wanted. He could have been there for her, but he wasn't.

Everything was his fault.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Her name flashed across the screen; her beautiful smile full of life beaming at him. He felt sick. He'd been with her when his mother died. He couldn't bear to speak to her.

So he pressed decline.

And he pressed decline every time she tried to ring him until finally she stopped calling.

ooo

"Since it's only a few months until you turn eighteen, Campbell, the Clarksons have agreed to have you remain living with them. When you turn eighteen you may choose to live elsewhere." The social worker explains to Campbell. "We felt that it was highly appropriate for you to remain where you are with the Clarksons and that you will feel more comfortable here. Stability is key."

"Stability would be having my mother back." Campbell mutters bitterly. The social worker nods patiently, she leans forward cupping her face with her hand. Her rich brown eyes full of concern.

"This is an unfortunate situation," she sighs, "but you are comfortable with the Clarksons, are you not?"

Campbell nods, "yes." The social worker smiles and writes something into an official looking form before her.

"What happens to my siblings?"

The social worker looks up from her paperwork. "Your siblings?" Campbell nods. "Well, I'm not assigned to them, but I'd imagine they will be sent to live with a relative; a grandparent, an uncle or an aunt."

"Not my father? Not my older brother? Where are they?"

"We were unable to contact your father…"

"Figures he's gone AWOL." Campbell hisses, cutting the social worker off.

She continues, unperturbed by Campbell's interruption. "Your brother was deemed unfit to care for your younger siblings."

"He's their brother. How can he be deemed 'unfit'?"

"Campbell, just because he's their brother does not necessarily mean he could provide your younger siblings with adequate care and support."

"Why can't I look after my siblings then?"

"You aren't old enough, Campbell. Possibly when you are eighteen this situation may be reviewed but until then this is how it must be," she pauses trying to meet his eye. He looks away. "This may be hard for you to understand, and it's times like this I hate my job, really do; but it's for the best."

Campbell nods solemnly.

"Why did the Clarksons volunteer to keep me?"

"I'd imagine they've grown quite fond of you Campbell while you've lived with them. They could therefore see that it was best for you to stay with them rather than move away again. They say you have good, supportive friends who the want to keep around you."

Campbell snorts. "If they mean Maya, then I don't want to see her."

"Is Maya your friend?"

"She's my girlfriend."

The social worker frowns at Campbell. "Why wouldn't you want to see your girlfriend? Did you fight?"

"No. I just can't look at her without feeling sick." The social worker sat back, taking in his words. He could sense her confusion. "I was with her," he explains, "when my mother… when it happened. Now she just makes me feel angry and sick and guilty. I don't think I'd even be able to look her straight in the eye."

"Well that's very sad for you both." The social workers says shaking her head, "were you together long?"

"About eighteen months. We met in the middle of my sophomore year and her freshmen year."

"And you don't think you could work through your feelings?"

Campbell shakes his head. "Nothing can help us now. Not if she's reminds me that my mother died every time I'm near her."

ooo

Anger and grief fuel Campbell's energy for his first few days back with the Clarksons. One night he lies in his bed unable to sleep. He looks towards his wall and feels a rush of hatred for everything around him. Before he truly comprehends what he's doing, he rips posters from the walls and strips the room bare; every shelf and wall stripped of its contents. He finds the picture of him and Maya at her sixteenth birthday party last year, the same night they first shared each other's first times.

Staring at the photo sends Campbell into a panic that he hasn't felt in over a year. The same panic he felt when he cut himself with his skate and when he deliberately fell to break his arm. The wave of panic frightens him and his breathing quickens. He rips the photo into tiny shreds, then he falls to the floor, curling into a ball, and begins to sob. His sobs come out in chokes as he struggles to breathe at the same time. Something grabs a hold of him, something dark, that he can't shake off. His panic rises and his throat feels too thick with tears to breathe.

After what seems like hours the panic begins to subside, but Campbell has no energy left. So he lets himself drift into a broken, hellish sleep.

Lying on the floor of his room, between his bed and the window Campbell is able to forget everything for a while. He draws back from the world, taking refuge in a swirling world of music. He searches for new stuff, music that he's never heard before: indie bands from Australia, string quartets, classical, electronica from New Zealand, Japanese anime themes, euro pop from Romania, shoegaze from France; anything at all he can find that holds no memories of the past.

The curtains are drawn closed and the room is dim. Every time he closes his eyes his sees his mother and his siblings. A sadness floods through his entire being and begins to build up and up, in mounds growing higher and higher. One day it'll all come out; but he doesn't know how he's supposed to get rid of all this grief and pain. Everyone says it'll go away but he can't see how this could possibly go. It's like a ticking time bomb; a nuclear meltdown; a weapon of mass destruction; just waiting to be set off.

There's a knock on the door. Campbell doesn't respond. Richard Clarkson comes in anyway. He stops in the doorway, taking in the state of the room, before spotting Campbell lying on the floor, headphones engulfing his ears. He walks forward and perches on the edge of the bed. Campbell won't look at him. He stares blankly at the ceiling.

"Cam." Richard Clarkson can't find the words to explain to the boy how terrible this whole thing is. He doesn't have the heart to tell the boy that he needs to get on with his life and be someone. He doesn't have the faintest clue as to how to deal with a grief-stricken, reclusive seventeen year old.

He stares at Campbell for a good time longer, hoping, praying, that maybe the boy will say something. But Campbell remains unresponsive, and with a sigh, Richard gets up and leaves the room. He leaves Campbell to fall out of this world, into a world of pain and music; his own peaceful sanctum.

Except he is determined not to leave it at that. He might not get a response from Campbell, but he knows who might.

I would really appreciate any comments and feedback. Please tell me what you think.

The Black Rosette