A/N: This will be completely AU, IMO. Seemingly plot less too, if you want to call it that I have only watched Degrassi a handful of times since the sixth season started and my sister’s just kind of kept me up to date since then. I just stopped watching in hopes that something good would happen. I‘d say it but then I‘d have to put a spoiler thing up, and I don‘t feel like it right now. : So, I’ll be watching again when it comes back on. COMMENTS ARE WELCOME

Hearing my phone ring off the hook gave me some sense of superiority for some reason. I can hear Marco yelling uncontrollably, attempting to get me to answer it, but I ignore him. A grin cracks across my face and I examine my finger-nails. They’re adorned with chipped black nail-polish.

I like it.

The phone stops ringing, Marco stops screaming, and all I hear now is the television in the other room blaring an infomercial for some stupid exercise machine. I then hear Paige scold Marco, “Pick up that phone to order that and that will be the last thing you ever say.” she said and I bite my lip to stifle the unnatural giggle that burrows into my throat.

Shaking my head I hear an IM ding on my laptop, sighing, whoever it the culprit was, was probably the same person that tried to call me. I ignore the IM’s and lay back on the bed. Turning my head, I watch the candle flicker in and out. There’s a cool breeze coming in from the window, and I suspect that the candle will burn out soon.

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

BINGO!

‘It’s out like shout’. That stupid clichéd saying pops into my head and I growl to myself. I can hear Marco saying something like that. The IM’s continue and continue and I finally crack before standing up and walking over to my desk, ready to give the stupid IM’er a reaming of their life, but my hand falters and my jaw drops.

Elle, answer my messages.

STOP IGNORING ME.

Okay, Elle, I know we didn’t leave off on the best of terms, but you need to answer my messages before I snap. Seriously.

Okay, fine. I’ll tell you now, I’m coming back for a break from my Rehab stint. I’ll be home tomorrow, so, send me your address. I think we need to talk.

I begin to type out the address like the good best friend I am, but then I backspace and type something totally different.

I would not give you the address to where I lived if you were the last man on the face of the planet. You hurt me beyond repair, Craig. And I have finally gotten my life back together, so stop calling and stop IM’ing.

I press ENTER and my heart kind of stops for a minute. I get another message back from him saying;

You’re being ridiculous, Ellie. I just want to talk to you. Please…I really need this. Bring your stupid boyfriend Justin, or Jacob, or whatever the hell his name is. I mean. NO. HARM.

Sighing, I reply hopelessly and quite depressingly;

I broke up with Jessie. But that still doesn’t mean I’ll meet you or give our my personal information to you.

He takes a long-ass time to reply to that. But he finally does and I snort. Like a real pig-snort because I try to keep my laughter from erupting from my chest.

Listen, I’ll jump off this building if you don’t give me your address.

I start typing again;

No, you won’t.

He replies;

Yes, I will.

Again, I reply;

No…you won’t. Now stop being stupid.

He replies;

I’ll stop being stupid when you give me the ing address.

I wince even at his use of poor language over the IM and sigh before rubbing my temples. “MARCO!” I scream. And I hear running foot-steps. In fact, there’s two pair. When the door opens and both Paige and Marco appear in the doorway, which is a feat within itself, I glare. “I said Marco, not Marco and Paige.” Paige frowns, huffs, and stomps back to the living room.

Marco shuts the door, “What’s wrong? You look like you swallowed a hot chili pepper or something.” I point to my screen and his eyes move back and forth over the messages. “You have got to be kidding me.” he replies flatly.

I shake my head and he starts laughing.

Like really laughing, like one of those belly-laughs that little kids do when their parents tickle them or blow raspberries on their bellies.

I give him a strong glare and he stops.

“Give him the address. It must be important if he claims he’s going to throw himself off of a building.” he says, smiles, and leaves the premises of my bedroom. I open my mouth a few times, resembling a fish.

He just leaves, just like that. THANKS PAL!

Hurrumphing, I start typing out the address, wait a minute and then press ENTER.

Thank You, Elle. You will not regret this.

And then he signs off.

And then I wonder, Rehab facilities have really gotten better if they’re letting patients IM with people on the outside world, I mean. They could be IM’ing their drug dealers or something. But then, a logical thought pops into my head, they probably have certain lists for people and it all gets down to the nitty-gritty on computer science and I will not be straining my brain on that tonight.

I need sleep.

Psycho Drug-Addicted Craig Manning, whom I fell in love with for some out-of-my-mind reason is coming to talk to me tomorrow, from Calgary for God sakes.

I sign off of the IM Messenger, shut my laptop, blow out the other candles so that this entire house doesn’t burn down and kill me because then I’ll miss my ’ohsoexciting’ talk with Craig and bury myself under the covers.