Author's Note: First off, I must thank the always helpful, endlessly patient, and ridiculously talented They-Call-Me-Orange, for without her this fic would be nothing more than a guilty pleasure idea and would never have seen the light of day, much less the interwubs. The woman is a fanfiction machine that runs on awesomeness, so if you're not currently reading "The Icarus Complex," "Sepia," and everything else she's written, there's something wrong with you. Further thanks go to the Blood Brothers just for being an incredible band.
Warning: This story will contain the following horrific aspects: a whole lotta violence, some extremely minor (and hopefully few) Mary Sues, gayness, and slightly altered character histories.
Disclaimer: Battle Royale is the property of Koushun Takami, while its excellent film version belongs to Kinji Fukasaku. Degrassi belongs to several well-meaning Canadians who probably never intended for their characters to be fucked with in such a manner as they're about to be. I am making no money off of this and am doing it purely for my own pleasure. Now, on with the fic.
"Fine, go! Leave me and your fucking daughter for that goddamn whore, see how long she sticks around once the money runs out, Jerry! 'Cause we both know it's gonna, nothing ever lasts with you, Jerry!" A crash, she can't tell what makes it, but his voice follows, "Fuck you, Emily! I'm not the only one around here with a problem, so get off your fuckin' high horse! And you're really one to talk about whores. Guess it takes one to know one, huh? Come on, Emily." Another crash, this one accented with broken glass, maybe the mirror, she thinks. "We both know the kid's not mine! You've been fucking around on me so long you probably don't even know which one of 'em she even belongs to!"
For a moment all is silent and the girl holds her breath, waiting. Finally, the woman speaks, voice low and deadly calm. "Get out." Another short silence, the girl tenses, waiting for the eruption she knows is coming. The woman doesn't disappoint when she begins to scream. "Get out! Get out, get out, get the fuck out of here, you goddamn fucking son of a bitch! We don't need you, we never needed you!" By this time she is screaming at the top of her lungs, completely hysterical, and the girl forces herself to wait for the final crash of the front door slamming signaling the man's departure before allowing herself to rush into her parents' bedroom and wrap herself around her mother, who is nothing more than a sobbing heap, collapsed under the weight of the fight and its undeniable finality. Alex knows without a doubt that her father denying her is the last thing she'll ever hear him say. She is 13.