Summary: "Nobody wants me. Not KC, not my parents, not Eli… but you do, right?"
Disclaimer: Don't own Degrassi. 'Nuff said.
Author's Note: Midterms are finally over, and now I can get back to writing fics.
Just A Reminder
By: Lady Azura
"He doesn't want me."
Those were the first words that spilled from her lips when Fitz opened the door to find her standing before him, all tear-stained cheeks and dishevelled curls. A complete wreck.
It was then that he realized that she wasn't exactly in her right mind - but that didn't stop him. He wasn't like that pussy, Goldsworthy. He wasn't about to turn down an opportunity for sex, especially when it came from the mouth of Saint Clare. So even though he was still royally pissed about Vegas Night, he didn't slam the door in her face; he didn't try to talk sense into her, and he didn't ask how she had found his apartment in the first place.
He simply let her in, and led her straight to his bedroom.
"Nobody wants me. Not KC, not my parents, not Eli… but you do, right?"
What a stupid question, he scoffed internally. Hadn't he made it perfectly clear that he wanted her weeks ago? Did she not remember their conversation in the hallway? Still, he held his tongue and smirked down at her, stroking her face with calloused fingers. She'd finally come to him and now that he had her, he wasn't about to let her go. He was going to make her his.
And he did.
He was gentle at first, just like he'd promised. Or at least as gentle as he could be.
She bit back a scream when he pushed into her. Her face twisted in pain and her nails dug into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood, but he was already far too gone to care. She was tight and felt incredible, and after a few agonizingly slow strokes, he just threw his self control out the window. Choked sobs gradually became moans, and when her legs wrapped around his waist, Fitz just about lost it. He quickened his pace, and with one hand reached under her purple polo to squeeze her breasts. She gasped and arched into his touch.
"Yes!" She cried, bucking her hips to meet his own. "P-Please… oh… oh…"
Her walls clenched around as she reached her peak, and that was just enough to send him over the edge as well. He groaned, nearly collapsing on top of her but catching himself in time, resting his weight on his elbows.
He stared down at her flushed face - glistening with sweat and tears, lips swollen and hair tangled. She was panting heavily, eyes closed, lost in her own thoughts.
When he finally pulled out of her, it occurred to him that they were both still mostly clothed. Her khaki skirt was bunched around her hips and her tights were laying somewhere on the floor with her panties and his wife beater. Semen and blood coated her thighs and a small wave of nausea washed over him when he realized that he hadn't worn a condom, but it was short-lived. What did he care if she got pregnant? It wasn't as if she could force him to do anything about it.
And okay, maybe a small part of him - the one still bitter about Vegas Night - wanted to see what would happen if everyone found out that Clare fucking Edwards got knocked up by Mark Fitzgerald. Her entire reputation would be tarnished, and that annoying Goth freak would probably be devastated. She'd have no choice but to come crawling back to him.
If she didn't get pregnant, that was fine too. He wasn't really cut out to be "daddy" material, anyway. But he still felt triumphant knowing that he had been her first. He - not Guthrie, not one of her dorky nerd friends, not her future husband and especially not Eli - had been her first. She had come to him. She was, and forever would be, his.
And he wanted everyone to know that.
In fact, he would make sure that everyone knew that.
So, reaching over, he grabbed the switch knife sitting on his nightstand. Her eyes fluttered open then, in confusion and then widening in fear.
"Just marking my territory." He said simply. "This might hurt a bit."
Hours later, Clare Edwards found herself back at home - or what was left of it, at least, disgusted with herself and what she had done. She had taken a long bath, but no amount of scrubbing made her feel any less unclean. The smell of cigarettes and booze and cheap cologne still lingered - Fitz still lingered, in more ways than one.
What was worse, she had no right to feel dirty and tainted. It wasn't as if he'd raped her. She had gone to him, and all because she'd wanted to be wanted by someone. Even if it was her boyfriend's worst enemy.
She would never be able to hide it, either. Fitz had made sure of that when he'd carved his name into her thigh.
"You're mine, Clare Edwards. And now everyone will know."
She swallowed hard, reaching down to trace each letter with her finger.
She was forever his.
What is this, I don't even…
Yeah, I have no idea why I wrote this. I'll probably take it down soon.
It takes place after "Umbrella" (Part 1) though.
Is Fitz evil? No.
Possessive and slightly deranged? Yes.
I wanted to do something dark…ish, I guess, and this is what I came up with. Not my best work, I know, but… oh well. I know Clare would probably never do this, so it is slightly OOC, but like… she's not exactly sane right now. "Love Lockdown" and "Umbrella" have made that very clear. I just wrote a sort of… worst-case scenario after she left Eli in the last episode. Well, one that doesn't involve her meeting the same fate as Julia. But I think that if she was desperate enough, she might just turn to Fitz.
Yeah, so… that's all I've got. I hope it wasn't too terrible.
Please REVIEW and tell me what you think!