Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi.

Author's note: This was meant to be a side project while still working on my fic, Alliteration. However, I decided to put Alliteration on hiatus and bury myself in this one instead, I feel really passionate about it. I got this idea by rereading Infinite, Sometimes, which may be the best fanfiction I've ever read (it's not on this site, and it's not Degrassi-related, but still brilliant). It will be angsty and not very smutty... but I just want to explore deep human emotions and the complexity of depression. I also want to explore friendships and the meaning of being really close to someone without necessarily being romantic. That being said, this fic will definitely be Eclare-centric and yes, there will be some romance, but I may take my time with it. That's why it's slightly AU, but just very slightly. Hopefully, you will stick with me through this.

Special shout-out: To one of my very best friends, Pete, for helping me out with my writer's block and giving me so many good ideas. For saving my life many times without even knowing it. For listening to me whenever I'm depressed and cheering me up with her brilliant comments. For pushing me in the right direction with my writing, for having faith in me somehow. I love you, boo.

- All we need is a little bit of momentum; break down these walls that we've built around ourselves. All we need is a little bit of inertia… Break down and tell.- The Hush Sound, Momentum.


It's not easy being alive.

I feel like I'm stuck.

I feel like I'll never be able to move on. It's been a year, I know.

But I still can't sleep.

I keep hearing your angry voice yelling at me.

I keep thinking of the way I talked to you.

I can't sleep.

Eli Goldsworthy finished writing on his journal and stared at the building in front of him. He was hiding in his hearse, refusing to go into the new school, which looked incredibly intimidating to him. He gulped nervously as he tore off the page on which he had just written, and felt the texture of the paper crumble in his hand. He threw the battered notebook aside and grabbed his backpack, the page still in his hand, and got out of the vehicle.

He walked tentatively towards the school glancing around him as happy and giggly students walked –ran- past him. He buried the torn page in the back pocket of his skinny jeans and walked on, trying to ignore the happiness surrounding him. His therapist's advice was to talk to other people, that if he made new friends his depression would lessen. But Eli had no time for that.

Breathing hurt, and a dull pain on his chest reminded him of the depression inside of him. Julia had been gone for a long time now, but it still hurt. It wasn't like he was still in love with her, but the regret and the guilt were ever-present, not letting him forget.

Cece had insisted on transferring schools after several kids at his old high-school had bullied him because of Julia's death. It seemed that everybody held him responsible for the death of one of the sweetest girls around, and he couldn't blame them. He winced when he remembered his last day at school when he had to clear out his locker, having a nervous breakdown when he had to throw things away. He was fucked up, there was no doubt about it.

He had memorized his new locker number and found it after a couple tries, and noticed that there was a naive-looking boy fumbling with the lock next to him. "Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck," the boy mumbled, sounding frustrated.

"Are you okay?" asked Eli, and he was amused by the sound of his own tired voice. He didn't talk much anymore, especially to strangers.

"No, but my lock is having a great timel," the boy retorted. "Being a bitch to me and all! Inanimate objects hate me, you know?"

"Sorry to hear that," said Eli, not sure if the boy was joking or not. "Do you need help?"

"Eh, sure," the boy said hesitantly, and handed Eli the piece of paper with his combination scrawled on it. Eli took the lock in his hands and swiftly unlocked it, making the boy gasp in disbelief.

"I spent thirty minutes trying to… oh, well," the boy chuckled and offered his hand to Eli. "My name is Adam. Thanks for your help, master of the locks."

Eli stared at Adam's hand and pocketed the combination slip automatically, and reached out for the boy's hand. "I'm Eli," mumbled Eli as he shook Adam's hand quickly. "I'm new here."

"So am I, obviously," teased Adam. "My brother and I just moved here. You? New in town or…?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," said Eli shortly and opened his own locker. It looked so clean and empty… empty… just like Eli felt. He could feel Adam's stare and the last thing he needed was somebody being nosy.

"I helped with your lock," snapped Eli. "What else do you need?"

Adam's eyes widened and his cheeks were stained red as Eli's angry-filled words were thrown to the air. "Nothing, dude," said Adam brusquely, and slammed his locker shut. "I just need my combination slip back."

Eli dug into his back pocket rather angrily and handed the slip to Adam, reluctantly. Part of him wanted to hang on to that piece of paper, keeping it seemed so vital to him. "There," said Eli shortly, and Adam took it from his hand, a curious look in his eyes. Their eyes met for a brief second, before Adam stormed away, and Eli felt irritated, not at the boy, but himself.

But it was better to scare people away before he hurt them. He was a walking disease, not a friend but a burden, and he brought nothing but pain to the people he loved. Sometimes he wondered if the world would be better off without him. He closed his locker and tried to remember which class he had first, and started walking aimlessly, without interest.

Advanced English, that's right, he thought. At least he had something to look forward to, hoping that the teacher actually knew the subject. He didn't want to sit through another discussion of the impact of the Twilight novels on teenagers everywhere.

He didn't notice that the torn page of his journal had fallen out of his pocket when he handed Adam the combination slip. A piece of his soul was on the floor, and he had no idea.


Clare Edwards slammed the car's door behind her, feeling furious at her apologetic mother. Clare's parents had fought all night, their yells and recriminations hurting her ears and not helping her newly developed insomnia. As she walked to the building she could hear her mother calling her, but she ignored the pleas.

Anger was a new emotion to her, but it fit her like a glove. Her makeover had been a result of it, she wanted to look good so she could punish KC for "cheating" on her. She wanted to cause an impression on all the people who saw her as just another geeky Christian kid… she wanted to prove a point, cause a reaction. She felt misunderstood and ignored, and not even Alli was able to help her. She had been alienating her best friend with her moody rants and erratic behavior, and Clare felt truly alone. Darcy rarely replied to e-mails, and Clare was trying to deal with her feelings of abandonment. No, life was not good to Saint Clare, and she was growing tired of being a nice girl. Being nice didn't help her feel better, she thought as she walked through the front doors, not paying attention to where she was walking.

"Clare!" called Alli, sounding hopeful. "Are you feeling better today?"

"No," said Clare truthfully as they walked side by side. "I'm just… over everything." Clare noticed KC and Jenna making out in front of their lockers, and her heart ached at once. She still felt betrayed by both Jenna and KC, and she wondered if she just should stop trusting people. Then she looked at Alli, who was looking sadly at her, and she felt even more aggravated.

"Sorry, Alli, I know I've been a pain," sighed Clare as they walked past KC and Jenna. They got to their lockers and Alli remained silent, but when Clare glanced at her, she seemed deep in thought.

"Maybe I should set you up on a blind date!" exclaimed Alli excitedly.

"Alli, boys are not the solution to everything," said Clare angrily, rolling her eyes. Alli seemed hurt by the comment, which made Clare feel immediately guilty, and she mumbled a half-assed apology. Clare's eyes wandered around, trying to focus her anger on something else, and found a crumpled piece of paper on the ground.

"Seriously, people need to stop littering," mumbled Clare, walking away from Alli. She picked up the paper and looked around for the nearest trash can. She noticed one at the end of the hall, and as she was walking towards it, she saw KC walking in her direction.

"Oh no," she gasped, and turned to walk around but KC grabbed her by the wrist.

"Clare, please, listen to me," said KC pleadingly, but Clare shook her head, pocketing the piece of paper absentmindedly.

"It doesn't have to come to this," insisted KC. "We can still be friends."

"I don't trust you," said Clare bitterly. "Let go of me!" All her anger was making her shake uncontrollably, and this scared her. She walked away, fast, searching for the nearest restroom. When she found one, she quickly walked into it and hid inside one of the stalls, hoping that Alli wouldn't follow her. She didn't want to talk to anyone. Ever again.

She just stood there, breathing hard as she tried to push away the memories of KC, of his hand grabbing her by the wrist, of his pleading eyes. She dug her hands in her pockets and felt the piece of paper immediately. She pulled it out and stared at it, and made the motion to throw it away. However, she noticed the handwritten scribbles on it and curiosity got the best of her. She tried her best to flatten the page and started reading.

Nobody knows how I feel at the moment.

Nobody knows the terrible pain I'm going through.

I deal with it by being angry, by not talking, by being an empty shell.

I don't want to bother anyone with my problems.

I used to talk to you about this, but you're not here anymore.

And it's all my fault.

I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to punch someone.

It's this despair that keeps me from being normal.

I desire nothing else but to be normal.

But I alienate people, that's what I do best.

Always a burden.

Never a friend.

It's not easy being alive.

I feel like I'm stuck.

I feel like I'll never be able to move on. It's been a year, I know.

But I still can't sleep.

I keep hearing your angry voice yelling at me.

I keep thinking of the way I talked to you.

I can't sleep.

Clare's cheeks were wet with tears as she finished reading, and her heart was aching badly. She didn't know who the author of the note was, but it could have easily been her. Some of the lines seemed to be written especially for her, and she tried hard not to start sobbing. She glanced at her watch and realized that she was late for her class. She had been looking forward to her first day at advanced English, and she was already messing up. She pocketed the page again, feeling slightly better. There was somebody else in that school who felt just like she did, someone who desperately wanted help but didn't know how to ask for it.

She was not alone.