- This is based off the spoilers & commercials for this week's episodes as well as "Still Fighting It" Part 1, (so there are spoilers for it), and will probably be AU after Part 2 airs, but oh well. I had an idea and I ran with it.
- Title is from the ABBA song, because it seems to me that every Degrassi episode is named after a song.
- Sorry if I butchered Eli. I'm still getting used to writing his character.
- I own naught but my own ideas.

Take a Chance on Me

Eli's fingers were numb as he gripped the aluminum can of cheap beer, the sounds of the bonfire seemingly amplified to his intoxicated brain. He was plastered— worse off than most of the other kids at the party, having spent the last three hours drowning his sorrows in every alcoholic beverage he could get his hands on.

"Hey, dude, are you alright?"

The voice was unfamiliar, but Eli smirked lazily up at the blurry face anyway, the closest thing he had to a grin. "Yeah. Sure. I'm alright, man."

The world was spinning, but he felt pleasantly high. His worries seemed distant, so faint he could hardly even remember them. After taking another swig from the can, he stood up on unsteady feet and waved the guy off. He still seemed concerned, but left soon enough anyways. Eli emptied the last few drops of warm Molson into his mouth and dropped the can onto the grass, crunching it under his foot as he stumbled closer to the fire.

"Has anyone seen Abby?" he asked the group, having to yell a little to be heard over the loud music. He slurred her name, drawing out the syllables unnaturally.

"She went down to the lake with a bunch of girls," one guy responded to his question, eying Eli suspiciously. "Why?"

"Thanks," Eli growled, trying (unsuccessfully) to keep the alcohol from affecting his voice. He stumbled off into the woods, vaguely remembering the path out to the lake from the walk to their secluded party area.

He lost his footing a few times, and his hands and knees were thoroughly scraped when he broke free from the trees. Lake Gibson stretched out in front of him, the water clear and unbroken as it reached out into the darkness of the wee hours of the morning. It was easy to find the girls, the ripples from their splashing easily traceable to their origin.

Abby, unsurprisingly, sat cross-legged on the beach, just out of reach of the water. She watched her friends carefully, supervising; her responsible upbringing coming through as she kept a close eye on the frolicking teenagers. They were undeniably drunk as well, falling over each other and laughing boisterously. Abby seemed completely sober, though, her eyes clear when she looked up at him; his stomach clenched because of the reason she wasn't allowing herself to drink.

"Hey," he started, standing awkwardly a few feet from her. She didn't say hey back, instead choosing to ignore him and look back out across the lake to where her friends were pushing each others' heads under the water.

"Are you still mad at me?"

She flicked her bangs out of her eyes and glared up at him, her behaviour an obvious yes.

"I'm sorry," he slurred, taking a step closer to her and falling to his knees, completely unaware of the sand collecting in the torn holes of his jeans. "I... overreacted."

"Yeah, you did," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging herself. Eli sighed; he knew his girlfriend, and she was more upset than she was letting on.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, scooting over to sit beside her.

"You said that already."

She shivered, and he gallantly removed his blazer, draping it over her shoulders. She tensed up for a moment, as though about to reject the offer, but ultimately decided to slide her arms into the warm outerwear and do up the buttons. He was feeling rather warm and lightheaded anyway, a result of the drinking.

"Are you gonna... keep it?"

Abby tensed again, one hand instinctively resting on her still-flat stomach. "I don't know yet." She turned to him, her eyes dark as she examined him, scrutinizing every detail. "You're drunk," she stated, not even bothering to ask. She could smell the beer on his breath; he could still taste it, it was so strong.

"Yeah."

One of the girls in the water screamed, and Abby looked up in alarm, only to roll her eyes when the group started laughing again and mocking the girl who had been unexpectedly splashed. Her lip trembled as she looked back at him, wrapping her arms more securely around her torso.

"How are we going to tell our parents?" she asked him, and his stomach clenched again, his heart beating wildly at the thought. His dad was going to murder him when he found out.

Instead of voicing this concern, he said, "I don't know, babydoll," because she was already worried enough about his dad, and she didn't need any more stress at the moment. He reached out to tuck a lock of her dark hair behind her ear and trailed his fingers down her throat as he withdrew his hand. He was no longer feeling a happy buzz, instead his heart felt heavier than before he had taken his first sip of Molson.

"But you know I love you, right?"

She nodded, turning away from him. "I know."

"And we're gonna... we're gonna be okay, because we love each other." He tried to make himself sound sure of that fact to reassure her, but his voice came out shaky and garbled from the drunkenness, sounding more like a question than a fact.

Abby sighed. "Sure."

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Eli wrapped his arms around her from the side. She scooted a little closer to him, letting him nuzzle her neck affectionately. "I've missed you," he mumbled into her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. The past Abby-less week had been torture on his already delicate psyche, and he'd missed her so much it physically hurt him.

"I've missed you too, Eli," she said, nearly choking on her words because her voice was so thick with emotion. She gently petted his hair, biting down on her lip to stop it from shaking as she held back her tears. "I thought you were going to abandon me."

Eli pulled away from her side, carefully moving his way around her so he could look her in the eyes. "Never," he said confidently, his green eyes meeting her blue with a red-hot intensity that was indescribable. "I would never do that, Abs."

Eli pressed his lips to hers, kissing her fiercely. She whimpered and grabbed his shirt, not even caring that she could taste the beer he'd been drinking, or the fact that he probably hadn't brushed his teeth that morning. Panting, they broke apart, and Eli pressed a shorter, chaste kiss to her mouth before leaning his forehead against hers, shaking ever so slightly.

"We're going to be okay," he repeated his earlier sentiment, hugging her closer to his chest and burrowing his face in her dark hair. "We're going to be okay."

They woke up hours later, as the sun began to rise over the east edge of the lake, coating the horizon in spectacular oranges and pinks. Abby was wrapped in his arms and his blazer, sleeping peacefully. The worry lines she'd developed since she discovered her condition melted away when she was asleep, the honest innocence in her features making Eli catch his breath as he looked down at her.

She stirred, as though feeling his gaze on her, and looked up at him through long lashes as she blinked away the remnants of a dream. "My mom is going to kill me," were the first words she said, pulling herself free of his gentle grip and stretching out the taut muscles in her back.

"She won't even know you were gone," Eli pointed out, "She's probably still sleeping. It's a Sunday."

Abby nodded, standing up and offering him her hand. He took it and pulled himself to his feet, feeling much steadier than the night before. A light throbbing at his temples took away from the niceness of the moment, but he could live with a headache every day if it meant being near Abby.

"I have to get home soon, though, or else she will be up and she will have my hide," she pointed out, yawning loudly and picking up her discarded shoes from the sand.

"Mel let me borrow his car so I could come," Eli said as they began to trek back to the campsite, stopping to let her put on her shoes when they reached the edge of the trees. "I'll drive you home."

She gave him a once-over, noting his blood-shot eyes and pale complexion. "Are you sure you can drive? You were pretty drunk last night."

"I'm fine. Barely even hung-over," Eli said happily, though the throbbing in his head was slowly growing in intensity, it was nothing he couldn't handle. "I slept it off."

Abby looked sceptical, but shook her head. "Fine, whatever. But if we get pulled over, it's going to be you who's paying the ticket."

Eli nodded, leading his girlfriend carefully through the brush until they reached the nearly-deserted fire pit. The bonfire was by now just a pile of ash and coals, but a small whisper of smoke still was trailing upwards into the sky. They found the path to Decew Road quite easily, and Eli happily opened the passenger door of Mel's car for Abby.

He rubbed at his temples as he ran around to the other side, trying to ignore the dizzy feeling he got and the nausea in the pit of his stomach as he did so.

It wasn't that far a drive, after all; he's just take Beaverdams Road over the bridge and then take the 406 all the way back to St. Catharines. It would take twenty minutes, tops, and then he could crawl into bed with some Tylenol and sleep off the hangover.

Abby fiddled with the radio as they started driving, and he almost asked her to turn it off because the noise was making his head spin, but he didn't want her to think he was being a baby. Rolling down his window to get some air, he tried to focus on the road and ignore the way the throbbing in his head had become a violent pounding. The soft-rock song that had been playing ended, and a loud screamo-type song erupted from his speakers. Eli flinched in spite of himself, his eyes clenching shut as he tightened his jaw.

His eyes were only off the road for a second, but it was long enough.

"Eli!" Abby screamed, her voice shrill with panic. He'd drifted into the wrong lane, and he stomped on the brake instinctively, swerving to avoid the car that was suddenly headed straight for them. He overcorrected, now going too far in the other direction. Tires squealing, heart racing, head throbbing; Eli yanked on the wheel with all his might, spinning the car around backwards.

Eli would forever remember the next few moments in slow-motion; the back end of the car crashed into the guard rail, clanging metallically, and then the back wheels of Mellissa's Honda were suddenly not on the road. There was gut wrenching panic, and a weird state of equilibrium as the car tipped backwards. He tried desperately to hit the gas, but the car didn't have four-wheel drive, so the back tires just spun uselessly in the air. The car toppled backwards, and Abby screamed his name again her hands on the dashboard as she tried to hold herself upright.

If they'd left a few minutes earlier and made it over the bridge before the screamo song came on the radio, they would have just ended up in a ditch. If he'd protested her turning on the radio and made her turn it off, they might never have drifted. If he had asked her to drive instead, telling her his head was throbbing and he was feeling sick, she would have driven them safely home.

None of those things happened.

Instead of any one of those things, the car fell tail-first into Lake Gibson, instantly flooding the car with water through his open window. Eli struggled with his seatbelt, finally getting the lock to cooperate and pulled himself out of his open window. His lungs burned with the need for oxygen as he swam towards the surface, already a few feet above them as he pushed himself to get to where he could see light.

His face broke the water, and he greedily sucked in a few breaths. One he was feeling steadier, he turned to ask Abby if she was okay, but found nothing but rippling water around him. A hard fear formed in the pit of his stomach, making it feel as if it had been turned inside out. He took a deep breath and plunged back beneath the water, kicking his legs to get him back down to where the car as still sinking, already several feet lower than it had been.

He yanked open Abby's door, despair filling his chest as her head lolled to one side. She'd hit her head off the window; he could clearly see the point of impact, a crack in the foggy glass. His lungs were burning again, begging for air, but he ignored his instincts to swim back up and instead pulled at Abby's seatbelt violently. He was not leaving her behind.

He depressed the seatbelt's button and it opened, leaving Abby to fall forward against the dash. He caught her under the arms mid-fall, pulling her out of the car and using the car door as leverage to push her towards the surface. He pushed his feet against the roof of the car to give him a boost, his vision clouding over with dark spots as he hauled her limp form towards the shimmering light, the surface of the lake.

Eli had one arm wrapped around Abby, and the other was flailing around in the water, trying to move them upwards. His feet kicked against the current, not letting it pull them down to the depths of the lake. They were so close and yet so far; he used what felt like the end of his energy, his whole supply, to give three huge kicks, propelling them towards the light.

His face broke the surface and he gasped, coughing up water he didn't remember inhaling and taking deep, relieved breaths. Abby was a heavy weight on his shoulder, and she almost slipped off him, but he held her a little tighter, pulling her farther over his shoulder so she was draped over his back. Her face was pressed into his neck as he began to tow them towards the mainland, her skin cold from the water. He might've panicked, thinking she wasn't breathing, but he had felt her tug on his collar, so she must just be tired, recovering from the shock.

The shore approached slowly, and his stomach kept flipping, doing somersaults inside his abdomen. When the water got shallow enough to walk in, he carried Abby the rest of the way, held over his shoulder like a sack of grain. He laid her down on the back and collapsed beside her, his whole body feeling heavy and lethargic, as though it were encased in lead. His stomach churned violently, and he rolled over, retching up bile onto the ground. He tried to move further away, but Abby's grip on his collar prevented him from doing so.

"Abs, let go," he groaned, reaching around to grab her hand. Her fingers were ice cold and limp as he grabbed them, and the tug on his collar didn't stop. The button of her sleeve was caught in the fabric of his shirt, and he carefully untangled it before pulling her cold hand to his mouth, breathing hot air onto her digits to warm them.

The fingers didn't react.

Eli whipped around, his head clearing as he really looked at Abby for the first time since the crash. She hadn't moved at all from where he'd placed her; her hair was still sticking wetly to her face, and he was holding her hand aloft. He dropped it and crawled closer to her, brushing the hair from her face. Her skin was cold; too cold.

"Abby?"

His breath caught in his throat as he pressed his fingers against her neck. No pulse.

Mind in overdrive, Eli tried desperately to remember what the health instructor had told them about performing CPR. He tilted her head back and then straddled her waist, hovering over her and putting his hands on her chest, over her heart.

"One, two, three, four, five, six," he counted aloud as he did compressions, plugging her nose with one hand and holding her jaw open with the other while he gave her two short breaths. "One, two, three, four, five, six," he repeated, pressing down on her chest with each count.

He breathed air into her lungs again, his mind reeling. What could oxygen deprivation do to their baby? Would it have brain damage? Would she miscarry?

He could hear sirens in the distance; someone must have called 911.

"Come on, Abs, hold on," he gasped as he did the third set of compressions, "Just hold on until help gets here."

Eli pressed his mouth to hers and filled her lungs again, opening his eyes after the second breath and searching her face for a sign of life. There was nothing, not even a flicker. He pushed her eyelids back with his thumbs in desperation, hoping her being able to see him would help her, somehow. Her pupils didn't contract when they met the light of early morning.

"Abby?" he looked at her, his chest heaving. "No, no, no, no." He started compressions again, pressing harder than he had before. "Come on, Abby!"

He didn't realise the ambulance had arrived until he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He pulled his mouth away from Abby's, looking up in surprise. The paramedic reached downwards with his other hand and pressed his gloved fingers to the side of her throat, his face grave.

"She's gone, son," he said in what must've been a comforting voice, but Eli couldn't hear it.

"No!" he yelled, shoving away the paramedic's hand and starting compressions again, throwing his whole weight into it. Tears were streaming down his face, as he leaned down and filled Abby's lungs again, trying to force her to breathe.

He closed his eyes and resumed counting, "One, two, three, four, five, six." He opened his eyes and looked down at Abby, his heart nearly stopping when it wasn't Abigail Williams looking up at him.

Big, blue eyes replaced the brown ones that had been there, staring up at him blankly; pouty lips on a round face instead of thinner ones on a square jaw; short, curly reddish hair instead of long, straight black. Clare instead of Abby.

"No!"

Eli frantically sat up, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his cheeks wet with tears and his shirt clinging to his chest with sweat. Awareness flooded through him as he realised it was just a dream, an awful dream. An awful memory.

Rubbing a hand across his face to scrub away the remnants of his tears, Eli pushed the blankets off himself and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He stumbled to the bathroom, flicking on the light and grabbing the edge of the sink, leaning his whole weight against it.

Yesterday was the seventeenth, the one-year anniversary of that day. How could he have forgotten? Instead of mourning yesterday, instead of bringing flowers to Abby's grave or honouring her memory, he'd spent the day with Clare and Adam. He'd filmed a Shakespeare scene with them, he'd kissed Clare like the world depended on it, he'd forgotten all about Abby...

A shudder traveled down his spine, and he gripped the edge of the sink harder. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed himself to be happy when Abby was dead? When he had been responsible?

He looked into the mirror, glaring at the green eyes that stared back at him, angry and heartbroken. Clare didn't deserve to have damaged goods (him), to be a replacement for what he had lost (Abby), to be a placeholder in his heart (broken). He couldn't let her be that. He wouldn't.

He would have to pretend that he kiss had meant nothing to him, though he was sure that Clare had felt it too. There had been this connection, a sense of intimacy he hadn't experienced since the last time he kissed Abby, on the beach at Lake Gibson. But he couldn't just forget about Abby, the girl who he'd first declared his love for, the girl who had been carrying his unborn child when...

Another sob escaped him, and he pressed a hand over his mouth to quiet himself. It wouldn't do to wake up his grandmother so early in the morning. A minute or two of controlled breathing and a splash of cold water to the face was enough to calm him down on even his worst day, and it wasn't even five minutes after his breakdown that he trotted silently back to his bedroom, a hand pushing back his bed-mussed hair.

The clock on Eli's bedside table read 5:03, almost two hours before his alarm was set to go off in time for him to get ready for school, but he knew he wouldn't be getting any more sleep. Thoughts of Abby and Clare would keep him up if he tried, so he figured it was best not to bother. The next two hours could be easily filled with math homework, anyway— he usually saved it to do during his second period spare, but at least it was something productive to do while the rest of the (sane) world was still asleep.

It is very hard to ignore someone when they are wearing a bright yellow dress. His eyes were instantly drawn to Clare when he entered the English room, a lump forming in his throat as he watched her bounce excitedly in her seat. He would have to ignore her. A few days of the cold shoulder and she'd get the point; he wasn't interested. He couldn't be interested.

And so Eli walked right by her, sitting down in his seat without sparing her a second glance or responding to her cheerful, "Morning, Eli!"

"Are you alright?" she asked after a moment, her voice sounding confused and concerned. A knife twisted in his chest. Why did she have to make it so hard for him?

"Never better," he said as blankly as he could, looking up at the board as if the answer to life's questions was written there in Ms. Dawes neat handwriting.

Clare didn't take the hint, leaning forward in her chair so her chin was practically on his shoulder. "Once we're done editing tomorrow, Lestrata's showing at the select. Felini's finest. What do you think?"

It was impossible to concentrate on ignoring her when the smell of her hair was overwhelming his senses, but he managed to stop himself from doing something stupid, like acknowledging it. He leaned forward in his seat to get away from her, hunching his shoulders in what he hoped looked standoffish enough for her to back off. She did, falling back in her chair just as Ms. Dawes came in and started the lesson.

Eli heard her whispering to Adam, asking if she smelled bad. He wanted to turn around and assure her that she smelled like lavender, like always, but he didn't dare. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he turned his attention away from their conversation and to their teacher. If anything to take his mind off Clare, it was a discussion on poetry.

He tried to ignore the feeling of guilt that started pooling in his stomach every time Clare half-heartedly answered a question in the next hour, but the hurt in her voice had him holding his pen so tightly in left an indentation in his palm when he let go.

It was going to hurt them both, this separation, but in the long run, it would be best for Clare. She deserved to be with someone whose attention is fully on her, who would love her with all their heart and soul. A piece of his heart would always belong to Abby. Nothing would ever change that.

The rest of the day went by dully, uneventful because Eli made sure to steer clear of a certain redhead. Morty had some trouble starting when he left at three o'clock, but it was nothing a little tune-up wouldn't fix, once he got around to it.

The cemetery was quiet when he got there after the hour-long drive, a small bouquet held loosely in one hand. Abby had always loved daffodils. They were her favourite flower.

An elderly couple walked hand-in-hand between the graves, and they looked suspiciously at him when he passed them. He supposed it was his wardrobe; black and chains and skulls were looked down upon by the older community. But Eli just smiled sadly at them in passing, because their purpose here was the same.

Visiting the dead was rarely a joyful occasion.

When he found Abby's grave, placed neatly in a row with dozens of others, he sat down in front of it, cross-legged. The small bundle of daffodils was placed securely against the stone, still shiny and new looking compared to some of its counterparts, having marked their places for years. The contrast was enough to remind Eli how little time had passed since that day. It had only been a year.

"Hey, babydoll."

His voice was soft, as he addressed her, a hand reaching out to touch her grave as if it were a part of her, as if she could feel it. He traced his fingers languidly across her name and the dates carved into the marble; Abigail Michelle Williams, December 14th 1993 – September 17th 2009.

"I miss you."

Eli ran a hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ear. She had always been doing that; tucking back his hair. She'd complain about how long it was getting. He'd tell her that she loved tucking it back, and if he cut it, she wouldn't be able to. She'd laugh. He'd kiss her.

"I'm sorry I didn't come yesterday. I was filming a scene from Romeo and Juliette with some friends for a school project, and I forgot." He paused, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry."

He could almost hear her voice say, "You said that already." It wasn't that long ago she'd said just that, digging her toes into the sand and wrapping her arms around herself.

"I always have something to apologise to you for," he continued, blinking a few times to try and dry the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. If he cried now, he'd make a mess of the eyeliner he'd put on that morning, and his grandmother would ask what was wrong when he got home. He didn't want her to worry about him.

"I wish you were here with me." He sighed. "I wish you could meet Clare and Adam. They're the best friends I've ever had. You would love them. Clare is the kind of girl you always wanted to be friends with. You were always complaining how you didn't have any girl friends to hang out with. Clare and you would've hit it off."

He tried not to think about how he never would have met them if he hadn't moved to Toronto after the accident. "I promise, I'm not going to go out with her. It wouldn't be fair to you, or to her." He tensed up as a gust of wind ruffled his clothes. "She doesn't deserve damaged goods, and you don't deserve to be forgotten."

He rubbed his thumb across her name again, biting down on the inside of his cheek. "I miss you so much, Abby. I wish I'd tried harder to save you. I wished every day for months that it had been different. That it had been me."

He coughed, trying to clear his throat. A tear escaped, and marked it descent down his wind-reddened cheeks with a smudge of black makeup.

"If I could change our places, I would. I'd give anything to save you, babydoll. Anything."

Morty finally kicked the bucket, just as Eli pulled into his regular spot in the school's parking lot the nest morning. It was early enough that he had some time to fiddle with the engine, so he popped the hood and began digging around under the front seats for his tools.

After putting on some Dead Hand to keep himself company, he rooted around in Morty's guts until he found the problem; as he had suspected, it was an easy fix. A half hour passed quickly and he had just dived under the front seat again for a wrench and a rag when he heard her voice.

"Thanks for returning my calls!" Clare said facetiously, startling him as he pulled the proper tool from the box. "Can we talk?"

"No, thank you," was his simple answer as he got out of the front seat and moved around to the engine, prepared to ignore whatever speech she was ready to give him.

"Well, it's happening, okay?" she deadpanned, turning off the radio and leaning over the engine, staring me down. "The other day, that wasn't just a kiss for the film." Eli glanced up at her for just a second before looking down into the engine again, wiping oil away from where he was working with the rag. "There's something between us, Eli, and you know it."

He knew she felt the same things he did when they'd kissed in the park, but hearing it from her was like a blow to the stomach. He kept his composure, though, remembering his promise to himself. "You're wrong."

"I'm not stupid!" Clare protested, walking around the front of the hearse and waving her arms as she spoke. "Either you like me, or you're a sociopath who likes to jerk people around to hurt them, and I know it's not the latter."

He looked up and stared at her coolly, his jaw set tight and mouth a thin line. She bit her lip, her eyes a window to her soul as she looked back, the gears turning in her head. "Or is it?" she breathed, watching him carefully.

Eli let out a long breath, his heart telling him to tell her she was wrong, but his head yelling for him to let her go. After a moment's hesitation, he knew what to do.

"I'm sorry I led you on," he said, watching as her expression changed from confused to hurt, her eyes moving downcast.

"Wow."

She turned, wrapping her arms around herself in all too familiar way. She spared him a glanced as she kicked the kickstand away from her bike and gripped the handlebars, and he watched her go, walking her bike in the direction of the bike racks, her back straight and her head held high. He felt an inkling of pride for her, being able to take rejection so well. But it wasn't too long before that pride melted into guilt, and the burning of heartbreak threatening to tear apart his chest.

It hurt so badly.

He hated feeling like he was betraying Clare, and even the voice in his head telling him that it was best for her was growing weaker. He missed her, and Adam missed her— he hated not being able to hang out with the two of them.

"You guys were so close," he complained, craning his neck to look at Clare, sitting with Alli and Drew on the other side of the cafeteria. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't feel that way about her."

"Bullshit."

Eli raised his eyebrows, looking at Adam curiously. He'd never heard the boy swear before, except that one time he was trying to convince everyone of his masculinity at the Dead Hand concert. Adam noticed his expression and cross his arms over his chest, glaring at Eli seriously.

"Yeah, that's right. I'm calling bullshit on you. You totally like her that way. I'm not blind, dude," he continued, uncrossing his arms and poking Eli in the side. "Why don't you just tell her that, and then you can make-up and be happy again."

"I can't," was Eli's honest answer as he stood up from their table, swinging his bag over his shoulder and turning towards the hallway. Adam quickly packed up his lunch and followed him into the deserted corridor, frowning.

"Why not?"

"It's not that simple, Adam."

Adam snorted, shaking his head. "Yes it is. You're the one who's making it complicated. I honestly preferred you guys when you were gaga over each other. Apparently you got me in the divorce, because Clare isn't talking to me anymore."

"That's not my fault. You can go be on her side if you want." Eli stopped and unlocked his locker, opening it and shoving his bag inside. Adam leaned his back against the locker beside Eli's, sliding down it to sit on the floor and pulling his knees to his chest.

"I don't want to take sides!" he complained, his voice gaining an octave like it always did when he was upset. "I don't even know what you two are fighting about. If you would just tell me, maybe I could help—"

"I told her I was sorry for leading her on," Eli cut him off, slamming his locker shut and sitting down beside his best friend, stretching his legs out across the hallway.

Adam stared at him, mouth slightly ajar. "What? Why would you even say something like that, dude? You weren't—"

"Yeah, I was." Eli paused, leaning his head back against the cool metal. "I knew I wouldn't be able to commit myself to her, I knew I was going to hurt her, and I did it anyway. I was selfish, and I feel awful. Happy?" The last word sounded choked, and he closed his eyes tightly and held his breath the will away the lump in his throat that seemed to really like being there, lately.

"Eli, why do you think you'll hurt her?" Adam asked, his voice slower and kinder sounding. Eli opened his eyes, looking at his best friend carefully.

"Because I killed my last girlfriend."

It took skipping fourth period and telling the entire story from start to finish for Adam to understand. Even then, he tried to talk him into telling Clare the real reason behind his cold shoulder— "At least then she'll understand, and we can go back to being friends again," he reasoned. "You should just tell her."

Eli shook his head. "She doesn't need to know."

"What don't I need to know?" Suddenly Clare was standing over them, her hands on her hips as she stared down at the two people she had grown closest to over the past few weeks.

"Nothing," Eli said, glaring at Adam as a silent reminder to keep his mouth shut. Adam sighed as both boys stood up, and Eli turned to face Clare directly. "It isn't any of your business."

"It kind of is," Adam cut in, looking between the two. "I'm not being a middle man in this, so until you two come to some kind of conclusion, I'm out of here." He turned and walked away, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he went.

Eli groaned, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to go the other way, but Clare blocked his path. "Excuse me," he said as politely as he could muster in his current state of duress.

"No." Clare moved into his path again when he tried to step around her, and he smirked at her.

"Feisty, aren't we?" he asked sarcastically, trying to step around her again. She moved to block him, but he was faster than her and started walking down the hallway, hunching his shoulders standoffishly. She kept pace with him, hugging herself again as she walked a half-step behind him.

"What don't I need to know?" she asked, and he sighed, shaking his head.

"It's not any of your business," he repeated, opening the front doors and making a beeline for his hearse. Clare followed him insistently, moving faster so she could be beside him.

"Adam seems to think it is." Eli just grunted, quickening his pace even more. "Come on, it can't be that bad. I already know how much of a jerk you are; what kind of secret could be so terrible it would change my opinion of you?"

He stiffened, stopping dead in his tracks. Clare walked around him and turned so they were face to face, her frown making a crease between her eyebrows. If Clare knew, it would change her opinion of him. And maybe that would be best; she could see what kind of special hell he was going to, and she would run for the hills.

"You really want to know?" he ventured, keeping his voice dark and neutral. She nodded quickly, her frown turning to a look of curiosity. She didn't really know all that much about him, after all.

"Yeah, I do."

After a moment's hesitation, he continued walking, and opened the passenger's side door to his car. "Get in," he instructed, his head spinning with the realisation of what he was about to do. He was kidnapping someone. How dark.

Clare got into the hearse and he closed the door behind her, walking around the front and getting into the driver's side. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. He knew exactly where to go to make the lesson stick.

"Eli, where are we going?" Clare asked after ten minutes, when they passed a sign that declared that they were leaving Toronto.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked snidely, turning to look at her the next time they passed a red light. She squirmed under his gaze, holding tight to her backpack, which was perched in her lap. She didn't answer the question and he smirked, turning back to the road and continuing to drive. She wasn't sure if she trusted him.

It took an hour and a half to get there. The streets grew more and more familiar to him as they drove, and less and less so to Clare. She rarely left the city, and had never been this far south before.

When they got off the 406 and pulled off to the side of the road just before Beaverdams Bridge, Clare frowned.

"Where are we?" she asked him, but he didn't say a word. Instead he pointed to a white cross on the side of the road, the marker of a fatal accident.

"This is where I killed my girlfriend."

Clare stared at the cross for a moment, her mouth falling open a little. She looked like she was going to say something, but she closed her mouth instead, putting a hand over it. "Eli..." she whispered, turning to him and reaching for his hand. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know—"

"Didn't you hear what I said?" He hadn't meant to raise his voice, but it came out as a half-yell. Why wasn't she running yet? She knew what he'd done, and she wasn't running yet. Why wasn't she running? He just told her he was a murderer.

"I did," she said quietly, "And I am so, so sorry for your loss."

"My loss? It was my fault, Clare! I killed Abby. You don't need to be sorry for me. Be sorry for her." The last part came out barely as a whisper, so broken and sad. Eli wanted to yell for Clare to stay away from him, that he was stupid and dangerous and not good for her at all. But he didn't. He clutched the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, and tried to steady his frantic breathing as Clare put her hand over his.

"What happened?"

"I killed her."

"You said that already."

Eli's stomach clenched and he let out a strangled sound, his fingers tightening impossibly against the wheel. Clare couldn't have known that those words reminded him so much of her, but she unclipped her seatbelt and pushed her bag off her lap when she saw that they did to him, moving closer and trying to comfort him.

"Eli, what really happened?" she asked soothingly, trying to gently pry his hands away from the wheel.

"It was an accident," he admitted quietly, and the confession sounded deafening to his ears. Liar! his brain screamed, Liar! You murdered her! It was your fault, and you killed Abby! You killed Abby and your unborn baby!

"So tell me about it."

He told her about the party, most of it blurry from the alcohol. "I was really drunk. I thought I'd slept it off when I woke up feeling okay. I shouldn't have been driving. I was hung-over."

Clare rubbed his arm, urging him to continue. "She turned on the radio," he recounted, "It made the headache worse, but I didn't want to tell her to turn it down. I didn't want to sound like a baby." He sniffled a little, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. He couldn't look in Clare's direction. He couldn't let her see him crying. He still had his pride, after all.

"The song changed to something loud. I don't remember what, but I... I closed my eyes. It made my head feel like it was exploding, and I closed. my. eyes." Eli took a shaky breath, closing his eyes so he didn't have to look at the cross any more. "I drifted into the wrong lane."

"You couldn't have known, Eli," Clare said, holding onto his arm tightly. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was my fault. She screamed and I swerved too hard, overcorrected. We went over the rail." Clare's fingers released his arm, but he didn't open his eyes. At least she was starting to realise how awful he was. She'd stopped comforting him; maybe she would demand he drive her home soon. "The car was underwater and I got myself out. I thought she was with me, but she wasn't." He pursed his lips, trying to stop the ache in his chest from tearing him apart.

"I went back down for her when I realised, and I thought she was okay. I brought her back to the shore and laid her down, and then I rolled over and puked." He paused. "She was lying dead next to me for almost a whole minute before I noticed she wasn't breathing. I could I not notice she wasn't breathing?"

He heard a strangled sob from beside him and opened his eyes, looking in Clare's direction. She had both hands over her mouth, and there were tears running down her reddened cheeks. She looked so pretty when she cried.

"I tried to do CPR, but I didn't do it right. I tried so hard to save her... But she died because I was stupid, and reckless. But you want to know the worst part?" He hadn't told anyone the 'worst part' before. But Clare didn't look like she hated him yet, and this last part was really just the icing on the cake. She'd know how much of a monster he was after he told her. He couldn't look at her while he said it, so he turned to stare out the side window.

"She was pregnant with my baby."

Abby's parents had only found out about the pregnancy after the autopsy. They had been angry with him, disgusted. They hated him for impregnating their daughter, and they hated him for killing their daughter. Even Abby's little sister, who had adored him and wanted him to play tea party with her all the time before the accident, hated him, never wanted to speak to him again. And that had hurt, too.

Eli was surprised when he felt arms wrap around his stomach, a hug. His head whipped around to stare at her as Clare hugged him, tears streaming down her face.

"You can't blame yourself for this, Eli," she pleaded, "It was an accident."

"It was murder." He didn't understand. Why wasn't Clare disgusted by him? Repulsed by the knowledge of the hideous things that he'd done?

"No," she said, putting a hand on his chest and looking up at him with her big, blue doe-eyes. "It was an accident. You have to believe that, Eli. You made a mistake, that doesn't make you a killer."

"I killed my own child," he said, his voice a soft whimper, instinctively wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "I'm a murderer, and no one even knows."

"You tried to save them, Eli." Clare had stopped crying and was looking up at him, her lips parted and her lower one trembling. "You tried so hard. You went back for her. You did CPR. That makes you a good person, not a bad one." She pulled herself free of his loose embrace, sitting up and levelling her eyes with his. "You're a good person, Eli."

"It still should have been me. I was driving when I shouldn't have been. I was stupid enough to think that I was okay to drive her home. It should have been me."

"Well, I'm glad it wasn't." Eli stared at her, aghast.

"If you'd died, I'd never have gotten such a great English partner. I never would have let go and screamed in a park, I never would have gotten an A- on my poetry assignment, and I wouldn't have told my parents what I was thinking." She paused, and gave him a small smile. "I would never have had such great friends, and Adam would never have been able to be himself. You are so good Eli, and I am glad to have you as my friend."

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier—" Eli started to say, but Clare, for once interrupted him.

"No. Stop. I'm sorry I pushed you into something you weren't ready for yet. If I'd have known about Abby, I never would have tried to be romantic with you. You're healing, and grieving, and I don't even know what else. And I know I can never take her place, since you obviously loved her so much," she explained, biting her lip at the end.

"Clare..."

"I'm not trying to take her place, Eli, because I know I can't. But can we please still be friends and forget I ever said anything about being something more?"

Eli's head was reeling. Clare didn't hate him, and she understood that there was no replacing what he had lost, and she still wanted to be friends with him? He shook his head.

"No."

"No?" She looked heartbroken, her face falling from determined to shell-shocked and hurt in a millisecond.

"I can't be your friend, Clare," he explained, "Because I like you too much to be with you without being with you." Her eyes lit up a little, and she smiled sadly.

"If Abby were here, do you think she would want you to be miserable and blame yourself for what happened? Or do you think she would want you to move on and be happy again?" she asked, brushing a tear from his face with her fingertips.

"I don't know," Eli admitted, because Abby had always been rather jealous of him even looking at other girls, but she always tried to make him happy.

"You loved her, Eli, so she must have been a great girl," Clare told him, "And I know that if I died, I'd want everyone around me to keep on living and being happy, especially someone as great as you are."

She rubbed his arm gently with her palm. "I understand that she'll always have a place in here—" she put a hand over the left side of his chest, curling her fingers over the place where his heart was. "—but do you think there might be room for someone else in there, too?"

Eli looked at her, and for the first time since Abby, completely ignored his brain telling him no. "Well," he said slowly, reaching out to tuck a curl behind her ear, "You do have really pretty eyes."

She laughed gently, the sound so foreign in this place of loss. He smirked, using the hand that was now tucked behind her head to pull her mouth to his. He kissed her like he'd never kissed anyone but Abby; he kissed her like he loved her.

And maybe, he did.