I Can't Live Without You / Degrassi, Fimogen

I Can't Live Without You

TW: themes of self harm

Fiona sat alone in her bedroom, kneeling on the ground beside her bed. Her throat ached like she'd swallowed a sword and her eyes burned with hot, salty tears. She swallowed heavily, feeling the thick lump and it hurt her throat even more. Fiona looked around her quaint loft bedroom, a few broken picture frames remained scattered from the break-in two days ago. She hadn't been able to bring herself to clean it up and frankly, she was too emotionally exhausted and just plain lazy to fix what her attacker had done. Over on her dresser lay a shattered framed photo of herself and Imogen—her most beloved picture of them. Fiona pulled herself off the ground, feeling her bones ache and weaken. She went over to the picture, brushed off the broken glass, and removed it from the frame. More tears struck her face as she admired the photo. She saw herself with an arm around her girlfriend's waist, a big toothy smile, and Imogen stood pressed snugly against her, lips caressing Fiona's cheek.

Fiona found herself smiling through the tears as she rubbed her thumb over the picture on Imogen's face. That girl seemed to be the only good thing in her life. Everything around her was crumbling in at such ramped state, Fiona physically couldn't bare the pain of her world falling apart. With her mom still under investigation by the IRS, living alone, the horror of her loft getting broken into, and the uncertainty of her future after graduation, she wanted to escape her reality. But the only way she knew how was to drink, a lot. She'd been sober for almost a full year and had come so far since her second admission into rehab, drinking again would set her so far back from what she'd overcome. God, a nice bottle of champagne sounded good. The bubbly sensation and the cold, refreshing liquid could easily soothe her aching throat and numb her suffocating brain. But there wasn't a bottle in sight and going out and getting one scared her, especially after the trauma she'd experienced with the intruder.

Fiona squeezed her eyes tight, trapping some tears and tasting the liquid when it slipped past her lips. Her legs gave out and she was down to her knees again, bringing the photo down with her as her cries and sobs echoed throughout the empty loft. Her body ached, but her mind did more. Lately, Fiona's thoughts had been attacking the better part of her brain with never-ending anxiety and negative thoughts that were eating her away. She was afraid of someone breaking in and attacking her more violently. She was confused about her mother getting into legal trouble with their money because she assumed the Coyne family took good care of their finances. She was unsure of what to do after graduation—what she'd study at university, if she'd even go to university, or if she would just travel the world.

She tried picturing Imogen's real face in her mind, visioning her dark brown eyes, her infectious laugh, and her beautiful smile. She was scared to be apart. Would they follow each other to the same university? Would Imogen want to travel the world with her? What about Imogen's father, who'd been declining at a heartbreaking rate? If they did go to separate schools, would they be in entirely different countries, or only a couple of hours away? She didn't want to be in a long-distance relationship with Imogen, especially not when they were at their healthiest. Being apart, in different cities, or countries could ruin the balance and steadiness they'd found together.

"I can't do this anymore," Fiona screamed at the top of her lungs, straining her throat even more. She crumpled the photo into a ball, chucking it across the room. She crawled across the floor, trying to look for something to take her pain away—a pill, a drink, anything, but her bedroom had been completely clean, sober if you will. As her hands dragged the floor, her hand accidentally struck a stray shard of glass, puncturing her palm.

"Shit, ow!" Fiona screeched. She brought her palm to her lips, sucking the blood.

Fiona's eyes leaked buckets again and she flopped against the floor, laying on her side in the middle of her room. She cried until her eyeballs puffed and stung and her throat closed and she couldn't bare to even swallow. She let her hand bleed and blood dripped down her arm. She realized she was still holding a shard of glass in her other hand so she opened her eyes and stared at it before bringing it up to her wrist.