Sam pressed her lips to Rodney's. She didn't want to do this, she never did, but she needed drugs he was willing to give her, for a price. But of course Sam was usually broke so she had to find a more...interesting way to pay him. By now she and Rodney had a pattern. Every fortnight, they would skip the last period on a Friday, they'd meet in the same storage closet and goods would be exchanged. She got drugs and he got sex.

She felt his hand run through her dirty blonde hair with the vibrantly coloured tips while the other ran along her side. She held back a shiver of disgust and continued to kiss him violently.

After he was done with her and had left, she took her phone out of her pants pocket as she pulled her clothes on. Five minutes till the end of the day, Rodney was consistent. Once she was fully dressed she curled up into a ball and waited for him to come, he always did.

He was none other than Freddie Benson. He was well aware of Sam's drug problem, unlike Carly. Sam had threatened him that if he ever told Carly or the teachers or the cops she'd break all his fingers so instead he settled for slipping into the storage closet and holding Sam as she shook, trying not to cry because she couldn't cry in front of him, it was weak.

Right on time Freddie opened the door quietly exactly three minutes after the bell went. He sat down on the floor beside her and pried the bag of crystal meth out of her trembling hands and placed it beside him. Then he wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her onto his lap. She immediately clutched his shirt and buried her face in his neck and he just held her tighter, patting her back gently and waiting for the day she finally broke, the day he'd finally feel tears drip onto his shoulder and he'd know she'd broken, that she couldn't take anymore of this. But she refused, she couldn't cry, she was the strong one of the trio.

Carly was the daffodil, so bright and joyous, oblivious to all the fucked up shit going on around her.

Freddie was the rock, a shoulder to cry on, aware of it all but not living through it himself.

Sam was the muscle, the one who didn't cry, but she was the one who had the most to cry about.

He sighed, it had been ten minutes and they had to leave now so that Carly wouldn't be suspicious as to why he was home so late. He stood up and took Sam's hand, gently guiding her to her feet. She shook slightly as they walked towards his car, neither of them wanting to speak. He looked at her backpack with a sigh as he remembered the substance that she repeatedly went through all of this for.

He dropped her off at her home and she waved goodbye. He waited until he saw her disappear into the run down blue house before he drove off.

The next day was a Saturday and Freddie went to pick Sam up and take her back to Bushwell Plaza for an iCarly meeting. He didn't bother knocking, knowing no one would hear him. Instead he opened the rickety old door and made his way to Sam's room. He opened the door and sighed when he saw steam coming from the bathroom. He knocked on the door letting her know he was there before he left her alone. He could pretend that she really was taking a shower but he knew that she was doing drugs and just didn't want her mum to come in and see, not that Pam would ever go into her room.

When she came down the stairs she wore denim shorts over black leggings and a tank top with the words "What's Meant To Be Will Always Find A Way" on it. Her blonde hair was pulled into two loose braids, making the bright pink tips even more noticeable.

She didn't say anything, just walked out the door, gesturing for him to follow her. The iCarly meeting had been relatively boring, and an hour into it Carly said something that set Sam off, she stormed out of the meeting, Freddie couldn't even remember what she'd said.

He didn't see her on the Sunday and on Monday he went to pick her up for school. After waiting for her outside for five minutes he went inside to find her.

He remembered the red liquid that surrounded her when he'd found her. He remembered the pain that shot through his chest and then he had felt stupid because he shouldn't feel hurt when she had gone through so much more pain than him. He remembered jabbing those awful numbers into his phone. He remembered wrapping his arms around her like he always does in the storage closet, but he knew this time she'd already broken.

And then, a week later, at the place that was covered in so much black it hurt his eyes, he knew she would have hated it. She was the girl who was always dyeing the tips of her hair fun creative colours, she hated things looking so dreary.

And when he was forced to stand at that odd platform and make a speech, he spoke for what felt like the first time in weeks.

"I always knew she'd break, but never did I once think it would be like this."