I don't own

What does he see in Carly? Why is it that no matter how many times she has turned him down, dated someone else, or dragged him along side her only to break his heart, that he just doesn't give up? That he stops hoping and see what is right in front of him?

Me.

But he's not going to love me. I bully him on a regular basis. I call him names, beat him up, make fun of him, and just go out of my way to make sure I hurt him. I think he's petrified of me.

It's all I know how to do.

I don't blame him for not seeing me. I'm not pretty, like she is. I'm not kind, sweet, or gentle like she is. I'm not like smart as she is. She's good with books. I just try to stay alive everyday.

Who has time to study when you're too busy getting beaten by your mother? Who has time to do homework when you're too busy pouring the last of the liquor down the drain? Who has time to worry about grades when you're too busy crying yourself to sleep, nursing the fresh cuts and bruises?

Carly never complains about her parents. Though I can tell she misses them. Sometimes when it's the three of us and we watch a movie with loving parents she tears a little, and Freddie takes her hand, and smiles.

Freddie never mentioned how he feels about not having his father, but I can tell he wonders sometimes, why he isn't good enough for his father to stay, and why his father doesn't care about him. I know because, in those movies, when the father says that he is proud of the son, Freddie sheds a tear.

But not me. They don't see past the facade I worked so hard to build up. I only cried once in front of Carly, about working. But I wasn't crying about how hard it was, like I told her. I was crying because, as usual, I had to take care of my mother. And she was usually angry when I got home, drunken herself into a stupor, and blamed me for dad leaving.

Why did my dad have to leave? Maybe mom wouldn't be like this if he hadn't. But he had to. He was too weak to stand up to her, to get her to stop hurting me. So, he just left. He took Melanie, the favorite child, with him.

My dad is a lot like Freddie. Smart, kind, and sweet. I'm a lot like my mother. And my mother is a lot like her mother. The cycle continues, and I know I will be the next to beat my daughter, call her worthless, a traitor, blame her for things I know aren't her fault, drink myself into a stupor five times a week, and beat my husband until he leaves me. I know that I will be the next to cause chaos in my home.

And I can't help but resent my friends. I know it's not their fault, but I fell like they don't bother to try to see past the pain, see past the facade I built up. I really am not this big, tough, fear-nothing she-male. I am just a crying kid. Crying, because no one I love seems to love me back. My father left, so he doesn't love me. My mother beats me, and tells me everyday how much she doesn't love me. Freddie loves Carly.

"We're so proud of you, son." I jerk my head back towards reality, and remember that we were watching one of those movies. A blonde woman was hugging a small boy, and a man kissed his forehead. Freddie grabbed Carly's hand, and both shed a tear, thinking no one had noticed.

"We love you." The parents said. That did it for me. I got up, and off the couch.

"Sam, where are you going?" Carly asked me.

"Kitchen. I'm hungry." I replied, trying not to run in there as I hid my tears behind my hair.

"I love you, too." I muttered softly, though not to the movie parents. To my real parents. And to Freddie. Always to Freddie.