A/N: This is my first Victorious story, so… hope you like it :) I don't own Victorious.
supermarket cola + unlucky numbers
He's like an older brother; but you're not supposed to fall in love with your brother, are you? No, he's more one of those boys in the films you watch who don't realise they're in love with their best friend until the last scene (yeah, you hold on to that dream, Kitty).
Every day is an endless summer of just-friends hugs and lifts in his old car that you think is so cool, to places where you'll just sit in the grass and it's almost like you're together.
He'll pass the flat, supermarket cola and you'll grin and swig the whole bottle.
"Oi!" he'll protest, and you'll giggle and he'll tuck your red-red hair behind your ear.
But it won't last.
You'll realise, eventually, and crawl back into your little shell and become a shadow of the exuberant Cat you are now. The hair dye will get a little bit darker every week, until it's practically Jade-shade without the highlights.
The nail varnish will one by one go from a different colour on every finger to the same all over. Same as always. Black, black, black.
Your birthday will roll around, Friday 13th, and this year you won't find it cool. It's unlucky, isn't it? Well, that's just you all over because everyone knows that black cats scream superstition danger.
Those pink-pink jeans you begged your parents for will slip into the washing machine with some black dye and fade into the darkness along with your red-red hair and everything else.
You'll swap the rip-off Coke for some real cocaine and drown away your sorrows in fake ID. You won't even realise that slowly, you're slipping away…
You'll still be Cat — that'll never change. But some things change, like the way you'll never be called Kitty Cat and you'll never talk. The bipolar medication will be forgotten, because you're always down now. You won't be a Buddhist any more, but Anatta will still apply (everything changes, doesn't it, Kitty Cat?). You'll kind of miss Buddhism, but no religion could do this to you, so it has to be Atheist-Cat. Even the word is cold, hard, and brutal on your pierced tongue as you announce it to the world, though nobody's listening any more.
You'll vaguely recollect that he dumped Jade a while ago, and all his new girls seem not to look like her. He's probably over the rock and roll look, you'll think, but that's you now. Still, you can't help everything — once in a while, you'll paint your nails in rainbow shades; your hair will get that red tint; the ugly scars on your arms will be concealed with cartoon plasters and sometimes, at eleven o'clock when you're vulnerable and smoking and missing him, you'll buy some cola from the twenty-four hour supermarket, wishing his (so cool) car was waiting outside to pick you up.