Disclaimer: Me =/= Dan Schneider.
[Night is when the monsters under your bed come out to play.]
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(You can run away from reality but you can't escape your own mind.)
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Carly Shay stares at the ceiling of her bedroom, drumming her fingers against the blanket as she waits for sleep to come. Her usual cheery smile is gone and there's a rarely seen frown etched across her face instead. She decides to start counting the glow-in-the-dark stars she stuck on her wall one day after deciding that her ceiling was too bare.
This turns out to be a bad idea because soon it's not her voice counting the stars but the voice of a woman she hasn't seen since she was five. (Mommy.) Her mind starts flooding with memories of sitting on the lap of a mother long-gone (a mother who she sees every day in the mirror) as she strokes Carly's hair and decides to start counting stars. (The real kind that sparkle and shine and invite you to join them, not the artificial ones on her ceiling that remind her of how trapped she is.)
"But Mommy, you can't count all the stars! There's too many!" she remembers saying. (But she doesn't want to remember, it hurts too much.)
"Well, I can try, can't I?" her mother would always respond. Carly's fist clenches around the edge of her blankets. No, no, no!, she thinks. She doesn't want to remember the woman who left her! She squeezes her eyes tighttighttight (like Mommy's hugs- no don't think that!), trying to shut out the memories of a laugh that rings like bells, pastel colored pills laying forgotten on a bedside table, and beautiful tresses just like hers (too much like hers).
She pulls the blanket over her head as the memories turn unpleasant. (Spencer's tearstained face, her dad's lifeless expression, her feeling of abandonment as she stared at the coffin-goawaygoawaygoaway!)
Her mind frantically starts searching for anything to think about but it always goes back to her porcelain features, twinkling eyes, and gentle personality. (By now, Carly's fists have turned pure white from clutching the blanket too tightly and little tears are trying to slip out past her closed eyelids.)
She tries to block out the memories with thoughts of trivial things such as her English essay and the next iCarly but that only makes the memories come back more intensely. (Memories of a mother who just had to kill herself and leave her daughter behind to repeat her mistakes.)
Carly gives up on trying to fall asleep.
She's too busy being haunted by a ghost that just won't leave her.
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(You can't change your reflection, no matter how hard you try.)
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Freddie Benson sighs as he stares into his bathroom mirror. He brings a napkin up to his face as he wipes off the gunk his mother applied. He doesn't even know what it's for, he wasn't really paying attention.
After a minute or so, he's wiped off the last of the gunk. He throws away the napkin, puts his hand on the doorknob, and is about to leave when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. He lets go of the doorknob. He turns to face his reflection. He scowls. He's not quite sure he likes who he sees.
He studies his reflection for a few moments and rests his hands on the edges of the sink. He sees someone who isn't a boy but isn't a man; a tech nerd wearing a t-shirt with Nug-Nug from Galaxy Wars and boxer shorts patterned with light-sabers; a web celebrity whose name is known by countless teenage girls; but worst of all, he sees a person who's caught in a love triangle.
Suddenly, he has a flashback from when he was eight years old (before the names Carly&Sam meant anything to him) and waking up one morning to see his mom sobbing as she held a note with the words I'm sorry and his father's signature printed on it.
He shakes his head and brings himself back to reality. (But in reality, his father still left his mom for another woman and he can't erase that with a press of the 'delete' key.)
His mind wanders over to Carly and Sam- his two best friends. (And Freddie's a good boy who knows you're not supposed to break your best friend's hearts.) He can't help but think of the fanwar at Webicon. The memory makes him question his feelings.
(He moved on from Carly a long time ago- has he really? He's always hated Sam- does he really?)
He snaps himself out of his reverie and looks at his reflection again. Suddenly, he doesn't see a tech nerd or a web celebrity. No, he sees a person who has the power to break his best friends' hearts. That thought reminds him of his father who loved two women and broke one's heart to be with the other.
Freddie turns away from his reflection and glances at his knuckles. He realizes he's been gripping the sink tightly and his knuckles are ghost white. He releases his hold on the sink and walks out the door without so much as a look behind him.
He heads over to his bed and tucks himself. He falls asleep almost instantaneously after his head hits the pillow.
Freddie's plagued by nightmares of mirrors shattered just like hearts and Carly&Sam whispering "Just like your father..."
Too bad he can't look away from his mind as easily as his reflection.
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(It's not fun to be reminded of 'what ifs' and 'maybes'.)
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Gibby Gibson sighs as his mother slams the door to her bedroom. (He pretends to not hear his mother crying.)
"Come on, Guppy. Time to go to sleep." he says tiredly. He grabs his little brother's wrist and takes him to his room. He helps Guppy change into his pajamas (the ones decorated with birthday cakes and confetti) and tucks him in.
He waits a few minutes to make sure his brother is sound asleep. He hears a snore. Gibby smiles sadly.
Gibby walks out and carefully closes the door. He heads over to his bedroom but pauses at his mother's room, checking for noise. It's quiet. She's asleep,he thinks. Gibby continues to make his way towards his bedroom and stops as he notices a picture frame that Guppy made during arts-and-crafts at his pre-kindergarten class the previous week.
It's a dark blue and bare except for the words Happy Birthday! scrawled on the top in gold paint. Gibby chuckles at his little brother's catchphrase. But the amusement fades when he looks at the picture.
His mom is smiling (only it doesn't quite reach her pretty eyes) and has her hands on her sons' shoulders; Guppy is grinning with all his teeth (and one gap) while holding a daisy in his left hand; his grandfather was staring off into space with a dreamy-like smile etched on his face; and Gibby is standing a little off to the side with his hands in his pockets.
But there's someone missing. (Dad.)
Gibby frowns. His dad's the reason his mom is crying. If his father hadn't decided to become an alcoholic due to the stress his job puts on him, then his mother wouldn't have divorced him. If his parents hadn't gotten divorced, then their family would be complete. If their family was complete, then his mother wouldn't have to hang up on his father every time he got drunk and decided to call his ex-wife and ask to come back. Then his mother wouldn't have to cry her eyes out almost daily.
The frown on Gibby's face morphs into a scowl. Maybe if his father hadn't decided to be a chronic drunk, his life would be happier! Maybe he wouldn't be stuck waiting by the phone, in case Carly or Sam or Freddie called to invite him over thus giving him a chance to escape the sight of his mother's broken heart!
Maybe!, he thinks scornfully as he continues walking down the hall and catches a picture of him as a baby in his father's arms.
Gibby opens the door to his room and plops into bed (he's already in his pajamas). He pulls the blankets over himself and stares angrily into space. (This is the only time when he can be angry without people being surprised at him (the really nice dork who's supposed to be innocent and free of emotions such as ire.)
And yet...
Gibby can't bring himself to hate his father.
But he can bring himself to hate all the happy possibilities that are forever out of his reach.
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(It'd be really nice to have someone to call 'yours'.)
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Spencer Shay turns over in bed so he's laying on his side. He sees an empty space next to him. He turns around on his other side and stares into space. His eyes dart around the room and land on a framed picture tacked on the wall.
It's a picture of his parents on their wedding day. His father's arm is draped around his mother's waist and his mom's smile is wide and genuine. It looks just like the heartbreaking smile his father used to mention whenever he talked about her. Spencer barely remembers that smile. (He has more memories of her frowning and crying and his father thrusting a canister of pills at her.)
He feels a little pang in his heart as he remembers the empty space next to him. He lets out a sad sigh.
Is there something wrong with him? Is that why he can't find true love? Is he too childish for love? Too innocent? Does he need to grow up? (Oh but he doesn't want to grow up! He wants to be Peter Pan and find Neverland! He wants to find his Tinker Bell and forget about all the Wendy's that have turned their backs on him!)
"Ugh." he mutters as he feels a lonely ache in his heart.
One girl to hold and kiss and love and call his. Is that too much to ask for? After all, Carly's growing up. Soon, she'll be going off to college and he'll be alone in this great big apartment with nothing but faded pixie dust and memories to keep him company.
He rubs his eyes with his hands, kinda hoping that maybe he can rub away all the unpleasant thoughts that have been plaguing him lately. (It doesn't work.)
He sighs and turns around again, now facing the empty spot next to him. He decides he'd rather not deal with the gap in his life right now and scoots over to the middle of the bed. He turns over again and he's on his back now. He stares up at the ceiling. He starts counting sheep in an effort to go to sleep.
Spencer manages to drift into slumber after the thirty-second sheep.
He dreams of an oddly familiar-looking woman with her back constantly turned to him and he chases her all the way to the second star on the right without ever reaching her.
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(Dreams are nothing but a bunch of lies that get your hopes up.)
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Sam Puckett gives her mother a disapproving look as she mumbles in her alcohol-induced sleep. She assumes her mother is dreaming about random nonsense due to her mother's occasional uttering of phrases such as "Let go of my unicorn's pancakes !" and "Return my penguin's wedding dress!"
Figures that her mother's insane even as she's asleep. Sam briefly contemplates waking up her mom so she can have the couch to herself but decides to go to sleep instead. With an irritated groan, she forces herself to stand up and drags herself into her room, scowling as she sees the door that leads into Melanie's room. (The princess ran away to go find her fairy-tale- and Sam was left in reality.)
She shuffles along for a few feet and she reaches her bedroom door. She jerks open a drawer in her creaky nightstand and pulls out a random t-shirt and sweatpants. She changes into the clothes she picked out and plops down in her bed.
She sighs as she feels the familiar restlessness that means she won't be falling asleep for a while. She decides to let her mind wander in the hopes that she'll be able to fall asleep sooner.
Her eyes dart around the room. She takes in the light blue paint (her mother's idea, Sam wanted bright yellow like the sun) that's peeling in some places, her flickering lamp, and a shelf in a corner of a room that's hardly ever noticed. She sucks in a breath.
There's books on the shelf but that's not what catches her off guard. It's what the books are that unsettle her.
They're fairy-tales that her father would read to her and Melanie were little girls that shared a room because they just couldn't be apart. (And look at them now- m i l e s a w a y from each other and neither one ever bothers calling.)
He would sit on a chair that he'd place between their beds. He would then tell his daughters to each choose a book. Melanie and Sam would then jump out of bed, run over to the shelf where Mommy would be waiting (only without the beer bottle in her hand), and Mommy would hand them whatever story they pointed at.
Then, Mommy would sit on one of the beds (usually Melanie's) and Daddy would read about princess with blonde curly hair and pretty blue eyes (just like her) who would be swept off their feet by Prince Charming and they'd ride off into the sunset, to live in the land of happily-ever-afters.
Sam would go to sleep and visions of being rescued by intelligent brown-haired, brown-eyed princes (sound familiar?) and finding her own happily-ever-after while Daddy watched and wrote down her story so that nobody in the kingdom forgot it.
(But then she turned six and Daddy died and reality snuffed out the magic, leaving Sam with the broken remnants of dreams that would never come true.)
Shock briefly surges through Sam as she feels a drop of wetness near her eyes. Not a tear. No it isn't. I'm just...tired., she tells herself.
She turns around on her side so that her back is facing the dusty books that haven't been touched in years.
She starts counting Fat Cakes (sheep are for the unoriginal) in the hopes of falling asleep.
(But she doesn't want to dream. No, dreaming fills her head with false hope of a better tomorrow that doesn't belong to her.)
Sam eventually falls asleep; she doesn't dream, instead her mind is filled with the black curtain of unconsciousness.
She tries to tell herself it doesn't bother her.
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[Sleep tight, darlings.]
(A/N) Yeah, I don't even know why I wrote this. Or what exactly this is. I'm not even sure how I came up with this. (Note: I didn't come up with the title. I heard it somewhere but I can't remember where at the moment.) Review if this made you feel anything at all. Anything. Even hatred towards me. :P