A/N: Hey guys! So, I found this story written in an old journal. I've meant to finish it for a while, but I guess I never got around to it. Anyway, this story is loosely based off of the songs "Breathe" by Anna Nalick and "I Hate Everything About You" by Three Days Grace. I obviously don't own iCarly or either of the songs. Anyway, I've posted it once before, but took it down because it wasn't really going anywhere. It's been slightly revised, and now I have everything figured out. Hope you like it!
2:00 A.M. A cell phone glows in the darkness and begins its metallic ringing. The song is "Riot" by Three Days Grace. Even through the haze of half-consciousness, the owner of the phone knows exactly who is calling.
"Hey," she mumbles into the phone with a stifled yawn. She can hear faint traces of sobbing on the other end. The girl rubs her eyes and sits up. "Sam?"
"H-hey," her best friend chokes out. "How's it going?" The girl can hear the tears in Sam's voice.
"What's wrong?"
Sam sniffs.
"Nothing. I'm alright."
The girl rolls her eyes. "You didn't call me at two a.m. crying because nothing's wrong."
Sam sniffs again. "I can't do this anymore."
The comment takes the girl slightly aback. "Do what?"
Another sniff followed by a choked gasp. "Nothing."
The girl groans in frustration.
"Sam, I'm supposed to be your best friend! Now you're calling me at two in the morning crying and won't even tell me…"
"I'm pregnant!" Sam shouts, cutting her friend off. The girl immediately falls silent, listening to Sam's pathetic sobbing.
"What?" The girl finally manages to whisper.
"You heard me." The girl's mouth hangs open as she searches for something to say. Nothing comes out. Sam continues her short, choked gasps.
"Whose?" the girl finally manages to ask.
"Does it matter?" Sam asks, though she already knows the answer to this question. She sighs. "It's Freddie's."
The girl is speechless.
"What?" she finally exclaims. Sam had been expecting that reaction.
"It's Freddie's," she repeats.
"But…you guys…"
"Look, it doesn't matter how we feel about each other or how it happened," Sam growls. "What matters is how I'm going to fix this."
"You're not seriously considering…"
"Yeah, I am. Tomorrow. Come with me."
"Sam…you know how I feel about that!"
"Carly, please."
The girl hears the desperation in her best friend's voice. She takes a deep breath, willing the churning in her stomach to subside. In a very weak voice, she manages to answer, "Fine."
They're fighting again.
Screaming at each other so loud they're sure the entire building can hear them.
Sam doesn't care, and she's sure Freddie doesn't either. This isn't the first time it's happened. Their words bounce off the brick walls and echo through the room.
Sam has forgotten what they're even fighting about.
The fight has turned into insults. Verbal jabs back and forth until someone backs down, though each one knows neither will.
Sam isn't sure she can continue. Her throat is sore from all the yelling. Tears of anger brim her eyes, but she blinks them back rapidly. She won't let him see her cry; she never lets him see her cry.
"What do you want from me?" she finally screams, feeling as if she's reached her breaking point.
Before either of them knows what is happening, Freddie grabs Sam roughly by her shoulders and pins her against the wall.
"Everything," he growls.
Suddenly, they're kissing, and it's not soft and gentle by any means. It's rough and needy. Hands roam, pulling hair, scratching skin, pulling each other as close as possible. Sam feels Freddie bite down sharply on her bottom lip and she whimpers slightly.
But she knows she's wanted this for a long time.
Freddie begins nipping roughly at her neck. Sam feels an involuntary sigh escape her lips. He captures her mouth with his own again, forcing her back against the wall. His lips are strong, fast, greedy, but Sam feels like she never wants him to stop…
Sam awakes from the memory with a start. She looks around quickly before registering where she is. Carly is driving her old, rusted Ford pick-up and Sam is in the passenger seat. Sam slumps further into the worn leather seat, staring blankly out the window. She notices Carly swiftly turn and look at her for a brief second.
"You really want to go through with this?" Sam nods, still silent. Her expression is unreadable. "There are other options…"
"Not for me," Sam grumbles. Carly presses her lips together, nodding. She knows what would unfold if and when Sam's father found out. They continue down the nearly bare stretch of highway in silence. Not many people are out and about at 4:30 in the morning on a Saturday. Carly had wondered why Sam insisted on leaving so early, but she didn't question it.
As they pull off the highway, Carly gives a quick glance over to Sam again. Her expression is still unreadable. Carly finally opens her mouth to break the silence, "Why did we leave so early?"
Sam shrugs. "Felt like it?"
Carly rolls her eyes. "Sam, the only thing you ever feel like doing at this hour is sleeping, especially on a Saturday!"
Sam sighs. "Didn't wanna risk my parents finding out," she offers reluctantly. Carly knows that isn't all, but she doesn't press the issue. They finally arrive at the clinic, and Carly notices Sam shudder slightly beside her.
"It's not open," Carly muses.
"We can wait," Sam answers.
Carly exhales softly and nods. "OK.
A boy sits in his kitchen, a bottle clutched between his hands. He's trying to kill the memories, but they're too damn persistent. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how much he indulges, they're still there. He takes a long gulp from the bottle, relishing the burn as it travels down his throat. He can't see straight, but that's ok. He can't remember the last time he could see straight, can't remember the last time he was sober.
"Stupid bitch," he mumbles almost incoherently. "Stupid f-fucking whore."
The memories are back, and he doesn't notice the tears that begin to roll down his face. He doesn't like to think about her. He doesn't like to believe he wants her, needs her, loves her…
Loves her. Does he love her? He expects someone to answer, but no answer comes-only the silent hum of his house. A bottle of Jack is his only company.
He takes another swig.
"Please," he sobs to nobody in particular. He begs the memories to leave, but the little fuckers are too persistent.
Freddie, I'm pregnant…Don't do anything, it's my own problem…I don't need you…
I don't need you…
Don't need you…
Don't need…
He swipes the bottle angrily off the table. The sound of shattering glass breaks the silence, but only briefly.
"Fuck you!" he screams at the silence. "Can't you see I need you?" He collapses onto the floor, broken glass piercing his skin. He doesn't notice. He covers his face with his hands and begins to sob.