The format is based on the kind of omggcece. I really dig the whole parenthesis, italic, spaces thingo. I wanted to write something with something like that 'cause it's so unique, cool, and my favorite oneshot style. So, I guess it's sorta dedicated to omggcece, however you wanna look at it ;))
You've never been one to cry. It's a foreign action to you, a thing you've never learned to do. You've never needed to cry and never thought you would (y o u ' r e i n d e s t r u c t i b l e). But then he comes along and suddenly you know how to cry, and you often do.
/./././ The first time you cry because of him is fourth grade.
It's quiet reading time for the class. The teacher's walking around as the nine-year-olds read peacefully in their plastic chairs. You're the only one without a book. You never read because reading is for dorks with no lives. When you grow up, you're going to be an invisible ninja, so you don't have to learn to read. You're going to be working for a top-secret government base and travel to unknown countries where you'll battle evil men with atomic bombs. You won't have any time to sit down with a book, so you don't think you need to learn how.
A little boy is sitting next to you with the biggest book in the class. On the cover is some nerdy-looking boy with messy black hair and Coke-bottle glasses. Around him is a bunch of trees and a three-headed puppy and a unicorn. It seems really odd to you and you kind of want to know what the book's about, but you can't read the title and if you ask, this boy (w h o i s s o r t o f c u t e i n a n i n e – y e a r – o l d w a y) will know you can't read.
"Why aren't you readin'?" he asks. It takes you a moment to realize he's speaking to you and you immediately pretend you don't care about him or his stupid book. You sneer at him and say "Who wants to know?" He's a little taken aback at your nastiness but doesn't look away or sneer back like others do (except for your Carly friend). You think he must not be a bad guy if he isn't afraid.
"We're just s'posed to read and you're not." he says, "Why?" You know it's none of his business but you're compelled to tell him the truth. He seems like a cool kid so you have no fear in telling him.
"I don't know how." you whisper, "But that's okay 'cause I'm gonna be an invisible ninja when I grow up." He stares at you with a look of amazement and you start to wonder if it was a good idea telling him.
"That's the dumbest thing ever!" he says, "You can't be an invisible ninja! They aren't real!" His tone makes you angry. He called you dumb—no one calls you dumb. You aren't dumb, anyways. You just don't know how to read. But then this sinks in and you realize that everyone else does know how, and you're the only one who doesn't. This makes you wonder: are you really dumb? You come to the (p a i n f u l) conclusion that yes, you are dumb, and that you hate him.
"Leave me alone, nub." you say, knocking him over with a single push. He screams and lands hard on his face—it's almost laughable but you aren't laughing today. As the teacher goes over to him and all the nine-year-olds crowd, you take the chance to run out to the bathroom so you can cry.
When you get home, you ask your mom to teach you to read.
/./././ The second time you cry because of him is eighth grade.
It's the night of the End-of-Middle School Dance. All the eighth graders attend a dance in the gymnasium the Friday before the last week of school. It's a fun time where everybody can hang out and party with their friends before they part ways to go to different high schools. Your only friends are going to the same high school as you, so this party is a freebie in your head. Carly and Freddie, however, go all out: they buy good-looking clothes and spend all day trying to get dates. Carly gets one in a second, whereas Freddie doesn't because he keeps asking Carly, who's taken. Instead of calling up another girl to go, he pouts before the dance on Carly's sofa.
"You're only hurting yourself, Fredzit." you say, because it's true. He knows it's true too but he doesn't like you being the one telling him. It makes him feel insecure.
"You're one to talk." he growls, "You don't have a date either." It's an empty comeback; you don't have a date because you didn't try to get one. Not that any guy would go with you (y o u ' r e t o o a b r a s i v e).
"I didn't want one, loser." you say. He rolls his eyes, which now hold a malicious glint.
"You don't want one because you didn't get one." he says with spite. "You're too aggressive for a guy to want to go with you anyplace." This comeback isn't empty. This one hits home for you, and hot tears well up inside (t h e y s t i n g a n d b u r n). His malice seems to disappear when you don't snap at him or twist his arm so much it breaks. It's like he knows you want to cry, though you've never cried in front of anyone.
Carly comes down right then (thank goodness) and Freddie follows her out the door without another glance at you. You tell them you'll be out in a minute after Carly asks. She nods and the two leave. Once you know they aren't coming back, you grab a lacy pillow and sob into it.
At the dance, you're nice to all the guys and they actually want to dance with you.
/./././ The third time you cry because of him is tenth grade.
Freddie's been miserable ever since you told the world from the iCarly studio that he's never kissed a girl. You did it because he got back at you for stuffing a dead fish in his locker by handcuffing you to that fat kid Gibby. He isn't supposed to get back at you—he's supposed to take it like a man. However, this time he had to get you back and that's what leads you to do the rottenest thing ever. Feeling guilt-ridden, you told the world that you haven't kissed anyone either. But that's not enough, you know; you have to apologize to him face-to-face too. So you leave and visit his fire escape, where he's listening to alternative rock and watching Seattle's sky.
He notices you, and you explain how you're sorry. And then the conversation takes an odd turn and you start talking about how dumb first kisses are. By some weird twist of fate the two of you end up kissing. It's meant to get your first kisses out of the way but you don't expect to enjoy it like you do. His lips taste like black coffee and peppermint sticks (y o u a d o r e p e p p e r m i n t). The moment keeps your heart rate up and somewhere in your vast mind you want to stay on this fire escape, kissing his lips forever. But like with every kiss it has to end sometime and when he pulls back, you're left with these emotions that you can't control. He says it's nice and you say the same. Then, with a smirk in your direction, he says "I hate you." And even though you need to really hate him (r e a l h a t r e d), you can't help but carry a sweet tone as you say "Hate you too."
Walking away from him after that, you start wondering if you tasted good to him too. You lick your lips to see but all that you can taste is his coffee and peppermint. You love that taste but you hate it, because it wasn't a real kiss—it was to "get it over with", but now you're not sure if that's it anymore or if you want to run back and kiss him again. All these hormones race around in your brain and you want to puke. Instead you cry as you run back to Carly's apartment.
After the webshow you fix some coffee and chomp on a peppermint.
/./././ The fourth time you cry because of him is the summer before college.
You're sitting at home as you paste another paper button onto the clay camera you're making. It's been two years since you and Freddie started dating and you couldn't be happier. Something about that nerd gets you going. Imagine: in a little over two years you went from hate to love. Your anniversary is coming up and, since you're low on cash (t r y b r o k e), you've turned into Spencer Shay, meaning you're sculpting him a clay camera with a picture of you two inside. It's the nicest thing you've ever made—you love him so much you're okay with putting so much effort into such a silly-looking thing.
The doorbell rings its musical harmony. You hop up from your couch and run to the front door. Opening it, you see him standing before you. It's strange though—he always just comes in. It's abnormal for him to knock or ring the bell.
"S'up, Freddio?" you greet, smiling at the sight of him. He, however, doesn't look as happy to see you; in fact, he seems like he's in pain, a thing that makes your smile fall. You ask what's wrong.
"Nothing." he says (t o o q u i c k l y). "I wanted to drop by. That okay?" You nod, a little confused, and step aside. He enters with his fists in his pockets, his back slumped over like a puppy who did something wrong. You can't help but notice him not being his perky self, full of brighter light than the sun (i t ' s t h e t h i n g y o u l o v e m o s t a b o u t h i m).
"Coffee?" you offer, ready to go get him a cup of your original peppermint coffee. He doesn't know he inspired it but he always drinks it because it tastes so good. You're glad he likes it because you can keep him tasting like black coffee and peppermint sticks all the time. He declines and you think it's weird, because he never declines. Again, you ask what's wrong.
He sighs. "I can't beat around the bush anymore." he says. He walks over to you and you stiffen as he takes your hands in his own. Possibilities go through your mind: he's dying. He's moving. He's cheating on you. With every possibility you get madder and sadder and more worried.
"Sam…you know how we decided I was going to attend college here in Seattle so I'd be with you?" You nod just because your throat is so dry. He bites his lip thoughtfully before continuing. "Well, yesterday, I went to the doctor and we started talking about iCarly and stuff. He told me he had a brother down in San Diego who needs help filming a movie. It's gonna be a big blockbuster hit, he says. He said he needed someone with years of experience and since I did iCarly for four years—" You can't listen anymore. You know what he's saying and you just can't bear to listen anymore.
"So you're ditching me for some big shot movie production?" you say with malevolence.
"No! Sam, I love you, but this is too big a chance for me. You understand, don't you?" You don't because there's nothing to understand. He's breaking up with you to film a supposedly smash hit, after promising he'd stay by you.
"Get out!" you yell, and he staggers back. He tries to explain but you don't want to hear him anymore. The tears are already falling and you hate how he's making you cry like this. Spotting the clay camera, you pick it up and aim it at his head. It misses (darn it) but he takes the hint and scampers out your door. You fall to your feet and sob endlessly.
Later you throw rocks at Blockbuster's windows.
/./././ The fifth time you cry because of him is at his wedding.
His big blockbuster flopped (g u e s s m u s i c a l h o r r o r i s n ' t p o p u l a r). You find he is living in San Diego still and isn't planning on returning to Seattle. Of course, you hear this from Wendy the Gossip Queen, whose stories aren't always accurate. But Carly gave you a new phone number, saying it's Freddie's, so you give this number a call. You find he is indeed living in San Diego, but what you didn't know is he's living with someone—some girl. Who isn't you.
Her name is Ursula (s t u p i d n a m e). She was an actress in his failed movie—she played the dumb blonde who's in cahoots with the vampire clan. She dies in the first part of the movie. It's your favorite part. The two of them had to run lines together when the lead vampire got the flu. The scene had a kiss in it, and that was the end of that. Now they're getting married.
You want to rip her head off as she leans forward to kiss him—now she's tasting his peppermint-flavored coffee. You're the one who tasted them first and the one who should be tasting them forevermore. Yet there she is, all decked out in a glistening white wedding dress with him in a stunning white tuxedo kissing her. Her lips probably taste like toe fungus. You wonder if yours taste good to him (n o , y o u h o p e) but you can't ask because that'd be stupid.
Afterwards at the reception, she's cuddling with him in front of everybody and you feel sick. You try to go and say hello but she glares at you, and suddenly she and Freddie have important business to take care of. He gives you a grin and says "I'll talk to you later"—that's a lie. You wait at a table for him to come by but he doesn't, like you expected. You want him to really come, though, so you look for him. When you find him and Ursula making out in a secluded corner, he receives a slap to the face and you run away, weeping.
You don't hear from him again ever. Whether it's because he's forgotten or because his wife won't let him, you don't know and don't care. You've lost him and you aren't getting him back; no amount of begging or love is going to get him back.
Five days later, you get sick (d e a t h l y s i c k) and die in a hospital bed, where you can weep no longer.
Oh man, that was choppy, rushed, and suckish. Why'd I even write it?