Rawrawrawr. Written while listening to Wake Up by Three days Grace. Well.. the first thirty seconds. Over and over and over again. XD And Your Hand In Mine by Explosions in the Sky
Enjoy (hopefully)!
--
She's drunk again.
You love her, but honestly, this is getting ridiculous. It's Tuesday and she's been sober for maybe 15 hours total since Sunday and she's sitting at your doorstep and she's banging on the wall and screaming drunken nonsense and you're wondering how long it'll be before somebody calls the cops and she gets hauled off for public drunkness or some other bullshit and you're wondering if you'd feel bad or if you'd sit and hope that she learned a lesson and maybe she'd stop drinking.
She's sitting out there mumbling your name and you're wondering why she's always saying your name and why she always comes to your apartment when she's like this, because it's not like you're her only friend or something.
You're sighing and you're pulling open the door and she's falling onto you, partly hugging you and partly just trying to stay standing because she's obviously had more than the seven empty cans of Coors strewn across the hallway outside your door. "Carly.." She's mumbling and you're not sure if she even knows what she's saying anymore. Christ, getting drunk with her used to be fun but she's not drinking to get drunk anymore and you're wondering if she's just trying to drink until she's drowned herself or until she's just laying passed out somewhere because she's not even fun drunk anymore. She's just sick and she's tripping even when you're nearly carrying her.
"Sam, you've gotta stop doing this." You're mumbling and you're laying her down on the couch next to your kitchen and you're hoping that Spencer doesn't come home and realize that she's drunk, because Spencer's Spencer, but you never know when he'll start acting like a father, and you really don't want him to see Sam like this anyway, no matter what his reaction is.
She's babbling incoherently and you're running off to the broom closet (yes, you do have one of those) to grab a bucket or something in case she pukes, which she probably will, considering the way she's holding her stomach and moaning and god, it's like somebody's stabbing you in the heart every time you hear it. You hate hearing her like this and you hate her being like this and you hate that you can't do anything to help her and you can't do anything to stop it, because fucking christ, you want to stop this.
It's just alcohol, but she's just fifteen and fifteen year olds aren't supposed to be getting drunk by themselves every single day. If she was coming home from parties you wouldn't be worried at all, but she isn't so you are.
You know that you're acting like Freddie's mom or something, but you can't help that you care about her and you're worried about her. It's just how you are about her--she's reckless and crazy and she parties and she does some really stupid shit, and you're waiting at home to clean her up and make her hangover food. Most people would get sick of that, but you love it. You don't mind at all and you love being able to take care of somebody and you love that it's her and it's not just because you love feeling needed.
She's out there and she's rolled over on her side and you're she looks like she's trying to stand up but she can't even hold onto the coffee table and she's sprawled across the ground and you're trying not just concentrate on getting that stupid fucking bucket, already.
You're walking back towards her and you're looking down at her and she's laying there, eyes half open and she's mumbling your name over and over and over again and you're feeling your heart jump every single time until it's finally just stuck itself in your throat and declared that to be it's new home. "Sam.. come on." You're mumbling and you're pulling her back up onto the couch and you're trying to ignore all the jolts shooting through your body but it's not working very well because you're pretty sure it's her hand that's on your breast.
"Carly.." She's mumbling again, and you're trying to ignore it and just get her some food and avoid any potential projectile puke, because she's obviously had enough to drink that she's going to start puking and she's getting paler and paler already.
You're trying not to say anything but all that's doing is making her angry and frustrated as she grabs your arm and says as seriously as a drunk Sam can, "Carly, listen to me." But her voice is wavering and she's sick and she's sweating and you're not sure if she's supposed to be that pale because she's as white as a piece of paper and last you checked, that's not a good color for a living, breathing person to be.
You're looking down at her curiously and you're speaking with your eyes and they're saying, "What is it?" and she's known you for so long that she's able to read them perfectly fine but she's not saying anything, just letting her eyes travel up and down your body and you're wondering just what she's thinking and if it's just her actions or her thought process as well that gets messed up by being drunk, because every time you've been drunk it's just been sort of hard to walk but you could think perfectly fine.
Obviously, she can't, because she's pulling your face down to hers and she's mumbling that she likes you, and then she's kissing you, and those little jolts you were feeling earlier turn into a huge explosion that you're amazed your body can contain. You're just sort of sitting there, waiting for it to be over because the last thing you want to do is pull away even though, hello, this is Sam we're talking about, but that feeling's paralyzing you and it's like an orgasm only even better than that and you're wondering where the hell that came from, because it hasn't always been like that.
And then you're wondering if it's weird or not that she's your best friend and she's kissing you, but you're realizing that she's drunk and she's your best friend and you're kind of amazed that she hasn't kissed you before, because you've been friends god knows how many years and you're pretty sure that most best girl friends have kissed each other before. She's not going to stop, you're realizing, until you let her and you're figuring, why not? It's fun and you actually sort of like kissing her more than you like kissing most guys and every time she touches you it's like throwing lighter fluid into a fire. And the next thing you know you're kissing her back and she tastes like alcohol and bacon and Sam, and she's pulling you on top of her and you're complying because that feeling's just getting stronger and stronger the closer you get to her.
You've got her arms pinned down by her wrists and you're hovering over her, your tongue in her mouth and hers in yours and you definitely like this better than kissing a guy, because the last time you did something like this with a guy he tried to shove your hand down his pants after like, five minutes, and the funny part was that you let him but you couldn't even feel anything down there. So then you just went home and dumped him (you're pretty sure you were dating him)
It's not like this means anything, right?
Sure, she said that she likes you, but she's supposed to--you're her best friend. You're normally supposed to like your best friend, right? But now that you're thinking about it you're realizing that that's probably not what she meant, because, even drunk, Sam's not stupid enough to point out something that obvious, and, honestly, she's not that stupid at all. She's actually really smart, just not when it comes to alcohol or applying herself or not being lazy.
She's turning her head away and she's so drunk and her eyes are dancing around and they're glassy and you're sure she's not going to remember any of this, because she's looked half as bad as this and asked you, "Hey, how'd I get in your apartment?" and you'd just stare at her and wonder if you should even try to tell her what'd happened, or if you should just say, "Uhm. You came over yesterday, remember?" Which wasn't really lying because she did come over. Just, she'd had a couple of 6-packs beforehand.
"Carly..?" She's mumbling and you're letting go of her wrists, realizing just how sick she is and how drunk she is and how not fun this is and how stupid you are for making out with a drunk girl. You're looking at her and she's opening her mouth to say something, but then she's pushing you off her and she's puking in the bucket and you're groaning, realizing that you're going to have to clean that up before Spencer sees it (or smells it) and asks who got sick and you really, really don't want him to just look at Sam from now on and think nothing but, "Wow, she's a drunk."
--
You're yawning and rubbing your eyes and sipping your 5th coffee, sitting cross-legged next to a passed out Sam (who you had to pick up and carry to your bed) and you're refusing to sleep until she wakes up because you're worried and you want her to be okay and that's just how you are, because yes, you are weird. You're surrounded by containers of starbucks coffee, which you don't even like that much anyway, but it's closest and it's cheap and it's tolerable, which is more than what you can say for any coffee you might make on your own.
It's 10:17AM and you're hoping that she's going to wake up soon, because you're not going to be able to stay awake for much longer and you don't want something to happen to her while you're asleep, but christ, your eyes hurt so much. You're curling up next to her and you're thinking that you're allowed to just lay down, as long as you don't fall asleep, right?
Your arms are around her and you're pulling her close to you, your head under her chin, breathing on her neck. You're just resting your eyes. It's not like you're trying to go to sleep or anything.. you're just resting your eyes, and even though you know that almost a hundred percent of the time that ends up in you falling asleep, but you really are just resting your eyes this time.
Really. You are.
You're laying there and you're wondering if she meant anything when she said that she liked you, or if it was just Sam being drunk and spitting out random words and doing the stupidest things that she wouldn't even consider doing if she was sober, but you're realizing more and more how unlikely it is that she didn't mean anything, because, after all, people tell the truth when they're drunk and then hook up with ugly people.
And then you're wondering if you like this or not, and you're laying there biting your lip and thinking about all of the things you and Sam would do if you were together.
Of course, the next thing you knew, you were rolling over and she was leaning over you, her hair in your face as she gently shook your shoulders, mumbling, "Hey.. hey Carly, wake up." and it's still sort of dark in your room because you pulled all the blinds closed for her unavoidable hangover, but it looks like she just slept through it because she just looks sleepy and sweet and there's the tiniest hint of a smile gracing her lips and curling them just the smallest bit upward. She smiles when she laughs but it's not the same as this, because this is small and subtle and you sorta kinda maybe love the little things in life.
And she's just adorable. You can't help that.
"Mmngh..?" You're mumbling, rolling over and looking up at her. Shit. You fell asleep. You weren't supposed to fall asleep. Great, now you're going to have coffee breath for days and it was for nothing. She's looking down at you and she's breaking into a full grin, and you're smiling back at her, even though you don't really know what you're smiling about. Just follow her lead.
"Wake up, sleepyhead." She's saying, and you're getting that feeling in the pit of your stomach again. She's sweet.
You're groaning and rubbing your eyes, but you're not sitting up. You're too tired to wake up. You need sleep. Sleep is good. Sleep is very, very good. It's to you what ham is to Sam. "Aren't you supposed to be hungover..?" You're mumbling, mistaking her lap for a pillow and rolling onto it. Christ, you're so tired it actually hurts every second that you have to hold your eyes open, and you're vaguely hoping that you'll just drop dead. If you drop dead you'll stop being tired and not being tired was like heaven and chocolate and Sam all at once to you.
She'd had her hands on your forehead, but they feel oddly stiff now, like all of a sudden she's scared to even touch you anymore, and you're wondering why and then you're realizing that she meant as more than friends last night.
And you honestly have no idea how that makes you feel.
--
It's lunch and it's four days later and you're both sitting on opposite sides of Freddie, which in itself is enough to warrant incredibly amounts of worry, without even taking into consideration the fact that you're not talking to each other either. You're sitting in silence eating your sandwiches and Sam hasn't raided your fridge and bitched about how there isn't ham in her sandwich, she's just sitting there and eating.
Freddie's more disturbed than the time he walked in on Spencer on the shitter singing my little pony. "Sam, did you give away another one of Carly's shirts?" He's trying to be funny but he's never been very good at that anyway. You're usually nicer to him but right now you just can't stand how stupid he can be sometimes, even though it's not his fault that he has no idea about half the things you and Sam do, which is for the better. You don't want him in all your business and you don't want him around all the time.
Sam's sitting there and she's staring at him and you're wondering if Freddie's going to live to sign his next shower contract, because yes, his mom does still make him sign them. "Uhm.. Okay, or not." Freddie said, laughing nervously before he stuffed another bite of his sandwich in his mouth. "Geez, tough crowd."
"Shut up Fredward." And that's all she says and you're feeling your stomach tying itself in knots because something's wrong. Something's so, so wrong with her and you want it to be right and you want to fix her because you can tell she's broken but you don't know how to and all the brilliant declarations of love that you'd had stored from years of dreaming about love have all left you and all you've got is a turkey sandwich.
She always insults him. Always. She uses Fredward in that derogatory tone as a greeting, not an insult. She just tried to use it as an insult.
Fix her. You don't know how she got so broken from just one stupid kiss (because you're so sure that's what's doing this) but you just want to make it better because it was just one stupid fucking drunk kiss and fucking christ.
--
Freddie's gone and it's you and Sam and she's sober and you're so thankful for that because you really don't think that you could deal with her being drunk, but then again right now you're not sure if you can deal with her being sober either and you wish that everything was easy but it isn't.
"I'm sorry." She's blurting out and you're wondering why it is that she's sorry. It's not like you're going to hate her for liking you or something and you love her anyway and she kissed you, so what? It's just one stupid kiss and she was drunk out of your mind and--
Okay, fine, you liked it.
She's not supposed to be sorry for something you liked, you're telling yourself. You've got all these perfect, pretty words sloshing around in your head but you can't vocalize any of them, and you've never really been one for thinking your actions through all that much when you can't use words, so you're just leaning over and you're kissing her.
She's soft and she tastes like cereal and monster and you're realizing you like it so much more when she doesn't taste of beer and cigarettes and you can feel her smiling against your lips, so you're smiling back because, god, you love making that girl smile.
"I'll take it that I'm forgiven?"
--
Oh jeez. I started this two months ago, got bored, started it again a couple of weeks ago and couldn't think of a way to end it, and now I'm finally done with it. :D
Can you tell where my writing style changes? o.o