Ick.. so.. I've had a bad day. D: I'm on my period, going through alcohol withdrawal (thank god it's only mild..) and I got dumped. Over a rumor.
What does this mean?
I write. XD But I do that every day.. I'm just venting.
Storytime!
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She's curled up next to you and you can't help but feel your chest tighten every time she starts to cough or sneeze and move at all. She's not supposed to be moving--she's sick. Sick people aren't supposed to move. Sick people are supposed to lay in bed and sleep and get better and wake up every now and then to be fed steaming hot chicken noodle soup. Yes, it had occurred to you that in order to be considered a sick person, one would have to sneeze or cough or present some sort of telltale "I'm going to puke my guts up" sign, but you ignored that, standing firm on the whole Carly's not allowed to move thing.
Thank god she was falling asleep. You never acted like this. You didn't want her to wake up the next morning and be perfectly healthy again and run around squealing about how cute you were when you thought about something besides food. Not that you thought that you were cute or anything, because you had drilled it into your head that you were not, and would not ever be cute, pretty or in any way attractive. Not to Carly at least, and she was all that really mattered. Anyway, you didn't want her squealing about how cute you were when you were like this or something. It'd be weird. And you'd sit there blushing and then have to run off and say something about ribs or french fries or potato chips, and then you'd stay up half the night trying to figure out if she'd meant anything by it, even though you knew perfectly well that Carly Shay was straight.
And even if she wasn't straight, why would she ever be interested in, of all people, you? She could probably have anybody that she wanted if she just looked at them the right way. She could have anybody on their knees in a second begging to do anything she asked them to, and they'd do it with a smile. It was magical, and you never really fully understood how she managed to do that. All you knew was that it worked. After all, that was the position that you were in.
You didn't really know quite when you'd started to fall for her, or even if there had ever been a time in all the years that you'd known her that you hadn't wanted to do anything possible to please her. It'd started with your willingness to do anything that she asked, and then you would start to blow off everything else if she even hinted that she wanted to spend the day with her, and after that you'd have to think about her and hug something soft and pretend that it was her before you could fall asleep (on the few nights when you didn't fall asleep in her bed, next to her. Then you could actually sometimes actually hug the real Carly.)
You'd never thought that there was anything really wrong with that. After all, it'd started when you were what, nine? Of course you'd heard the word gay, but you never really got what it meant. You just knew that it was something yucky and weird and foreign and that you would never, ever be gay because you had a crush on a boy and that meant that you were straight and normal. And that was good. That was the way it was supposed to be.
Even when you lay on the floor beside your bed in fifth grade on one of the rare occasions when you were actually at your own house instead of Carly's and you closed your eyes and imagined kissing Carly and what it might feel like and her hands on your head and her touching you in all the places that only you ever got to touch, you didn't start to clue in even the tiniest bit. You just rolled over a couple of minutes strangely horny and blushing, because you never even thought about sex with somebody that you actually knew because you were too self conscious to ever let anybody see you without clothes on.
She's rolling over, her eyes half open and she's resting her head in your lap and looking up at you, smiling a bit. You bite your lip and feel your chest tighten again, wishing that she could just be okay because even though it's just a bit of a fever and a stomachache and a little headache, you're worried sick and you feel awful because she's not okay and there's nothing you can do to fix it except sit up in bed with her and give her aspirin and go and make her soup every now and then.
"Sam.. don't.. you'll get sick.." She's mumbling, and you're just smiling the tiniest bit and putting the soaking washcloth back on her forehead. You can feel her stiffen for a moment as freezing water droplets drip down into her shirt, and then she softens up again and you just wish that her stupid fever would break, because then everything else would start getting better too.
"Carly, why is it that you never have to take care of me?" You ask simply, curling a piece of her dark brown around a single finger absently.
She's silent for a moment, as though she's considering this, trying to figure out why she hasn't ever had to do this for you, but then she curls up into a tighter ball and you wonder for a moment if she's going to throw up again and if she's going to throw up again how're you going to get her down, because Spencer's out now and you can't carry her out of this bed on your own and you don't trust her to walk on her own. "Uhm.."
"Because I never get sick. Ever. Remember when I fell through the ice in that lake last winter? Did I get sick then? Nope!" You remind her cheerfully, dipping your hand in the bowl of ice water sitting on the bed next to you, and then running your fingertips over her bright red cheeks.
You wonder for a moment if anybody else who didn't want to be with her as badly as you did would do this.
The fact that even Freddie, who supposedly loved her, wasn't here said enough.
"Hold on, I'm gonna go make you some soup.." You mumbled, easing yourself out from under her head and holding it up until you'd replaced yourself with a pillow and you tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, before realizing that she was asleep now, and that sleeping people don't normally eat soup.
Stupid.
--
Of course, by tomorrow she was fine again, and of course the moment you woke up she was squealing about how cute you were and pinching your cheeks and grinning at you and all you could do was sit there and blush and blush and blush, until she finally hugged you and kissed your cheek and, head on your shoulder, whispered that you were, "The sweetest girl I've ever met." and then she kissed your cheek again.
Like the genius you were, you sat there and stammered and turned bright red and then insisted on going out for smoothies.
It was weird, really, how you never even considered that there could be anything between you two. You shot down anything resembling hope the second it fluttered it's wings, because you knew that it was false and a waste of time and that if you believed in it you'd just end up getting hurt. The last thing you wanted was to sulk around and have Carly ask you what was wrong and just look at you and care but she's not caring the way you do and then you'd probably just burst into tears and tell her everything.
And then she'd leave you. You knew she would. She's leave you and then you'd have nothing because you were too wrapped up in Carly to even think about having the time to actually be close to anybody else.
Before she could get anything out of you, because you were sure that she was trying to make you humiliate yourself for the rest of your life, you grabbed her arm and dragged her downstairs, out of her apartment and to the smoothie place a couple of blocks away, and you took it upon yourself to make fun of 2 fat people holding hands.
And now you're sitting in the smoothie place, smoothie in hand, tilting back in your chair lazily, trying not to stare. God, don't stare. But it's so hard not to. You've been staring for so long but you still haven't found a single thing wrong. Somebody else might, but you love every single tiny little thing about her, model quality or not (but most things are)
You're wondering again about just when you started loving her. It's always been there, you know that much, but you don't know just when you started to acknowledge it. When you stopped hugging her all the time because you were so scared she'd notice how long you were holding on for. When you started looking away whenever she changed because you knew that if you saw her you wouldn't be able to take your eyes off of her.
"Hey.. hey Sam.. quick, pretend to be my girlfriend." She's saying, staring across the room at some guy who seemed to be staring right back. He smiled, and then started walking towards your table.
"W..wha..?" You stammer, absolutely lost.
"I told him I couldn't go out with him because I had a girlfriend. Uhm.. uhm.. uhm.. god. Oh, come here." She says quickly, and before you know what's happening she's grabbing your head and pulling you towards you and you're not resisting because you don't think that it's even possible for you to manage to do that. And her lips are on yours and she tastes like processed strawberries and of some kind of lipgloss and she's soft and kinda warm and oh my god. You just sit there and blush for a couple of moments, until she elbows you softly, and you realize that you should probably be kissing her back.
God. Kissing her back. And you are, you're kissing her back and your hands are in her hair and hers are in yours and oh god.
And then she's stopping and you're sitting there blushing and your mouth's hanging slightly agape and the guy's nowhere to be found.
--
It's not like you've never kissed somebody before, because that is most definitely not the case, but christ, you've never kissed somebody and felt like that before. And you've never, ever sat and thought about it for as long as you just did. As long as you still are.
She's sitting next to you chewing a sandwich, and she looks completely unaffected. Well, duh. She is completely unaffected; you'd never expect her to love her, and you're sure she never will. She'll never love you. She'll never love you.
You wish she would love you. God, how you wish she would love you. But she won't.
She's playing with your hair and you're trying your best not to blush even though you've always secretly loved having people touch your hair and you've never told her that but you're pretty sure she can tell. She's wrapping the one part that curls around her finger, and your breath's catching in your throat and her fingers are brushing against your cheeks and she doesn't even act like she notices when it's all you can notice.
Christ. Fucking christ, stop. Stop. You wish she would stop because you can't take this for much longer and you can feel your heart beating way too hard and you can feel yourself starting to blush despite how hard you tried not to.
And, fuck. Wait. No, fucking christ. You don't remember your lips being on hers a second are but they are now. Why are they there? You weren't kissing her before--you weren't even thinking about it because you were too busy just trying not to blush or moan or fuck her because yes, you were thinking about that but that's not important because why the fuck are you kissing her?
It was quick but you're blushing and you're an inch away from her face and you're waiting to be slapped but she never slaps you. She doesn't even raise a hand, and you open one eye a bit and you're seeing that hers are only half open.
"Silly. You could've just said so."
And she's smiling.
--
. I wasn't expecting this to take as long to write as it did.. Oh well! At least it's finished and I can go back to my laptop.. 333
XD The ending felt kinda rushed, but I knew I'd end up just completely losing interest if I didn't finish it now. D:
Uhmmm.. I hope you liked it! :3 Leave a review..? :D
-skips back to my laptop-