In Any Other World
(Please note: iOMG never happened)
Chapter 1 - You Could Be Happy
"Do the things that you always wanted to"
- Snow Patrol
She always knew it would come to this. Saw it coming miles, years, away. And Chicago doesn't rain as much as Seattle, but the misery and the dampness of the air settles on her skin and burrows into her bones in a way it never did in Washington.
She's 22, how did she get this old?
How did she get this old with nothing to show for it?
Being young and traveling the world seemed enticing, but now she finds herself having no money and no time to go anywhere but work and back-alley markets to briefly satiate the hunger for something more. It doesn't really live up to what she thought it would.
Really, how did it come to this?
She glances at her watch and tugs the apron around her waist off as she heads for the door. She tosses the apron back behind the kitchen and hears the chef bellow out "Puckett!" but she's already grabbing her plaid coat off the hook and then she's pushing through into the cold night air, and then she's halfway onto the sidewalk, and then she's gone. She was always good at that, being gone. Disappearing doesn't really seem like a thing to want in your repertoire but it's her favorite expertise.
The Chicago snow is falling lightly, turning to rain just before it hits the ground or her shivering form. She should probably get a better jacket. Or a raincoat. She lifts her face to the sky and lets the snowflake and smog riddled raindrops kiss her cheeks as she trudges through the slush, making out the bleak outlines of streetlights and city people bundled up, huddled together, probably strangers seeking comfort from the cold amidst one another.
A couple walks bristly past her, heading for the "L" station. The man has his arm around the woman, guiding her towards the street level entrance. She feels the rush of air they leave in their wake and she swears for a moment she can feel strong arms leading her too. She shakes her head and her dirty blonde ringlets spring water droplets with the vigorous effort. Stop it. And then she's done thinking. She walks the rest of the way to her apartment, her CTA card empty and the promise of being pressed up against strangers none too endearing.
When she finally sees her building, a dark silhouette in the dank air, she rummages in her purse and pulls out a lighter and the last camel from its pack. She struggles with her numb fingers, trying to catch her calloused thumb on the ridges of the flint wheel but failing.
Her single "Fuck." rings out emptily into the night.
She used to be so strong, so brave. When did she become so weak?
She hardly even recognizes herself anymore. Pitiful.
Eventually she just tucks the cigarette into her mess of blonde curls, balancing it precariously behind her ear and then transferring her lighter to her other hand in order to pull out her apartment key.
She drags herself wearily up the stairs stopping before her door, finger tips poised above the handle, listening for the tell tale sign of her roommate fucking another random stranger. The air is still and, briefly, her fingertips feather the brass. There is a crash from somewhere in the apartment and a female sounding moan, guttural so she can't tell if it's from pain or ecstasy. Another crash resounds, breaking through the night air.
"Get the hell away from me!" She hears her roommate's shrill cry. "Don't touch me!" And Sam finds herself involuntarily closing her eyes against the all too familiar sound of couples fighting, furniture ripping across the floor, and promisingly breakable objects shattering. She should have known she was never going to escape that sound; you never really grow out of your childhood do you?
Her arm falls limply to her side. She contemplates entering anyways; it's cold outside and she can feel a fever coming on from the bitter temperature. The sound of skin palming skin and the resounding 'smack' convince her the fever's better than anything that waits inside. She scoffs, their heaters been touchy for awhile anyways, who needs it? She climbs a few more stairs up and settles herself on a landing 2 up from her own, letting her legs spill over the edge as she pulls the cigarette from behind her ear. She holds it firmly with her lips as she procures her lighter from her purse again. Sitting, her back to the wind, she finally manages to elicit a tiny flame and lower the camel to it, sucking in sharply as she watches the end catch and blaze orange for a moment, the ends beginning to flake and crumble, before she lifts her thumb from the flint-wheel. She keeps inhaling deeply, feeling the burn drip like liquid fire down her throat and settle in the pit of her lungs, calming some of the clawing emptiness that usually resides there. When her vision swims she finally exhales, letting the rush of nicotine hit her, her chest throbbing like she might cry but she chalks it up to the charring feeling ablaze deep within her which she attributes solely to the cigarette. Somehow, watching the smoke curl up between her fingers and escape into the darkness makes her feel like broken toy, with the world growing up around her as she struggles to stop it from changing, unable to join it.
She thinks of her old friends. They'll be graduating this year from college, complete with yet another step in their lives. And they must feel so young, like they did when they were graduating high school, looking out at their futures all nicely laid out before them. She remembers the looks on their faces, the fear in their eyes as to what the years ahead held for them. They wouldn't stop blathering on about how they were going to spend summer getting ready for school in fall, wondering about who their roommates would be, what being apart would be like. Carly kept cooing how they would all stay in wonderful touch and the absolute utter sincerity in her eyes had actually managed to convince Sam that Carly truly believed she was right. Freddie, on the other hand, stayed knowingly quiet; his eyes boring into the back of Sam's skull as she nodded dumbly to Carly's rant. He knew, he somehow always seemed to just know.
In his peripheral vision he could see the green graduation caps being sprinkled into the air, but he kept his eyes trained dutifully on her side profile; her blond hair falling in wild cascades down her back, her pale skin and washed out cheeks, her blue eyes unflinchingly shallow as they stared forward. She didn't even bother to throw her cap as bodies jumbled about her, jarring her small frame a little this way and that.
Despite that she'd never grown past 5'4 Freddie Benson had never once thought of Samantha Puckett as vulnerable before that moment.
She must have felt his gaze upon her because she slowly turned her head to face him amidst the crowd of graduates milling about animatedly. Their eyes locked, he could only assume his russet eyes were filled with longing while her own were blank and dull like the ocean on a cloudy day, frothy blue lapping dejectedly at the shore. A corner of her mouth twitched downward, pulling her mouth into a lopsided frown and she shifted her eyes to the ground as she reached up slowly and pulled the cap off her head, letting it fall at her feet. She was leaving that night. He just knew.
A/N: So I don't know if I'm going to continue this... what do you guys think? Please read and review :)