Remember the Date.
.
.
.
Sam Puckett simply sat there, her golden curls fluttering in the slight breeze. It felt so cliché, being where she was on this particular day. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, letting out a slight groan when the erratic drumming from her earphones skipped to a slower, gentler guitar strum.
Did I tell you I knew your name? But it seems that I've lost it…
She allowed herself a wry grin. Of course this song would start to play. The irony of it all just had to come up and slap her in the face.
2012 had not started out all that great for her. Carly had brought – no – dragged her to some pointless New Year's Eve party, where she spent the night surrounded by drunk-out-of-their-minds classmates and annoyingly repetitive techno dance music. He was there, wearing a stupid polo, making a stupid attempt at dancing, with his stupid date. Yes, he had a date with him. She was all cutesy and nice and brunette and Sam despised her. She studiously ignored the couple for the entire night.
At 11:45, Sam was buzzed and a little bit more than slightly pissed off. Everyone, everyone, had been paired off by then. It was like freakin' Noah's Ark. Carly and some Daniel kid. Wendy and Shane. Hell, even Gibby had Tasha. Freddie obviously had his lady friend. She had nobody. At 11:53, she was out of Wendy's over-crowded house. At 11:57, she found a nice concrete curb to park her butt on, alone. And finally, at 11:59 and 55 seconds, she could hear the sounds of drunken countdowns all around her.
5… 4… 3… 2…
"Happy New Year," she mumbled before picking herself up and getting started on the thirty minute walk back to Bushwell Plaza. After four blocks, she turned around abruptly, realizing a very drunken Carly wouldn't be able to drive herself home.
Fast forward to about 2:00 PM on the first day of the new year. Sam had the responsibility of flitting between her house and Bushwell to periodically check up on both a hung-over Carly and a hung-over mom. After about the fifth or sixth return from her house, she caught Freddie saying good bye to the girl from the party. She had slept over. The blonde and the brunette held each other's gazes for a half a second before Sam escaped into 8-C, slamming the door behind her. She was pretty sure she was going to puke all over Carly's coffee table. Did Freddie like doing this, flaunt a pretty girl in his bitter ex – but still in love with him – girlfriend?
I love you.
I love you, too.
No, Freddie Benson was too much of a gentleman to do that to her. Besides, he loved her. Sam snorted at the thought. Yeah, loved, as in past tense. She sighed and walked up towards Carly's bathroom, where she heard her best friend worshipping the porcelain bowl.
Skip to the second of January. It turns out Carly, and a majority of the people who were at Wendy's New Year's Eve bash, had gotten food poisoning. For once, Sam was grateful for her lack of appetite that night. With Carly on bed rest, she had no choice but to stay home with a grumpy, partied out mother. She spent the day eating Fat Cakes, watching a Drake and Josh marathon, picking at her chipping nail polish, and mulling over whether or not she should shred the love emails from Freddie that she had (unfortunately) unable to destroy that one rainy day.
By the morning of January third, Sam was feeling like the gum stuck on the bottom of somebody's shoe, or maybe even worse than that, like the dog poo that everyone hated stepping in. Carly was still recovering, (How bad could those jalapeno poppers have been? Did they have Peruvian Puff Peppers in them or something?) So she was, once again, all by herself for the day. Her nails were now free from any nail polish and the taste of Fat Cakes lingered heavily in her mouth. (The love letters remained untouched.) With nothing else to do, she grabbed a blanket, a bucket of fried chicken, her beat-up laptop, and her PearPhone and set up camp on the fire escape that she usually avoided around this time of year. At least she was out of the house and away from her moody mom.
Sam sighed, eyes still closed, and tossed the last of her chicken bones into the bucket that sat next to her.
"I keep running away…" she sang quietly.
"Even from all the good things…" Her eyes snapped open and she sprang into a defensive crouch as a voice other than her own began singing the chorus. She bit the inside of her cheek. Freddie Benson had (finally) decided to join her.
"Oh, it's you." She turned away from him and slumped back into the chair, cheeks warming up when she realized that she had thrown her fleece blanket off, revealing mix-matched socks, Girly Cow pajamas, and a cropped grey tank top that barely hit above her belly button. Scrambling for her discarded purple hoodie would just draw unwanted attention to her discomfort and embarrassment, so she just settled for subtly tugging the hem of tank lower over her exposed lower stomach.
"So... Can I join you?" he asked hesitantly. Make it more awkward, won't ya, Benson?
"Yeah, whatever." She yanked the earphones out of her ears and wrapped them around her PearPhone, resting it on top of her lap top. He walked over so that he was leaning against the railing, facing her.
"I saw Carly today. She finally stopped throwing up," he informed, taking a stab at conversation. Sam didn't respond. She simply bobbed her head uninterestedly. He counted to ten before saying something else. "She was my cousin, you know. That girl at the party was my cousin, Erica." The blonde sat up stiffened noticeably. She mentally cursed her best friend. She knew Carly wasn't too drunk to hear her post-party rant as they drove home from Wendy's.
"Well at least you had someone to show up with…" She said it more to herself, but he still heard her. He exhaled deeply.
"But I didn't get my New Year's Eve kiss." Her jaw tightened slightly.
"Who were you expecting it from, nub?" she asked through gritted teeth.
"You," he answered boldly. It was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of her body. He gave her no time to reply, though. All it took was two steps and his lips were pressed against hers.
At first, it was like the first kiss they shared. He was hesitant. Her eyes were open. But unlike that first time, he knew what he was doing, they both did now. As soon as her eyes fluttered shut, the cool metal of the chair hit her back and his hands found their way to her waist. She shivered when the pads of his thumbs grazed over hip bones. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and opened her mouth against his, letting his tongue push against hers. He broke the kiss, only to trail a line of kisses along her jaw line, right down to her pulse point. He nipped at the sensitive skin gently, soothing it with another kiss after. She played with the soft hair at the nape of neck, every spot his lips touched, burning. His hands traveled further up her tank top to her rib cage. She bit back a moan when his fingertips brushed the edge of her bra. As their lips met once again, a train of thoughts plowed through her brain.
What are we doing? What does this mean? Are we still broken up? Are we together again? Does he love me?
He pulled away gradually, resting his forehead against hers. Despite their heavy, labored pants, the corner of their mouths tugged up into soft, secret smiles. As their eyes locked she decided. It doesn't matter. Not right now, at this very moment. His warm breath mingled with hers.
"I hate you."
"I hate you, too."
He pressed his lips to hers for a quick, but passionate, kiss.
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
.
.
.
Happy Kissiversary, Mighty Seddie Warriors :*
Reviews are welcome (:
Love,
DEETRIXJAAY :3