It's around one in the morning, and I wanted to write something angsty. I did not expect this. I could say I am sorry, but I'm really not.
He thinks of his life before the incident, how difficult everything was and how he hated her and just wanted to go back to the Before. But he knows that's impossible, knows that they both have too much between them to litter the floor. It's going to hurt for a while, but pain always ends.
They are standing on the roof of the Bushwell Plaza and he can hear her voice clearly despite the rain that halos his hair. "What the hell are you talking about?"
His back is to her, but he can feel the confusion and the pure angerthat races between raindrops. "I said, would you tell someone if you knew you were going to die?" There is something that he can classify as guilt creeping up his arms from her, but Sam never feels emotions like that, never has a reason to.
As expected, she never gives him a straightforward answer, just a huff followed by a somewhat apology. "Look, I'm… sorry I got you fired and I'm sorry for any bruises I may or may not have put on your body. No need to get weird, Freddork. Let's go inside before Carly freaks out that we're even up here." Just as predicted, its fake; the guilt, the feelings of sadness. She never really loved him. It was all lies to mess with his head, and now he feels the full front of it, beating into his spine.
"I wouldn't tell anyone, let them wonder if it was on accident or on purpose. But it wouldn't really matter because everyone's going to die eventually." Her sudden fear lurches him forward a few steps closer to the edge and he can see the city now, all bright and colorful despite the almost blackness. If only he had brought his camera up with him.
She can hear her sneakers move a few inches forward, but she stops and takes a deep breath. "I know we really haven't talked in a couple months, but I just-" He cuts her off with a wave of his hand and grabs the hem of his shirt in the other. It's his favorite one; button down blue with a lighter shade of it in plaid on it. It took a while for his fingers to work all of the buttons, but they all fell into place eventually, and that's all that really matters in the end.
"When your whole life has been nothing but chaos and crazy mothers and friends, wouldn't it be nice to finally be in control of something?" He spins around of his heels, and the crunch of pebbles under his feet sounds good to his ears. "The four of you were really the only friends I had, Sam, but, Spencer's an adult man, so he really doesn't need me around, and you and Carly and Gibby can get along just fine, you've survived this far. I'm sorry, Sam."
He remembers the Before; some complications and only a few migraines and tick baths and kisses, but the After wasn't pleasant. The sheets of his bed was the safest place in the universe; always soft and changing on a predetermined schedule. The monsters under his bed and in the closets never seemed to bother him, but he realized almost too late that one had formed in his mind. The beast never wanted clean, and now Seattle is going to see why he's never gone to school anymore, or why he's lost twenty pounds. The city of lights and colors and the girl who reflects them with her eyes is going to see everything.
He turns back around and falls, and the colors are more beautiful than golden hair.