A/N: People are really going to start hating me for the type of stories that I put up. It's just that I'm literally unable to write humor. It makes me burst into hives and start twitching uncontrollably. So you don't get a humorous story, you get this pieace of junk.
How did they think she lived? In the Tajh Ma Hal? In a cool, fancy apartment like Freddie and Carly did? In a little house in one of the suburban-esque parts of Seattle? Really? Sam wasn't sure whether it made her want to laugh at them, scream at them, or just start crying. After all, they'd known her for years, met her mom, loaned her more money than any of them could rememeber. And they'd still been so surprised.
Actually, Freddie hadn't looked all that surprised now that she'd thought about it. But she hadn't been paying too much attention to him. No, she'd been too busy looking at the disgust on Carly's face. Watching her eyes widen as she looked around and realized just what sort of a dump Sam really lived in. And then the panic that spread on her face when Carly realized that, Sam was right, they couldn't shoot Icarly at Sam's house. They just couldn't. All three of them, or at least both of the girls, had been glad that an excuse was given to them only moments later when the front door swung open.
"Oh! Misses Pucke-" Carly'd started. She stopped when she realized that it wasn't Pam who'd wandered in on them but the older Puckett's newest boyfriend.
The guy, Sam thought his name was Pete, grunted in their direction before slouching his way into the living room and claiming their tattered, mold colored recliner for his own. The T.V was turned on, one of the only ten stations that they got flicked on, and he was dead to the rest of them. The disgust on Carly's face had suddenly morphed into fear and, with a stuttered excuse about skipping the show that day, she'd fled from the house. Freddie had left a few minutes later, telling her that he'd be home all evening. The intent was clear.
Call if something happens.
Yeah. Like she needed his help. If they hadn't realized that this was how her life was all the time by now, they wouldn't realize that she wasn't going to need any help. Even if she did, the mace under her pillow and the bat she kept by her head-board would be more than enough. The Benson's didn't need to stick their noses into her business, her life, no one did. She could manage just fine on her own.
A noise from the room across the hall made Sam freeze, her hand clutching the spray tube under her pillow tighter, before she realized that the foot-steps were heading down the hall to the bathroom. A few more moments before she realized that it was just her mom. The footsteps were to steady and light to be Pete; years of eating to much and drinking to much had made his footsteps heavy and uneven. A glance at the clock, 3:08 a.m, and Sam forced herself to loosen her grip. She needed to get some sleep.
It was too bad that she couldn't. Her mind was still spinning too much, still filled with to much anger, to let her get any rest. She just couldn't believe that Carly hadn't realized how much of a difference there was in their lives. Sure, no one else had ever wondered but Carly was supposed to be different. They were supposed to be best friends that looked out for each other and knew everything about each other.
Didn't she ever wonder why Melony was living in California? Why her twin was the only one going to a fancy boarding school, living in the sunniest place in the country, and always smiling? Hadn't she ever wonder how Melony had even gotten there? Evidently, the thought had never crossed her mind.
Not that she really blamed the Shay girl. If she wasn't living the life herself, she'd never guess that Melony had gotten that scholarship because of Sam's hardwork. Because Sam had worked every summer job she could get her hands on to pay the Interview Fee for the people over there to come out and speak with her twin. It wasn't in her nature and Carly knew that. She had, after all, been the one that claimed Sam had never worked a day before in her life.
If only Carly knew.
Sam had worked so much in her life, back when she was still just a kid that should have been out playing hide-n-seek, that it was laughable. But then, someone had to pay the bills while her mom was off partying. Food didn't buy itself and water didn't run for free.
It wasn't until her mom had started bringing guys home that things started to change, so many different guys that, like the amount of money she owed Carly and Freddie now, she couldn't even guess at a number. Wrestlers, butchers, bankers, truckers; scumbags and jerks the lot of them.
After the guys started coming into their house, at all hours of the night and all amounts of times, her mom was able to take care of the bills. Sam didn't even try to think about where it came from; hopefully the older Pucket was just stealing from them. Either way, Sam got to stop working and focus on other things. Like trying to keep the house in a semi-livable state. She'd long given up on that, only focusing on her own shabby room now days, but for awhile it had been her job. Her responsibility. And she got in trouble if she didn't.
Got in trouble...She didn't get in trouble over it any more. Her mom had given up on anything that had to do with her daughter; punishment and praise included. But Sam didn't care. Didn't care that her mom had practically disowned her, had forgotten about her, didn't care any more and probably never had.
She didn't care that Carly and Freddie had such great lives, and they flaunted it, and she didn't.
She just...didn't care.
So, as the footsteps dissapeared back into the room across from her, Sam forced her eyes shut. Sleep, she told herself, she had to sleep. Yeah, that's why she was closing her eyes. Not to block the tears that threatened to spill out. It was just because she had to sleep.