Hey Everybody!

I know, I know, I finally uploaded the second chapter. I got writers block with this chapter, and I actually wrote the entire thing, then scrapped it and started again. I like this version much better, and I think it really shows a contrast between the calm and relaxed Carly we see in chapter one, and the crazy and scared Carly we see in chapter two. Carly is very simplistic in this chapter, because she is in shock. I thought it would be a different spin on it, so I hope you guys like it!

You know the drill. Please review. Reviews are my food. I crave them. But I love constructive criticism too. It's the drink to go along with my food :3

As always, thank you so much for taking the time to click on this story. It means the world 3

Disclaimer- I don't own icarly (Super Sad Face)

Warning- The following story contains dark themes and some coarse launaguge.

Paled wrists hang over white polished tile.

Blood dribbles down fingers and drips onto the floor, like melting nail polish.

Eyes, glazed over with tears, roll back into a foggy head.

And screams...ever lasting screams fill the air.

Who did this to her? Who did this? Who held her down and slit her wrists and left her to drown in her own blood? Who hurt my beautiful best friend?

Who did this?

My fingers fly over the keypad off my phone. Desperate sobs catch in my throat as I shake Sam's arm, trying, just trying, to wake her.

Her chest barely moves. I'm so scared.

"Wake up Sam," I plead, tears clouding my vision, "please wake up."

Someone on the end of the phone picks up.

"Emergency Operator-"

"Ambulance!" I yell down the phone, interrupting the shrouded figure on the end of the line.

"My best friend," I say, when someone answers, "I found her. She's in the bathtub. Someone's tried to kill her!" I cry.

"Calm down doll. Tell me where you are."

I manage to gasp out Sam's address and the woman tells me to stay on the line.

But Sam needs me. Otherwise she won't think there is a reason to wake up.

I slam down the phone and anger fills me to the brim. How dare Sam think she is leaving me?

I climb into the bath and scream in her ear. I slap her face and scream. She doesn't wake up. She doesn't wake up. Why won't she wake up? "

"WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP!"

And suddenly, sirens. Everywhere.

People pound through the house. Someone drags me to the side as they whisk her into a stretcher. I fight the pair of hands. Reaching out, I cry Sam's name, over and over again.

"Sam! Sam! Please Sam, just wake up!" I cry. I sit in the pool of water on the bathroom floor and sob, watching as they yell foreign things and work over Sam, their hands a faint blur. I feel dazed. Where 's Freddie? Where's Spencer? Why aren't they here?

Be careful, I want to yell. Be careful. She may look tough, but she's soft on the inside. But suddenly, they're carrying her away. And the fight leaves me. I slump back and watch my best friend be carted away. White hands pick me up like a doll. They carry me to an ambulance. I feel my hands touch the stiff cotton of a white bed. I curl up on it, and look across at Sam. Their shouting things, I can hear faint beeping, and blood is everywhere. But I don't care. I'll never let anything happen to her. I reach across and touch her shoulder briefly, but someone shoves my hand away. So I tuck it back in, and wait.

I just wait.

What else is there to do?

oOo

Gasp.

Pant.

Run.

Don't stop.

Gasp.

Pant.

Run.

Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop.

I sprint across the car park, following Sam's gurney and the countless adjoined doctors and nurses. They pull her through the doors, and I storm in after them, only to see Sam disappearing down a lime green hallway. I'm about to follow, when someone grabs my arm.

"Name?" a nurse asks, brown hair tucked into a scruffy bun.

"Let me go. I need to see Sam!"

"You can't right now, she is going into surgery. Name?"

I want to slap her.

"Take me to surgery then. I can't leave her alone!"

"I'm sorry, but no. Perhaps after her surgery, and after her parents have arrived." "Her dad is gone! AND HER MOTHER DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT!"

The nurse looks frightened as I bare my teeth, but she soon regains her demeanour. "Sit down right now, or I will have no choice but to call security and have them remove you from this hospital."

We stare each other down for a moment, but in the end, I collapse back into one of the cheap plastic waiting chairs and run my hands through my hair.

"Name?" the nurse asks.

"Carly Shay."

"Patients name?"

"Samantha Puckett."

The questions. They drift through one ear, and out the other. I answer them as best I can. But why doesn't she understand? Why can't we just take me to Sam? I'm so scared. Sam must be so scared.

"Describe how you found Sam," says the nurse. I look up at her.

"She…was in the bath. And her house was trashed. And someone…someone must have tried to kill her. And the blood…there was so much blood."

Everything is so fast. I look at the ground. I'm so weak. The tears are welling in my eyes.

The nurse looks at me expectantly.

"Please take me to Sam. Let me take her home."

My voice won't stop shaking. One minute I want to yell and shriek and rip things apart. And the next, I want to curl into myself and cry. Until I have no tears left.

A warm hand wraps around my shoulder. Perhaps the nurse is sympathetic now.

"Just stay there dear. I'll call you're family."

"Okay," I whisper quietly.

She leaves. I bring my knees up and wrap my arms around them. I'm so weak. I should be in there, protecting Sam. But I'm not.

I'm here.

Alone.

oOo

Lots of interesting people come into hospital waiting rooms. Sobbing women, struggling men, distressed children. The elderly people who are too sick to walk, and the screaming youths, whose arms have been ripped off in car crashes. The druggies, who took an overdose. And the cancer patients, who are bloodless ghosts.

Gruesome, isn't it? Spend an hour in an emergency room, and see a lifetime of pain.

They must be so scared. I'm so scared.

No one stands out. All accept one.

A boy. Brown hair, hazel eyes, sneakers slipping on the vinyl. He runs across the tiles, and straight up to the counter. The receptionist looks up as he talks animatedly to her. She points towards me.

Me?

Me.

He turns around. His eyes are so big. And so worried.

He walks towards me. I stare him down. He stands in front of me and he watches me with tired eyes.

"Carly?"

I untuck my knees and stand up. Stare him down.

He wraps his arms around me, a replacement for my own. I tuck my arms around his neck and put my head on his shoulder. The tears fall of their own accord.

Ironic as it is, Freddie has always been my shoulder to cry on.

I think he's crying too.

We must look strange. Two teenagers, holding each other and sobbing. Not that I care. I don't think I could ever care again.

"What happened?" he asks, shivering.

"I don't know," I cry. I'm shaking.

"Don't let me go," I plead. His grip tightens.

"I won't Carly. I promise."

"Okay."

Such simplistic responses. He keeps asking for an explanation. We sit in the plastic chairs, my head on his shoulder. But I can't explain. It's so weird, but it's as if everything has been erased. All that matters is that Sam is safe. Does anything else matter?

It shouldn't.

"Carly?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm so sorry. I should have listened."

I don't try to defend him. He should have.

A few minutes later Spencer arrives, panting. He says he had to find a parking spot. I watch him shuffle over and sits beside me. Holding his hand in my own, I feel safer.

"I tried to call Pam. She's not answering."

Freddie answers for me.

"She doesn't give a shit."

"I called Melanie too. She said she's catching a flight home tonight."

"Good."

"I don't have any body else's numbers."

Spencer sounds like a sad child. I look up, and speak for the first time in the conversation.

"You did good Spence. Thanks."

I try to smile.

"Sam will be okay, right?"

Who asked that? We're all wondering it.

Finally, a nurse comes over. She looks pale, and a little sad. I think she's the same nurse from before.

"It's too early to tell. She just came out of theatre, and Samantha is stabilized. However, she is in a deep coma. We're doing all we can for her."

Should I feel relief? Maybe.

"Can we see her?"

"We haven't been able to contact any of Samantha's family members, bar her sister Melanie. If Samantha had any family members here, they would be the ones to see her. But she hasn't. So I guess you three are the best she's got. No one can see her, but you can look at her from outside her room. Come with me."

Spencer helps me stand up. My legs feel so numb.

We follow the nurse to an elevator that stinks of bleach. She takes us past countless rooms, with their blinds shut and an array of sobbing family members outside. Finally, we arrive at a deserted room. I peek through the blinds.

My best friend.

Pale.

Cold.

Screams fill me up.

Take me away. I don't want to see her like this. Like a zombie.

With the machines plugged into her. The strange liquids pumping into her arm. Her blonde hair looks almost frail. And her body is so thin, as if everything has been sucked out of her. Like some sort of sick horror movie.

Get me out.

Please.

My legs act of their own accord. I back away from the blinds. It's hideous. She's hideous!

Scared. Worried. Confused. Petrified.

I turn and run. Run for the elevator. Run for the door. Run for forever.

Maybe, if I keep running, it'll all go away. My beautiful best friend will be fine. Nothing will have happened.

Maybe, if I keep running, I won't be by myself.

But nothing happens. I keep running, and running. I make it to the broom cupboard and collapse inside it. And everything is still there. Everything is still happening. My best friend is still in coma. Her boyfriend is still sobbing. My brother is still crying.

And I'm still here.

Alone.

I think this is turning into a four part story. Sorry about that. I don't think I'm very good at writing trilogies.

Thanks for reading! You guys are absolutely amazing 3

-ArtsyAmyStars