Of Accidents and Automobiles


Prompt: Story

Fairytales

Sam's run out of stories to tell Brooke.

She's already gone through every book either of them owns. They're stacked in neat piles by the hospital bed, next to Brooke's collections of Seventeen and CosmoGirl. She also has her mom's copy of War and Peace in her bag, but she's decided Tolstoy might be a little heavy for comatose teenagers. She'd tried the magazine racks in every waiting room too, but all they had were back issues of Healthy Living or Home Improvement. She doesn't think Brooke would be interested in those.

So she'd "borrowed" some books from the pediatrics department instead. And Sam finds it terribly ironic to be reading Cinderella, because, after all, Brooke's supposed to be the spiteful stepsister. But maybe reading stories out loud is more for herself than for Brooke. Maybe she just needs something to keep the despair at bay, something other than the rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor and the constant whir of the ventilator.

Because there's one story she really should tell Brooke, even though she knows she never will. It's the story that plays out in her dreams, the one that reads like a fairytale even though it isn't, the one where Sleeping Beauty is a cheerleader and her saviour is a dark-haired maiden.

"Please wake up, Brooke."


Prompt: Breaking

Broken

Breaking is all Brooke's known for most of her life -- broken family, broken spirit, broken bones. She remembers growing up alone with only her father, starving herself down trying to be impossible, running into the road and having a car crush her. And so Brooke thought she knew breaking; she thought she knew heartbreak when she really didn't.

Because even now that her bones are all mended, her bruises all healed, and she can finally walk again, she still feels broken inside. She feels broken every time Sam laughs or smiles, every time Sam waves at her but talks to Harrison instead. Broken is something she's become intimately familiar with.

So when Sam barges into their bathroom without knocking one night, Brooke only looks away. Many retorts come to mind, but none leave. Instead, she goes back to brushing her hair, gazing at the mirror, and trying not to see the thin scar that runs along her jaw.

"I broke up with Harrison."

Sam's words are quiet and firm, a simple statement of fact. Brooke's reply is nervous and unsteady.

"Why?"

There's no answer. There's just Sam's lips pressing against hers, and suddenly, Brooke thinks she can feel the broken shards of her life start coming back together.


Prompt: Caring

Always Approval

"I like your shirt," Brooke says, and Sam smiles inside, looks away.

"Thanks," she responds offhandedly, pretending not to care.

And if you asked Sam, she would say that it's always been like this, that she's always hated herself for caring, for needing Brooke's approval. It's been this way since they first bumped into each other all those years ago, even though she didn't understand it then. So she thought that maybe if Brooke wasn't beautiful and popular, maybe if she wasn't head cheerleader or homecoming queen, maybe if Sam tore her down, then her opinion wouldn't matter.

But nothing's changed, because Brooke isn't any of those things anymore (except for beautiful, she'll always be beautiful) and Sam finds herself still caring.


Prompt: Cancer

Dissonant Signs

Sam is creative and caring, sensitive and sincere. Sam is devious, and determined, and loyal, and a hundred other things that shouldn't matter but Brooke can't stop thinking about them. She can't stop thinking about Sam.

Because she's read all the books, and she knows it can't possibly work. She's a Leo, and Sam's a Cancer. It's fire and water; it explains all the arguments, all the fights, all the quips and schemes and glares. It explains everything, except the way her heart beats faster every time they see each other.

So when Brooke gets home that day and Sam is waiting for her, she can't help the sweaty palms and shaky voice. She stands just inside the door, wiping her hands against her pants and trying to find the words. Nothing comes to mind though. All she can think of are Sam's shy eyes and quiet smile, her nervous fingers and wildly arrayed hair.

Neither speaks when Sam steps closer, takes Brooke's hands and leans forward to press their lips together. There's just eyes closing and a shared breath, overloaded senses and a random question when it's finally over.

"Do you believe in astrology?"

"No."

And that's good enough for Brooke.


Prompt: DUI

Driver's Seat

Sam is sitting in the driver's seat, but only in the literal sense, because Brooke is the one leaning across the car. Brooke is the one holding her against the seat and crushing their mouths together.

They haven't left the driveway yet, and Sam is dimly aware that this is not a good idea. It can't be a good idea to be making out with her stepsister just outside their house, but she can't get herself to stop. She can't get her head to stop spinning, her hands to stop shaking, her skin to stop tingling.

And Sam's never really been drunk before, but she's heard lots of stories, so she thinks this might be what it's like. Because her mouth can't seem to form the words her brain should know, she's light-headed in a rollercoaster kind of way, and she's absolutely sure she wouldn't be able to walk a straight line right now.

"We should go somewhere," Brooke says between kisses, "before they wonder why we're still here."

Sam is barely breathing. "I don't think I can drive like this."


August 2008