Second chapter just like you guys asked!
anon: I honestly had plans for that, but there will definitely be some bumps, twists, and sharp turns along the way. So be patient! And thanks for reviewing
VavanBoriLovee: This is for you! Second chapter haha! But I do need ideas on how to go on with this. The party was one problem, now I just need another…than another. So please help me out, if you'd like. And thanks for the review!
2nd person P.O.V again. All Cat unless I should do someone else's…?
Okay so I know I didn't do it last time but…
Disclaimer: I do not own Victorious, unfortunately.
CPOV-
Later that night, you can't sleep at all. The picture of Beck's face when he says good-bye to you keeps popping into your head like an alarm. And the more you think about it, the more you think about your last memory of him for the night: he's half-way closed the door on you, a tired smile on his face. He turns around sharply, leaving the door open.
"Jade?" he asks. You lean around him to see her sitting on the couch. You watch with wide eyes as she unbuttons the first button on her dark red, long-sleeved shirt.
"Happy Birthday, Beck," she murmurs, no – slurs.
And then the door shuts, right in your face.
You squirm in your bed as you hug Mr. Giraffe close. You whisper to him the two secrets that you are keeping from Beck, and you imagine that Mr. Giraffe is nodding with you and crying with. You imagine him putting his hoof around you rubbing your back sympathetically. You don't know when it became reality, but you hear your brother crying silently while sitting next to you. He's rubbing your back.
"Why are you crying, Cat?" he asks sadly. You turn over to face your older brother. You see the tears in his eyes, and the confusion. You sigh, earning a tear to fall from your ADHD, eighteen year-old brother's cheek. You wipe it away and tell him that you're okay, you just have a lung ache.
"You mean a heart ache," he says matter-of-factly.
You smile at him through your own tears.
"Yeah," you say quietly. "But I'm okay."
He leaves a little while later and you feel a twinge of guiltiness because he was up so late. Your mom would have to deal with him in the morning until you came home. You think about why you're gone every Saturday morning, and the pressure it puts on your mother since she's a single mother and a widowed wife, and not having you with her means a lot of pressure to handle, especially because of your brother.
As a family of three, you've made it far. From living in almost poverty a year after your dad's death, to your mom getting promoted as co-CEO in the Pear Phone industries. You went from pinched house in the slums, to a massive modern house equipped with the waterfall pool and skylights and glass walls.
You've changed so much over the past five years, but you've also have stayed the same. Like your weekly trips every Saturday morning to the graveyard in which both your dad and your grandpa 'sleep' in, or so your brother says.
It does leave your mom a little bit antsy each Saturday, but she respects your decision anyway, and lets you go, always leaving you with the parting words of "Tell your father I said 'Hi'."
You still feel a little guilty, though, like you always do. Because that's how you acted five years ago. You always felt bad for others, not yourself, and you always felt like you could have done something to make things right. You always found yourself thinking: I could have given them my babysitting money, and they wouldn't be begging for food on the streets today.
Your mother has tried to talk you out of thinking like this because it has had its consequences. You don't like to talk about it, and neither does your mother, so you don't.
When you finally fall asleep, your dreams somehow manage to be care-free, peaceful, with no Jade or Beck in them at all. It's twelve in the afternoon when you wake up. Your brother has already had both breakfast and lunch and he's been begging to see you all morning, but your mother has forbidden that he wake you up. Little do you know that she was in the doorway of your room last night, listening to your conversation with your brother.
She smiles at you as you hurry down the stairs, pulling on your jacket since it's raining and unseasonably cool today. You practically run to the kitchen and grab a piece of toast from the pile stacked high with it, sitting down in between your brother and mom at the kitchen island.
You eat hurriedly, planning on getting to the graveyard before it really starts to storm. You kiss your mom's forehead before you leave and rumple your brother's hair as you pass him on your way to the door. Your mother calls after you to not stay out too long in the rain, and you wave your hand at her distractedly. Although you haven't completely gotten your driver's license, your mom allows you to drive to the graveyard, anyways.
The engine of your mom's Volvo purrs as you speed down the street, windshield wipers going at full-speed, the warm air blasting through the vents. It's silent for a moment until you turn the radio on, looking for something to distract your mind from last night. It's a song you know:
Life's too short to even care at all
Oh-whoa-oh
I'm losing my mind, losing my mind, losing control-oh-oh
These fishes in the sea, they're staring at me oh-whoa-oh-whoa-oh-oh
A wet world aches for the beat of a drum
Whoa-whoa
You sing along, softly at first, but when the song's almost finished, you are belting out the words and singing the ending softly, just like Young The Giant does in the song. The next song is played and you arrive at the graveyard a moment later. It's still sprinkling.
You sit in the car for a few minutes, realizing the tears that stain your cheeks. You brush them away, because you don't cry alone. You only cry in front of your brother and Jade – and Beck.
Because he's your best friend.
And the memories of last night are brought up again and you close your eyes as they become reality to you. You whimper at them and clutch at your sides, feeling the hurt in your heart again. Your brother wasn't lying; you did have a heart ache.
You feel sort of betrayed the more you think about Beck and Jade. Or Jade and Beck. Or even the stupid nickname they were given – Bade. What kind of name is that? Usually you don't think in a mean way. You try to stay away from being harsh or bitter, but there's always that side to someone. Always.
And it's nearly impossible to get away from, but when you feel that way, there's only one person that can get you out of your funk. Can bring back the old Cat, the happy, sweet one. Why?
Because he's your best friend.
But as your best friend, he's nothing more than that. He's hers. Your other best friend's. That bitter edge in you is screaming; screaming at the possibility that it could have been you and Beck, screaming at the possibility that it could have been the three of you; no girlfriend and boyfriend problems, and screaming at the possibility of no girlfriend and boyfriend problems ripping the three of you apart. Before they got together, the three of you had been the 'It' group at Hollywood Arts; the greatest group of friends the school had ever seen.
But now, it's over. The friends are no more since two of them got together and the last friend was left as the third wheel for everything.
You scream out loud, punching the middle of the steering wheel so hard it honks loudly and you cradle your hand with the other as it throbs painfully. Immediately, you feel stupid and immature, but that's just the way you are when you react impulsively. Immature. Like your brother. After breathing deeply, you pull your hood around you and open the car door, stepping into the cold, wet outdoors.
Your father's grave isn't far from the entrance, but you run anyway, thinking all you need is to just be near your dad, whether he listens or not. You find yourself thinking about the last time you came here. It was a day almost like this, but someone was with you. Not your mother. Not your brother, though he had begged to come with, but threw a fit when your mom had told him it was a special Cat thing. No, it was Beck.
Because he's your best friend.
He had wrapped his arm around you comfortingly, looking around in question since it was his first time here. You said nothing to him as you walked, and when you arrived at the grave, his breathing stopped altogether, making the silence almost unbearable. You placed the blue roses that your mother told you your dad loved so much in front of the grey marble grave, then leaned into Beck's side.
He wrapped his other arm around you and you stood like that for who knows how long. When he finally let go, the sun was shining and the clouds that had been over you were long gone. He left you alone so you could talk to the dad you wish you knew better, but had unfortunately lost at the age of three.
You're snapped out of your flashback when you arrive at his grave. The roses are still there, but they've wilted under the California sun despite the numerous amounts of showers you had the past week. So you drop to the ground in a kneeling position, ignoring the muddy ground and the weird way it feels on your bare knees. You bow your head almost subconsciously, and your hair falls into your face.
You whimper as you start to cry again, the tears coming fast and furiously. You think that you had cried enough last night, but apparently your eyes have a lot left over. They make trails on your cheeks and they sometimes move onto your nose, dripping off of it along with the rain drops. You don't say anything the whole time you're there, but you think the words to yourself. You wish to yourself, too.
You wish that he was here. You wish that he could help you with your problem. You wish that he could be here for your wedding, and for when you start a family. You wish for a bunch of things like that, but you're bitter. That edge hasn't gone away and now you start to blame your dad.
Why did you have to go? you demand in your mind.
Why did you have to leave my mom alone with us?
Why can't you be here to help her? She has enough work as it is, and now she has to do it alone!
You get up suddenly and run, feeling all of the anger and hurt and sadness over the past two days crashing in on you. By the time you make it to the car, you're soaked, and on the verge of having a mental break down.
You hold on, though, because you have to get home. Because your mom needs you. Your brother needs you. And unlike your dead father, you won't leave her helpless. You won't leave her alone. You won't leave your mother's heart aching.
So you drive – somewhat blindly – back to your house. Back to the home you've always known, even if the location has changed multiple times. And you realize that you like your home the way it is; without your dad, without Beck, without Jade.
And so when the song 'Home' by Phillip Phillips comes on, you sing along like it's the greatest song in the world.
Hold on to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you're not alone
'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home.
You're not a hug fan of country, but this song suddenly means something to you. You think, this is your song. You share it with no one, and no one can take it away from you.
When you get home, your mother is still sitting in the kitchen, reading the paper. You feel that this is what your family is. Your mother, the head of the house. It surprises even yourself when you walk towards her purposefully and hug her from behind. She jumps in surprise and turns around to face you. You step back uncertainly, but she sees your tear-stained face and grabs you again.
"Oh, Cat, sweetie," she murmurs, her cheek pressed against yours. You don't cry again, but you sniffle.
"It's okay…you're okay. You're fine."
You hug your mom for a while, then go upstairs to your room to shower and change. When you finish, you sit in front of the fire that your mom started, absently combing through your hair again and again. You think of how childish you were, running from the grave. Your thoughts are interrupted, however, with the doorbell ringing.
Your mother goes to get it, and a moment later, Beck is standing behind the couch, a worried expression on his face. You only stare at him, afraid you might do something stupid or rash.
"I called him," your mom says, and you give her a pained look. She shrugs her shoulders then leaves the room, muttering, "Teenagers…"
It's silent for a minute, as he walks around the couch and comes to sit next to you. You continue to brush your hair and purposefully turn to stare at the flames.
"Cat," he whispers. You don't move, but your hairbrush glides through your hair again.
"Cat, what happened?" Silence. You don't want to talk to him. You don't even want to see him. He's infested now. He's not pure. Your special instinct's radar has an alarm whenever it spots someone you shouldn't talk to anymore. You feel like crying – an angry crying – and you don't want him to see this time. You're mad that he's no longer innocent. He's a big boy, and you're still immature, childish, and ridiculous.
You can't stand him anymore. He's gone. He's not the boy you've known since the age of one.
So you finally turn to him, your face livid.
"Go, Beck. Just go."
"W-what?"
"Go!" Your voice is so forceful that he scrambles up, a scared expression on his face.
"Cat," he pleads.
You scream and cover your ears. Your mother rushes in and you watch her as you yell at the top of your lungs. She looks at you frantically then pushes Beck out into the hallway, trying to yell over your screams. Before he disappears from view, you see him look at you, the worried look changed into one of hurt and confusion. You ignore how this hurts your own heart and just continue to scream.
You faintly hear a door slam, and when your mother walks in, you stop. You uncover your ears and rush to her. She hugs you and strokes your hair, her anger at you for making a scene long gone.
Later that night, as you lie in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, you think about how you reacted to Beck. You seemed angry and frustrated, like you were on the inside, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized that the reason why you were upset was different from the reason you thought you were upset about.
You were upset because you couldn't be like him. You couldn't grow up. And you couldn't grow up with him.
And so, as the single, lone tear falls down your cheek, you feel bad that you treated Beck like that.
Because he's your best friend.
A bit of a shorter chapter. Sorry, I just thought there wasn't much left to write about for this scene. Anyway, when I wrote 'And you couldn't grow up with him', I meant that Beck grew up because he lost his virginity to Jade – or so Cat thinks. Haha I'm not telling but the real answer will shock you. I hope. Sorry, I'm just trying to make this as interesting as possible. And when I wrote that I meant that Cat wanted to lose her virginity to Beck along with Beck losing his virginity to her. I hope that makes sense and sorry I didn't put the meaning in the story. I just felt that that part shouldn't really have an explanation if you didn't get it.
So how'd you like it? I just want to point out that the ending of this chapter is also a great one to end on…just saying. But if you wanted another chapter, I suppose I could work on it. And remember, if you have any ideas for a chapter, please tell me. I like to have a single problem with each chapter, along with a resolution to it. For instance, this chapter had to do with maturity and stuff like that, and Cat realizes that she's not mature enough and Beck is, so she gets all upset about it because in her opinion, one person being mature and another person being immature won't get along together very well, so she basically thinks that her's and Beck's friendship is done. Sad!
Please review!
-TeamSwiss737