OFFICIAL SEAL OF EDIT. THANK YOU AUSSIEMMA.

A/N This one is in Freddie's POV. Yes, I realize that these characters are slightly out of character and that the details aren't quite the same…*shrug* I kind of like these guys better…

Chapter 2: Freddie POV

My life as a doormat

I awoke to the smell of pancakes and bacon. I lay in bed, running my hands though my hair, trying to ignore my full bladder, and hoping that my mother would fall asleep before I couldn't stand it anymore.

"Freddie! Wake up sweetheart! I made breakfast!"

I groaned. No such luck. She wanted to have breakfast together. Which only meant one thing; she wanted to talk to me about dad.

I was used to this by now, but it didn't make it any easier or any more enjoyable. My dad decided that he didn't want to be with my mother when I was 13. From what I remember, my father had always had women on the side, and my mother always looked the other way. I don't know which secretary dad had at the time, but she must have been a doozy to convince him that he needed to divorce my mom.

I mean, my mom is no picnic. But having a wife that looked the other way while he had affair after affair? You'd think that's the kind of wife he wanted to have. I never could understand his thought process when it came to women. Admittedly, I'm much more like my mother when it comes to relationships.

We're doormats. I have been in love with my best friend Carly since the first day I saw her in 8th grade. Though she's been clear since then that we aren't anything but friends, I still hold a torch for her. I'd do anything for her. I'm her doormat.

Just as my mother is my father's doormat. She still loves him, and while he has no desire to be with her exclusively, she still spends a lot of time with him. My father doesn't love anyone except himself. Even me, I can tell he regards me as a nuisance. Before I turned 18, I was just another responsibility that he didn't want to have. He spent his obligatory every other weekend with me, and by "with me" I mean, that he left me alone at 8pm every night to go off gallivanting with whatever idiot he was sleeping with.

Now that I'm 18, I haven't seen or heard from him directly in months. I like it that way, and apparently, so does he.

I looked at the clock and noticed that it was late, around 10am. I groaned again. That meant mom spent the night with dad again. She works the swing shift at the hospital as a nurse and usually gets off work around 6am. Sometimes she stays up to cook me breakfast, but that's usually at 7 at the latest. Anything later than that means that she didn't come home after work. Any time after that means that she's going to whine about dad. I just wasn't in the mood for that today.

I took my time getting out of queen size bed and into the bathroom attached to my room. I had to acknowledge dad's one redeeming quality. He wasn't stingy with his money. He made sure when mom moved out that we lived comfortably. Since my mom didn't fight the divorce, because she doesn't fight anything, he wasn't obligated to pay a whole lot. But he paid more than he needed to.

When my mom was looking at apartments, I didn't really have an opinion, they all sort of looked the same. When we came to look at this place, I figured it was just as good as any other nice place, but as we were leaving, I saw Carly heading out of her apartment directly across the hall and we exchanged a quick hello. After that I sang the praises of the apartment like it was the Taj Mahal. My mother was only too happy to give me something that made me that excited. I still couldn't care less about the apartment, but living right next door to my best friend/love of my life, is a HUGE bonus.

I wondered if my dad thought that money could fix everything. It sure as hell worked in most areas of his life. Anytime there was a problem with anything, he threw money at it. Even with me, especially at the beginning of the divorce.

I've always lived comfortably, so it wasn't a shock when he tried to alleviate his guilt with the newest gadget for me. At first I was stoked, I figured that I might as well benefit from all the passing me back and forth, but when he got me my 5th iPod, it kind of lost its luster. So one weekend when he left me alone, I left him a giant pile of iPod pieces on his kitchen table. I didn't get any more iPods after that.

I flipped the light on in the large bathroom and noticed that it had been scrubbed clean since last night. My toiletries were lined up in an obsessive compulsive way (tallest to shortest) along the double sink vanity. The toilet paper was folded over into the point like you see in hotels. Washcloths were folded over the side of the whirlpool tub.

"Damn it, ma!" I said to myself. I hated it when she came into my room. It's not that there was anything that I didn't want her to see, (Well, that's not true, but I doubt she'd try to get into the locked drawer beside my bed), but it was that at 18, she still treated me the way she did at 13, which was how she treated me when I was 5.

At 13, I was starting to come into my own. I was really interested in writing, and I had started drinking black coffee and reading Jack Kerouac. My mom was "normal" I guess then, dealing with her job and me in a normal capacity. Then dad decided to leave. She latched onto me, like I was going to leave her next. My every move was watched, my every behavior scrutinized. The coffee habit was taken away, "Freddie, caffeine stunts your growth." I was placed under strict curfew and bedtime routines. Even my personal hygiene habits were topic for conversation.

I didn't rebel against her. I felt too sorry for her. She had lost control of her life and needed control on something. She needed this from me.

Oh. And I'm a doormat.

I came out into the spacious kitchen and sat at the marble topped breakfast bar. My mother was standing at the flat top stove and was still cooking even though the stack of pancakes was about a foot tall and dangerously close to toppling over.

"Ma! I'm not gonna eat that many pancakes!" I said, grabbing a plate and loading three pancakes onto it.

"I know, but you're a growing boy. You eat as much as you can and I'll freeze the rest. You can pop them into the toaster if you want them later." I shook my head at the "growing boy" comment and took four slices of bacon from the plate of about thirty.

I ate in silence for a few minutes while my mother poured the last of the batter on the skillet.

"I saw your father this morning." She said, looking at the skillet and not at me. Which was a good thing because I was looking at her with a look of utter annoyance.

I took a bite of pancakes and said, "I figured as much."

She spun around. "Don't talk with your mouth full, Freddie. Have I taught you no manners?" She said as she pointed her spatula at me.

I huffed in annoyance and swallowed. "Sorry, ma."

She turned back toward the skillet. "Anyway, he wanted me to tell you that he would be home this weekend and you should come over."

I rolled my eyes. My dad said no such thing. More than likely my dad said that he didn't have to work this weekend. He did not mention me, nor did he mention that he would be "home", or at least not home alone.

"I'll think about it." I said shortly.

I learned a few years ago, that arguing with my mother about dad was useless. Arguing with my mother in general was useless. I wasn't going and she knew that, but trying to convince her as to why was pointless. Luckily, my willingness to be a doormat was only pertinent to the opposite sex. I had no desire to help alleviate dad's guilt over me.

"He misses us, Freddie." She said with a heavy sigh.

I rubbed my face. Crap, he was messing with her head again. That was always the worst. I could care less what happened with them behind closed doors. Because that's my mother, ew. But, I have come to accept that she was my dad's wife first and they will always have THAT kind of relationship.

But it really bothered me when my dad messed with her head. It meant bad news for me when I had to pick up the pieces later on. My dad loves the power trip he gets from it. He falls in and out of "love" with her every few months. She gets suckered in every time. I was now dreading the impending dumping scene that will inevitably follow this mess.

"Mom. I love you, you know that." I was about to start getting into the fact that he would no doubt fall into the same pattern that he has fallen into time after time, but it would do no good. She would fall into her pattern too. I sighed.

"Thanks for breakfast, ma." I got up and kissed her on the cheek and went to take a shower. I started thinking about my plans for the day. Plans that would likely include Carly, and Sam, by default.

Some people think it's weird that my only two close friends are girls. Some people think I'm sleeping with them both. Some people think I'm gay. I don't really give a shit what people think. Carly has been my best friend since I was 13. I have been in love with her for that long too. She's well aware of this fact, and has made it clear that she doesn't like me "that way". But early on, I decided I would rather have her in my life as my friend than not at all. But the second she gave me the signal that it would be okay to kiss her, I'd be doing just that.

Carly is the embodiment of a perfect girl. She's sweet, and kind. Selfless to a fault, she is a good listener and gives great advice, and sigh, she's beautiful. No, scratch that, she's fucking gorgeous. Like, out of my league gorgeous. I get all gooey when she looks at me; I want to hold her all the time. She is innocent and funny and… okay, I'm getting a little girlish here with the adjectives. She's everything I want in a girlfriend. But since that's not a possibility, I am happy to have her as my best friend.

Sam is another story. When I saw Carly on my first day of school here, Sam was the one who jumped into the conversation before Carly could say anything. Sam was the one who was interrupting me every time I wanted to spend time with Carly, and Sam was and is ever present in the Shay household, preventing me from ever getting to spend time alone with my best friend.

At first I thought maybe Sam was jealous of Carly, and all the attention I was giving her. But then, instead of flirting with me and being nice like a girl would if they wanted attention, she was downright nasty to me. It was then I figured out she was jealous of me, and didn't like sharing her best friend. She is rude, and sarcastic, and mean, to me; anyway. But she'd bend over backwards for Carly, and because of that reason, I try to remain civil with her. She makes Carly happy. I think that's the reason that Sam TRIES to remain civil with me as well. We both have Carly's best interests in our heart. Though we could very likely do without each other in our lives.

It's not that I don't like Sam as a person. She's tough and while she has a very rough exterior, (again, to me especially) she can be very sweet… to Carly and Spencer. But if I have to name her best quality, it's easy. It's her loyalty. She may pretend to hate my guts and tease and torture me mercilessly when we're together, but I've heard from numerous sources that she sticks up for me when I'm not around. I'd never mention this to her, she'd deny it and then likely go back to those sources and trash me for even bringing it up. But I'm grateful nonetheless.

The only time she stuck up for me in my presence was the day that Tim Parker called me a faggot in 10th grade. I didn't think anything of it. I was a quiet kid; I kept to myself, and hung out with Carly and Sam. They knew the real me, what did it matter what assholes like Tim Parker thought?

Sam did not agree. I still to this day can't figure out her motivation for the following occurrence.

Tim was harassing me, quite aggressively, while I was at my locker and I was dutifully ignoring him. He was shoving me against the locker while I was trying to take books out, saying things, like, "So, who you got a crush on this week faggot? Kiss any boys lately?" I was facing my locker, but I was about to turn around and crack out, "Yeah, your mom", but Sam one upped me.

She came up to me out of nowhere, slipped in between me and my locker, put her arms around my neck and pulled me into her, then kissed me hard on the mouth. It caught me so off guard that I had no idea how to react. She threaded her hands into my hair and tugged gently. I lowered my hands from my locker to around her waist. She slipped her tongue into my mouth and moaned. That single moan was the hottest thing I'd ever heard in my life. I lowered my hands to her hips and let my tongue caress hers. I started to groan and really get into this amazing motherfucking kiss, when she pulled away, kissed my nose and said,

"Thanks for last night, baby."

She walked off, swaying her hips, and I was left panting against my locker, hard as a rock.

Tim didn't call me a faggot anymore. Sam and I didn't talk about the kiss, and when Carly mentioned that there was a rumor that Sam and I kissed, Sam laughed it off and said that she'd rather kiss a dog's butt than kiss me. I didn't argue with her. I didn't say a word.

I was grateful. There were also some lingering feelings that I couldn't identify, but I just wrote them off as typical feelings after a first kiss.

Yes, my first kiss was a pity kiss. Scratch that. My ONLY kiss was a pity kiss.

I heard a couple of rumors that I didn't want to know after that. For some reason, most of the male population saw it necessary to tell me about Sam's sexual history, given that now I was included in supposed history. Sam is not innocent. Well, I take that back. Who knows how many of the rumors were actually true. I mean, I was now rumored to have slept with her and that's not true. But it did make me look at Sam differently. I don't know if I never saw her as a girl before that, or if I just didn't see her as the type of girl that needed or wanted a guy.

I was so used to Carly going on and on about the perfect guy (who, on paper, is me, by the way), but I don't think I've ever heard Sam even mention guys around me. Maybe she saved that conversation for when I wasn't around. Before this kiss and the information that followed, I'd always viewed Sam as asexual. It took a few months before I could act right around her. I kept envisioning her sexually.

Where I'd once pictured Carly's face and body in my mind during my "special shower time", Sam began to replace her, and the innocent fantasies with Carly, suddenly became somewhat graphic fantasies with Sam. It was unnerving. I was used to feeling this way about Carly. Sure, she didn't reciprocate, but she wouldn't break my arm for thinking romantic thoughts about her either.

I finally decided to quit thinking of either of them and focus on someone safe, and from then on, it was Jessica Alba who visited me in the shower. The feelings, or whatever it was, with Sam fell to the back of my mind and things fell back into a more normal pattern.

But I never really stopped seeing her as a girl. I mean, Carly is gorgeous. Perfect. Statuesque. A goddess. Carly has dark hair that you just want to run your hands through. Carly has perfect, girly curves that I can only imagine how they feel beneath my hands.

Sam is, well, Sam is Sam. It's not that she's not pretty. She really is. Stunning even. It's just hard for me to even think of her that way. The girly way. But yeah, if I had to give a physical description of Sam, I'd say she's pretty hot. And while I don't really see her in the girly romantic way, like the way I see Carly, I never stopped seeing Sam in a sexual way. I can only imagine the things (and sometimes I do) that she will do the poor sap of a guy who dates her.

However, it was Jessica Alba who was just finishing up with me in the shower today. I rinsed off and got dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a blue polo shirt.

I didn't have anything to do at all, except start going through my stuff to start packing up for college. I was really looking forward to a brand new start, even if I was staying in state. But I'd be living in my own place (paid for by daddy dearest, of course). I was still pursuing writing, and I'd had a couple of job offers already, but I'd been putting off writing my own stuff for a long time, and I figured in college, I'd get a chance to do just that. Carly wasn't going to the same college as me, but she was staying in state too, so we would still be able to see each other, but be able to branch out a bit. I'm a little worried that she's going to meet her prince charming there at the University of Washington, but I know that her standards are a bit lofty. Seriously, that's not just my pride; she really has completely unreasonable standards.

She's studying to be a photographer, which explains the constant clicks and flashes that are there even in my subconscious. We have documentation of every aspect of our lives from the second her brother got her that camera. As the years went on, her artistic talent got better and better. By our senior year, she had won numerous awards and had been nationally recognized as a photographer to watch. She has made me collage after collage, scrapbook after scrapbook, and I treasure each one. She's made them for Sam too, though I've never seen the ones she's made for her. I'm dying to; as I'm sure she's dying to see mine. Carly always makes sure to put the most embarrassing pictures of me in these scrapbooks, like I am desperate to keep the picture of me in the holiday sweater that my mom made me wear to Carly's house, or the one where I grew really fast one winter and all my pants were 3 inches too short and all I had were SpongeBob socks left. Anyway, Carly lives for photography, so Sam and I have just grown used the notion that there is always a camera around. We both got over our camera shyness after about a month. Carly's always in her dark room, or next to the computer, she does both digital and film, which I think is a dying art, and Carly thinks is classic and should never go away. I can't wait to see what she does with what college will teach her, I'm sure she's gonna go far.

Sam is funny about the future. Or the past. Come to think of it, I don't know much about Sam's life, other than what she talks about in front of me, and she keeps that pretty vague. I know that she works her ass off in the crappy diner downtown and makes sure that Carly and I eat for basically nothing, which is ironic, since we both have money to spare, but I have no idea what she spends her money on. I have no idea where she even lives. She's not going to college, as far as I know, and I think she lives with her mom, but like I said, she keeps the details of her home life pretty hush hush.

I have overhead a couple of things through the years. There was one time in particular, the summer before junior year when I learned a little more than I was supposed to.

I heard Sam and Carly talking in the kitchen when they thought I was upstairs. Sam was really upset, which is what caught my interest. Sam is never upset, or at least never shows it. Angry, sure. All the time. But upset? Never. I got as close to the kitchen as I could and I could hear Carly soothing her.

"It's okay, Sam, you can stay here as long as you need to." Carly said.

"I don't know what else to do, Car. She said if I go to the cops, she'll kill me. You saw what happened when they brought me home last time." Sam's voice shook.

"I know, Sam, I know."

With that, I headed back upstairs and told myself I'd give Sam a break on the sarcasm for a while, it sounded like she was having a rough time.

They came in the room a few minutes later, looking like nothing serious had just happened.

"Everything okay?" I asked, looking directly at Sam.

"Why wouldn't it be?" She challenged, narrowing her eyes.

"I don't know, I was just asking." I said defensively.

"Well, next time you want to get all touchy feely on me, let me know so I can leave." She replied harshly.

And that was the end of my nice streak to Sam.

I sat in my room for a while, while I heard my mom clean the kitchen and go to sleep. I checked my email and read one from Spencer, Carly's brother. It was an invitation to his band's gig this weekend. Sweet.

Spencer is awesome. He's the closest thing I have to a male role model in my life, and I try my best not to cling, but it's hard not to. When Carly brought me to her apartment the first time, he sat me down and did his best to have a "dad" type conversation with me about Carly and limits and keeping my "hands and other body parts the fuck off of her". I had to give the guy some props; he scared the shit out of me. Sam graciously offered to keep me in line, and Carly just rolled her eyes and told Spencer that "it wasn't like that."

Later on when the girls were upstairs and I was down, Spencer asked if it was "like that" for me. I nodded, and then scared that he was going to give me another speech about not touching her, I quickly replied, "But not the way you think, I mean, I like her, and I don't want to touch her, I mean, I do, but not, I mean…" Spencer laughed and shook his head.

"No worries, bro. I remember junior high. Hang in there, she'll notice you eventually."

"Here's hoping."

Spencer is still on my side. Still pimping me out to Carly whenever he gets the chance. I love that he's on my side. He's both the big brother I never had, and the father figure that I wish I did.

I saw another email from my dad, telling me to tell my mother that he had to go out of town for the next few days, so he wouldn't be home.

Bullshit. Fucking Bullshit. Not even man enough to tell her himself. Ugh.

I started playing video games and must have gotten into it. I heard a knock at the door, and pulled out my cell to check the time. 1pm already? I saw I had a text message and checked it on the way to the door.

Call me when you get this! So excited! -Carly

Hmm… wonder what's up. I was about to call her back when I opened the door. I dropped the phone and my jaw, and then an overwhelming urge to kill someone surged through my veins.