iKeep Running Away

New Girl

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot :)

A/N: Well, this update was faster than the last one, so enjoy!

Carly's POV

Junk. Trash. Crap.

All of it.

Some old, horrible striped shirt that Sam loved. It's black and white and she normally wears it with a leather vest. I threw it into the trash bag with all of the rest of her hideous clothes. Her old torn jeans, scuffed tennis shoes and converse, some awful belts that looked like she'd found in a thrift store somewhere.

Obviously none of this was fancy enough for her to take with her to her precious New York City.

I tossed the trash bag into a corner, double checking my closet to make sure I'd gotten all of Sam's things out. Only my brightly colored clothes hung inside, or were folded on the shelves. Only my boots and other shoes lined the closet floor. My closet hasn't been completely mine like this since second grade. Always it was Sam's stuff, too. Sam and I.

My vision blurred as I felt another rush of tears slide down my face.

As I had been doing all morning, I wiped them away quickly with my elbow and continued to search my room for more of my ex-best friend's stuff.

Mentally crossing out the closet from off of my list, I started on under the bed.

I scrunched up my nose. Sometimes Sam kept dishes that she was finished with underneath or her old socks and things. But luckily, for once there was nothing but dust under there.

Satisfied and relieved, I started on some drawers. Grabbing an empty box that Spencer had lent to me, I dumped the drawer, which looked like it was made up entirely of Sam's things, into the box. I stared down into the deep box for a second. Against my better judgment, I started to look through the stuff.

One of Sam's fingerless gloves, her marble collection, an old key chain...a friendship bracelet?

I picked it up, turning it over. These bracelets were made six years ago at the jewelry store back in town. Sam and I went together one weekend and we'd made friendship bracelets entirely out of beads and stones. I think Freddie had one, too. When we gave it to him, he just rolled his eyes. I don't think he's ever worn it.

On the back, written in gold ink was my name,"Carly," printed in Sam's untidy handwriting.

This wasn't Sam's bracelet, it was mine.

I stared at the bracelet for a minute, a lump forming in my throat. I felt sick.

It looked as if it were far too small for my wrist now, having been only a preteen when I made it to fix me. I lifted it up into the light, my vision blurring again. I wiped the tears away in frustration. I'd been cleaning my room for hours and I still hadn't stopped crying since we came home from the airport.

Tired of re-wetting my elbow every few seconds, I grabbed a hoodie from off the pile on my bed and wiped the tears on the sleeve. The smell coming form the clothing wasn't mine. Sam's.

Anger surging through me, I balled it up and threw it into the garbage bag.

Trash.

Bottom drawer. Sam's socks, boy-shorts, and the few pairs of panties that she owned, old bras, and four of five of Sam's journals.

All trash.

Sam's CD's and albums, Sam's old phone charger, her fake I.D., some of her failed school tests, her sketches and drawings...

Garbage.

I tossed it all into the box, suddenly realizing that I was still holding the friendship bracelet.

I stared at it for a moment.

Trash, I decided.

I tossed it on top of the rest of Sam's pointless articles, but I looked down at it longer than I needed to. We aren't friends anymore. I don't need that bracelet. It doesn't even fit anymore. Sam and I don't fit anymore.

Quickly I needed a distraction. A box of my old trophies. Nothing special. I looked through the dusty old gold statues.

Student of the year, 2006- Carly Shay

Carly Shay- Girl Scout of the year, 1999

Perfect Attendance 2009- Carly Shay

Carly Shay- Winner of the Best Written Report Award, 2008

Carly Shay- Best behaved Girl Scout, 2002

Carly Shay...Carly Shay...Carly Shay...

"Gah!" I yelled, my finger snagging against a piece of broken glass in the box. Withdrawing my badly bleeding finger, I stared down at the glass that cut me. How did that even get in there? My finger really hurt!

Ouch! Oh...crap...crap, crap, crap, but good girls don't say "Crap."

Who said I'm a good girl? I challenged. Oh...yes I am.

No. You feel like cursing, then curse.

"Crap!" I shouted so loudly that it I heard it even seconds later, like an echo.

I don't care who hears me, I realized.

I tried out a few more curse words, just muttering them under my breath because I could, because I wanted to, because no one could stop me, because my finger hurt.

I realized I needed to sit down, my legs were shaking. Throwing away the bracelet was hard, but necessary. I needed to finish up my cleaning, not sit around, though. I had other things to do. And my finger was seriously bleeding very badly.

My floor was so cluttered with piles of clothes, boxes, trash bags, books, you name it, that I had to step over the box to reach the other side of the room.

It was a clumsy attempt. I tripped over it box and landed on a pile of my Sam's and my shirts. It didn't hurt. Maybe I was too preoccupied to think about pain. Or maybe my finger just hurt too much.

Pushing myself up, I stood to find myself facing my vanity mirror.

I was shocked to see how I looked.

The same.

Since Sam had left I hadn't aged a thousand years. My hair hadn't fallen out. I didn't even look all that tired.

I wasn't wearing any makeup aside from the sparkly pink lip balm I wore everyday to keep my lips smooth. My makeup-less eyes were red and puffy, but that was really the only difference.

I ran my bubblegum pink colored fingernails through my bra-stap length hair. I cried out when my hair brushed my cut, but I ignored it, merely cursing to cover the pain.

I hated my hair and I hated my nail polish.

With a sudden burst of inspiration, search the cabinets below for a bottle of nail polish remover. Scrubbing away the, now hideous to me, bubblegum pink polish.

Ugly, ugly, ugly.

My cut was throbbing. I'd clean it later.

My fingernails were satisfyingly free of the awful color. Staring down at my bare feet, my toenails were the same terrible color.

I quickly wiped that away, next. All gone.

Taking my thumb, I wiped off most of the lip gloss I was wearing. I smirked at my reflection. Not so girly anymore.

The cut was not longer bleeding, most of the blood had been wiped away. There was the nasty scrape that would leave a scar no doubt, but I didn't care about it. Not right now, anyway.

I had other problems. My nails were clear. Too clear.

I looked through the drawers of my vanity until I found what I was looking for. Sam's bottle of black nail polish. She hardly ever used it, not liking to have to stay still and get her nails painted or wait for them to dry.

Even so, it was an old bottle and about half of it was gone. I shook the bottle. There was enough left.

Suddenly, black was more my taste.

I placed it on the table, out of the way of most of the mess. My hair caught in my face and I felt myself getting angry and frustrated again.

Stupid hair.

Without much thinking, I searched the drawers for a pair of scissors.

Grabbing a bunch-full of my hair on one side, I chopped it off evenly until it came to rest no lower than at my shoulders. I did the whole right side of my head and, liking what I saw, started on the left.

My phone rang loudly from somewhere on my bed.

I knew it was Sam, but rolling my eyes, I got up to sift through piles and pile of clothes until I found my cell.

Another text from the NYC queen.

22 messages unread, I saw.

I was too curious.

I started on the newest one and read down.

Sam: Here in New York. Jeff's mom lives in long island so i'm not that close to the city. i hate my bedroom.

Oh, boo-hoo. No Broadway everyday. How so very sad.

Next.

Sam: We've landed and we're eating lunch. i'm having your favorite. french fries with a milkshake!

Was that my favorite, now? I mused. Like I knew or cared anymore.

I read down the long train of messages, all bearing the same theme (CALL ME. When are you gonna CALL ME. Where are you? You there? And so on...) until I got to the first one she had sent so many hours ago.

Sam: About to board the plane. last chance to say goodbye 2 your bestie? :/

Before I knew it, I had hit the reply button.

Carly: Goodbye.

I felt happy with myself. I wanted her to feel bad. She shouldn't have left me. She shouldn't have left Freddie. Not while he was so in love with her. Not while she was so in love with him. Not while I needed her.

"Bitch." I tried the new word aloud.

I said it to myself over and over.

Bitch, bitch, bitch.

Sam is a bitch for leaving us.

Noticing the scattered clump of dark hair cluttering the floor, I remembered what I was doing and returned to the mirror, grabbing the scissors.

Looking back at my reflection, I saw a new look in my eyes. Bright, yet dark. Sad yes, but determined. They had a new drive in them. I wanted something new. Something else for me.

I knew then that I wasn't the same Carly that I was yesterday. Not just because one side of my hair was over eight inches shorter, either. I was just a different girl.

Good. I like it.

I smirked at myself again. Mirror-Carly smirked back.

I raised the scissors to other side of my hair to finish what I'd started.


A/N: Uh-oh, Carly! Looks like she's not the same, peppy girl we used to know! What is up? Freddie is depressed, Sam is trying not to care, Carly is turning...bad? Now that we understand how the trio are feeling right now...what happens next? A LOTTA awesome stuff, that's what! Review if you want a faster update, and of course if you want Seddie instead of Seff/Jam xD

Sushihiro *´¨)

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