Blue Christmas Without You
Cat hates silence. She doesn't hate much, it's hard to hate things when you're so in love with the world and everyone in it, but she does hate silence. She knows that silence can only mean bad things; after all, the only time her friends are ever quiet is if they're fighting or sad. But Cat is never silent, unless everyone else is, because then she doesn't know what to do. She can't fix it, because she also knows that it's very hard to fix things when you don't know where to start. But she could always fix things with Sam. They'd fought before, and they'd had their fair share of problems that needed fixing. Together, they were always able to work it out. But not this time. This time, the silence between them is overpowering, reminding Cat of humidity in the summer, and making her feel lower and more upset with each passing minute.
Sam is reclining on the couch, slouching so her stomach juts out and her chin comes to rest on her collarbone. She gives the impression of watching TV, but her glare is angry and although her eyes are focused on the Food Network, her mind is anywhere but here. Cat just watches, perched on her stool at the island and observing Sam, waiting for the tiniest flicker of life or move; at this point, she would take any sign, any indication that Sam is okay, or at the very least, alive. The noise from the TV is dull and almost lulls Cat to sleep right on the spot. It's so different from the usual bustle and chaos in the apartment, and it makes the pit of Cat's stomach harden and twist in worry.
"You can stop looking at me now," Sam says finally, in a voice that's neither sharp nor friendly.
Then she shuts of the TV and turns to Cat, her face unreadable. "What's up?"
The question makes the walls close around Cat and she struggles to find an answer, to breathe. She's never been good under pressure, and Sam's usually amiable blue eyes have turned icy and interrogating. The better part of her, the part that trusts Sam entirely, knows that it's not on purpose. Sam would never hurt her, would she? No, of course not, and Cat calms almost instantly, though Sam's gaze hasn't softened in the least. But Cat searches her features and it's still Sam. The girl who saved her from a garbage truck, the girl who brought her an entire TV set just to make her happy. The pressure eases, just a little, and the walls move back, but the question still hangs in the air and reflects in Sam's eyes.
"We…we need a tree," Cat says finally, her eyes darting to the empty space in the corner between the TV and the door that they had left open for the tree.
"I'll pick one up later," Sam replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. Then she squints at Cat. "What else is up?"
Cat recoils slightly and begins to turn away, but she's locked in place by Sam's gaze. She heaves a sigh and comes to stand in front of Sam, looking down at her on the couch with a bashful, sheepish look.
"Who called you from Seattle?"
The words hang in the air uncomfortably for a moment, as a shadow crosses over Sam's face once more and her eyes melt from their iciness to a burning, flickering anger. Cat averts her eyes from Sam's steely gaze and leans back on her heels, twining her fingers together and trying to stop herself from falling too deep into the dark, unforgiving pit of regret.
"It was nothing," Sam says, her voice hard and steady, but her face reveals the swirling storm of emotion beneath the surface.
"Come on," Cat whines, plopping down on the couch beside Sam and nudging her softly. "You always take care of my problems. I wanna take care of yours."
"Right." Sam replies with a bitter laugh.
"Come on," Cat repeats, reaching out without thinking and covering Sam's hand with hers. "We're friends and I can help you, if you'd just let me."
Cat is sure her mind is playing tricks on her, as it usually is fond of doing, but she swears that she felt Sam's hand tremble under hers. She looks up, unafraid, and meets Sam's eyes, sees the turmoil and uncertainty churning beneath her stony exterior. But she can see Sam slowly cracking; even someone as tough and masked as her is not immune to pressure. Cat feels her heart swell with an emotion so strong and powerful that it overwhelms her instantly and leaves her feeling breathless. She can't name it, but it's something she's never felt before, something that she doesn't recognize, and something that scares her just a little. But she hurries to erase the worry that she knows has emerged on her face. She has to be strong, for Sam.
"Trust me," she murmurs.
Sam rolls her eyes and lets out an exaggerated huff, and Cat decides to play along. If Sam has to act tough and uncaring before the barriers come crumbling down, so be it.
"It was Freddie," she begins with another disgusted roll of her eyes. "He called to tell me that everyone up in Seattle wants me home for Christmas."
"Who's everyone?" Cat asks innocently, her heart hammering in her chest because she feels she already knows the answer.
Sam shrugs dejectedly, "Freddie and Spencer. And my mom, I guess. He kept saying that he'd talked to my mom and that she wanted me to come home, but I haven't heard from her. And then he told me Carly was coming home too, but I didn't hear from her either."
"So what are you gonna do?"
There is a voice in Cat's head that knows the answer, whispering it madly in a cruel, shrill hiss, relentless and terrifying. But Cat tries her best to block out the voice, to strain for hope and for Sam and Cat, for Christmas and togetherness. Because Sam wouldn't leave her alone on their first Christmas together, would she? Cat believes so firmly in Sam, the way a child believes in Santa and the way an innocent believes a liar, because they don't know any better and because they want to so badly that they delude themselves into it. She holds onto the good that she know Sam holds within her, holds onto the perfection of their togetherness, the care that she sometimes detects in Sam's eyes. She forces herself to look up at Sam, find some sign that confirms her hope and seals her trust in Sam solidly. But the face she finds is not one of certainty or bravery or dedication.
And the answer she receives is even worse. "I don't know."
In a rush of disbelief and heartbreak, everything comes tumbling down around Cat. Sam might leave her here alone for Christmas; even the fact that she's considering it makes Cat's heart clench. The lofty, shining pedestal that Sam once sat on in Cat's mind tumbles to the ground, ash and dust filling the air and clouding Cat's senses, clogging her emotions with confusion and fear. And finally, her outsides break too, and the flood gates open. Before she can stop herself, before she can even fully rise from the couch and escape into the kitchen, the tears are flowing, warm and hateful against her cheeks.
"Kid," Sam scolds, her voice lacking any of its usual edge, however. "Don't cry."
Cat whirls around, facing Sam with watery eyes, "I can't help it! You're gonna l-leave me. And tomorrow's Christmas Eve."
With that, she buries her head in her hands and the tears flow anew, spluttering and unstoppable. She hears Sam sigh softly near her and a gentle, welcome warmth envelopes her in a somewhat awkward embrace. She cracks one eye open blearily and finds herself completely surrounded by Sam, her nose buried in her golden hair with Sam's strong arms wrapped loosely around her waist. It's not the hug Cat had always dreamed of, but it's a hug from Sam and it's more comforting than Sam will ever know. But it doesn't stop the tears. It only serves to remind her that no matter what Sam does now, she could be leaving soon and the thought of being alone in the apartment for Christmas, with only the too-cheery decorations for company, sends Cat shivering.
"I don't know if I'm going," Sam says in a hushed, soothing voice that Cat didn't know she possessed. She pulls away slightly so she can look Cat in the eyes. "For now, let's just say I'm not going, okay?"
Cat nods shakily, sniffling and attempting to smile in her usually cheery fashion, but she finds that her entire being is too heavy to be coaxed into smiling, even if it is for Sam's sake. Sam smiles slightly, but the mood remains uncomfortable and the tension still hangs in the air, covering the two of them like a heavy blanket and slowly suffocating them, stopping them from speaking and moving. Finally, it's Sam who musters up the last of her strength with a squaring of her shoulders and an intake of breath and throws the blanket up from over them.
"I'll make hot chocolate," she offers somewhat awkwardly and maybe a bit too kindly. "And we can watch a movie."
Her voice is soft and sure of herself, and she sets off in the kitchen, busying herself and preparing their hot chocolate. Cat sinks back onto the couch, feeling suddenly vulnerable and exhausted after her rush of emotion. She watches Sam work, a clear reminder of how much Sam cares for her, even if it is in secret. But even the precision and care that Sam uses while making their hot chocolate does nothing to dispel the fear and worry from Cat's mind. When Sam returns to the couch bearing two steaming mugs of cocoa, they begin the movie and sit in silence for the rest of the night, weighed down by their private thoughts and worries until the night grew late and sleep overtook them.
Cat doesn't remember moving to her bed the night before, but in its comfort and warmth she is glad that she ended up here, one way or the other. With bleary eyes and shoulders achy from oversleeping, she sits up slowly, stretching and gazing around the room as she usually does in search of her favorite roommate. Surprisingly, Sam's messy bed is empty and the sheets are even folded neatly on her bed, crisp and clean instead of looking like a tornado had just blown through Sam's dark and tough side of the room. A surge of panic builds in Cat's stomach and rushes upward until her breath catches in her throat. She leaps out of bed, throwing the covers back and practically sprinting into the main foyer of the apartment, her feet barely touching the cold ground.
"Sam?" She cries, her voice sounding desperate and childlike even to her ears.
She is met with the thing she fears the most: silence. The motorcycle is gone, the leather jacket that hangs by Cat's pink Hollywood Arts sweatshirt is not in its usual hook, and all signs of Sam have been erased from the apartment. The only remnant is the decorations, that seem to reverberate with Sam, Sam, Sam and echo a past dream, a dream of a perfect Christmas with the perfect girl, a dream that has now been obliterated.
Cat sinks down onto the couch and buries her head in her hands, not to cry, but just to escape the emptiness and sadness of it all.
God dang I made Cat so emotional what the heckity heck. But hey, it's a chapter. And I think it's an all right one. Also, I think there's only one more chapter after this so it may be done before Christmas! Wouldn't that be great? A Christmas fic, finished before Christmas. Golly gee. Who could've guessed?
But really, how'd I do? And what are your plans for the holidays? Review, loves, for reviews make the mistletoe grow!