A/N I know nothing I can say will make leaving for a year any better but, know that this past year has been super hard for me and I wasn't neglecting this on purpose. And with that, I'll let myself out. I'll be keeping author's notes on my tumblr from now on (scy-ence dot tumblr dot com) because I feel it rips you out of the vibe of the story but still leave reviews here please! Unless there's a question you have, with which, my inbox is always open. And oh god I'm just going to stop talking because heaven knows I've kept y'all waiting long enough. Please review though, or I'll get all weird and soul searchy
You roll over and stretch out, taking over the entire expanse of your bed.
Wait a second. You shouldn't be able to do that.
You jerk your head up, glancing around. Cat is nowhere to be found. You grab your pearphone and check the time.
Ah. It's almost ten thirty. Cat must've gotten up for school without waking you up. Awesome.
Your slowly awakening eyes become aware of something bright pink in the corner of your eye. You grab it. Cat must've left you a note on your pillow. That, or she has a weird habit of writing in her sleep.
Bleh. It looks like a foreign language. Your eyes shouldn't be subject to reading this soon after waking up.
Okay, okay, blink. Blink again. Long blink.
Is it any clearer now?
No?
Bah. Doesn't matter. Whatever it is, it can probably wait.
You're about to throw the note off your bed and into the abyss that is your messy floor, where the chances of it ever getting read would be slim if any, when your brain spots a word that is always recognizable no matter what time of day it is.
Bacon.
You spring up like you've never heard of the word fatigue in your life. You scan the document quickly, only wanting to get to the important part. The bacon.
Hey, Sam! I made you breakfast to make up for waking you yesterday!
Wait, stop! Don't run to the kitchen!
You stop mid-sprint, your right foot dangling in the air. How did she know?
I know you wake up whenever you smell bacon so I put your clothes
in front of the door to block the smell!
Move them first or you'll fall!
I hope you like everything I made for you!
XOXO Cat!
Ah. It seems all of your dirty clothes (that were already on the floor) are bunched up to block the space at the bottom of your bedroom door, where the smell could leak in.
That's pretty clever on her part. There's definitely a brain in that head of her's, it just decides to work with the oddest things.
I would say you gingerly move the clothes out of the way but let's be honest you don't do anything gingerly. You kick away what you only see as obstacles and swing open the door with vigor only comparable to your hunger.
You can't get to the kitchen fast enough but when you do, you're met with a most conflicting sight.
There, on the counter, is what you had been promised. The bacon mentioned in the letter that Cat wrote. Yes, it is there. But it is almost microscopic.
Your measly three pieces of bacon, next to an equally disappointingly proportioned amount of eggs, sit on a tiny plate. The plate is so tiny. So tiny you can't even explain. SO TINY that you believe Cat has done this on purpose and wants you to starve. So itsy-bitSY TEENY-WEENY it must be breakfast for ants.
But then you notice it. You notice. It. IT.
A huge bowl with saran wrap covering it next to your baby breakfast.
You tentatively step closer.
For some reason, you're wary of whatever its contents may be.
You peek in the huge bowl through the clear covering.
THE HUGE BOWL FULL OF HEALTHY BREAKFAST.
THE EVIL GIRL HAS FILLED THE BOWL BIGGER THAN YOUR HEAD WITH FRUIT SALAD.
Instinctively, you push the threatening food away from yourself and huddle over your mini-breakfast.
Did she actually think you were going to eat that? Who does she think you are? Just because she wants you to eat healthier doesn't mean you have to.
She thinks she's so smart. She probably thought you would scarf down your bacon and eggs in two seconds and then, with your hunger growing from the tease of food, be forced to shovel the fruit salad into your mouth in one wild, blind action, realizing that it's actually pretty good, though you'll never tell Cat that and say you threw it in the garbage.
Wait.
That's exactly what happens.
You burp, tossing the bowl into the sink. Some things can't be helped.
Like the other dishes that you ultimately leave there because, well, you thought about putting them away, but then realized you're much too tired for that, and it's the thought that counts anyway.
You get up from the stool, yawning. Your legs drag you back to the bedroom where you decided you would continue your sleep. It's way too early and really, you had only gotten up to eat. Now that that was over, you had nothing keeping you awake. Right?
You're about to get back in bed when it starts staring at you menacingly. The idea you had that was so genius yesterday is now your biggest regret.
There, in your open drawer lies your laptop. The one that has schoolwork you should be doing on it and now, because someone's absentmindedness makes her forget to close drawers, was staring you in the face.
You walk over to your nightstand and put both hands on the drawer. You have full intentions to close it. And then pretend you never saw anything.
But, as you look at it, an uneasy feeling creeps into your stomach and it rushes to your hands making your fingers twitch and you're grabbing it out of the drawer and forcing yourself out to the kitchen table because ugh, you should really be doing your schoolwork. You manage to grab one of your notebooks and a pen off the floor as you make your way out the bedroom door.
You sit at the table and open your laptop, frowning the entire time.
You're also frowning when you type in your password to get on the internet school.
And you continue as you look at the list of assignments.
And dude, if frowning were an Olympic sport, you would've taken home the gold for USA.
You click on the first link and your screen is immediately filled with a video of a teacher explaining today's lesson.
Oh crap it's that one guy. That one teacher with the incredibly droning voice. The guy who sounds better suited to a job as a hypnotist and not the teacher at a school where you can't get in trouble for sleeping.
Speaking of sleeping, you're screwed. Because along with this guy's pendulum voice, a wave of exhaustion brought on by the food finally hits you.
Aw man, this plus that equals you being a mess with half-lidded eyes and an arm that can't keep your head propped up no matter how hard you try. Your other hand scribbles on your pad in a last-ditch effort to stop the inevitable sleep. However, anyone who looks over your shoulders to read your notes would be distressed to find that the center of the cell is actually "n" and then what looks like the beginnings of a "u" but becomes a line that drags down the center of your paper.
And then, there you are. Out like the lights in the Mercedes-Benz Superdome after Beyonce's performance. Neither of you stood a chance.
Some things can't be helped.
It's never this quiet here.
The root beer you hold is cold in your hand. It's also slightly wet from condensation. You can't remember how long ago you grabbed it from the fridge.
You look down at your clothes.
Oh no. It's that day.
Yet you still move forward, still push open the door.
"Carls?"
You see the suitcases and feel the confusion swell in your stomach. Like new.
She notices you're here. She looks distressed, stumbling over to you. "Sam!"
It's a peculiar feeling, to feel slightly displaced, like everything's happening without your say, while also bruising for the first time. Like both spectator and actor all at once.
"What is this…?" You can't move. You're frozen in both your inaction and reaction. The cold room moves without you.
"Sam, I-" She tries to reach out to you but is cut off by a cough. A cough that racks her whole body, making her double over.
"Cupcake?" Your voice is so tiny it sounds like someone else's.
You move towards her shakily as her coughing becomes more violent. You're close when you see it. She's coughing up something.
Sticky black smoke is seeping from her mouth with every cough. It quickly begins to fill the space around you both.
"Cupcake?" You ask, your voice trembling even more than before. You're afraid and your feet are stuck in place.
Her coughing persists and the smoke keeps coming. The floating black tar starts to touch you, you can smell it, feel it on your skin.
"Carly!" You beg. You don't know where she is anymore and if she can even hear your cries, but either way the darkness continues to swallow you. "Carly! Please stop! I can't breathe!"
You're disappearing, you can feel it. It's all you feel, save for the intense fear that brings mist to your eyes.
You extend your arm, to maybe somehow latch onto Carly in the darkness but your hand meets nothing. You're alone. Wherever Carly is, it isn't here.
You float in the blackness and you're suffocating. Your lungs are being crushed. It's all around you and inside you.
You think you're upside down. But you don't know for sure. It's hard to tell in complete darkness. You wonder how much longer you can go without breathing. Probably only a minute or so more. So that's it then, I guess.
You know that darkness cannot talk but you feel it telling you to give up. It pulses, and with every beat your will is broken. A hum sounds in your ear.
It gets louder, reverberating, and all of the sudden the darkness is filled with a sense of familiarity.
Your bike is beneath you.
You blindly grab the handlebars and rev with every last ounce of energy you have left. Which isn't very much, considering you're seconds from passing out due to lack of oxygen.
But it's enough. You emerge onto a black road in the middle of a desert. Slamming on the brakes, you gasp, taking in as much air as possible as the black cloud floats above you and then finally away from you.
You sit there on your bike, breathing heavily. Oxygen never felt so good to your aching lungs. You watch the darkness travel away from you.
If you were an appreciator of your surroundings, you would notice that the sun is about to set, casting an orange light on the already red atmosphere.
"Oh my god," you wheeze, throwing your head back in relief.
For a moment, everything is calm. Not even the wind disturbs you, picking up the sand and displacing it.
"Sam! Help me!"
You crane you neck to look in the direction of the sound because you know that voice. Your stomach sinks when you see your suspicions are correct.
Cat.
The inky cloud has swallowed her up.
You're turning your bike and willing it to go as fast as possible.
"Sam!"
The helplessness in her voice rips you apart. You push the gearshift up violently, and then once more, and then again. The gears can't switch fast enough on this damned motorcycle. You don't care about ruining your bike, all you can see is Cat being dragged away by darkness.
"Come on, come on." You hiss through gritted teeth. You're close enough to clearly see the fear in Cat's eyes but not close enough to do anything about it. "Give it gas one more time, Puckett."
You grip the handlebars so tight you feel every groove deep in your hand, and you accelerate so fiercely either the handlebar is going to snap or your wrist is. However, most fortunately, neither of those things happen, but your bike speeds up to give you those last couple feet.
It's a good thing you've never cared about doing dangerous things on your bike, because what you do next is definitely not what motorcycles are for.
You stand up, or at least as much as you can while keeping one hand on the handlebars. You reach out to Cat's already extended hand.
If you were an appreciator of art, you would notice that your hands are stretched out towards one another like the subjects of that one famous Michelangelo painting, except your hands are calloused and greedy, reaching to Cat with every pleading muscle in your body. You don't intend an unadorned touch for creation, but a strained grab meant for the postponing of destruction.
"Sam! Don't leave me!"
"I won't! I-I'll get you outta there, Kid!"
Your fingertips are barely brushing one another. You just need another inch. You just need to be able to grab her hand.
She's crying because she knows you can't reach her. And you're crying because fuck, why can't you reach her?
Your bike gives up underneath you, dragging you away as it spirals out.
When the world stops spinning, she's gone. The whole cloud is gone. It's just you, the road, and that fucking setting sun.
You were supposed to save her. But you couldn't keep up with her.
In rage, you turn back to your useless motorcycle.
"You can't do anything!" You scream at the inanimate object and it's echoed back at you, screeched a thousand times by voices that aren't your own. It brings you to your knees.
Tears fall freely from your eyes as you cover your ears to stop hearing the screams.
You jolt up.
"What the hell was that? Okay, no more fruit salads."
Confusion being the source, you grab your laptop with renewed vigor. A fever dream caused by Cat's concoction is not going to stop you from getting work done. Actually, if anything, it makes you feel the need to complete it more. Like if you finish it, maybe the heavy feeling in your stomach will go away.
Wait? Sam Puckett actually wanting to get schoolwork done? Yeah, that fruit salad definitely made you sick.
But still, you pull your laptop close and click the half circle that will make your lesson replay. You can only hope it doesn't have the same effect as before. You slept off most of the itis, and not to mention your heart is still racing from your crazy dream, so you really don't have much to worry about.
Well, that's not exactly true. You have tons of things to worry about. Falling back asleep just happens to not be one of them at the current moment.
Actually, as you begin to fudge your way through today's lessons, your hand scribbling away hurriedly at your side, the sense of worry never leaves you. And neither does the image of a setting sun that burned itself into your vision.
I guess I wasn't giving you enough credit earlier about the whole "not appreciating your surroundings" thing.
You continue on.
Your feet tap on the ground, your fingers drum on the keyboard, and your hand runs across your forehead more times than you would care to say. This doesn't come easy to you, but you're trying your best.
You exert more energy in the three hours it takes to complete your schoolwork than you probably have in your entire school career. You don't know why you suddenly want to try now, and it's exhausting. The thought of having to do this all over again tomorrow almost makes you want to join a traveling circus. You know how easy it is to give up. You've done it before.
But this time, this time is different. Cat put something in your food and now you're afraid to fail.
Stupid Cat. It always comes back to her. It's like your mind is a broken record. Or maybe even a record with only one song, in a player where the only button that works is repeat. And the song is Cat's voice saying your name and her smiling at you when she walks in the door.
You have to admit you wish she'd walk in the door right now. Most likely actually into the door, since she forgets to open it sometimes. A small, hidden part of your brain secretly hopes it's because she gets so excited to see you that she doesn't think straight. But the rest of your brain pretends you don't care and calls her stupid for it.
You're so backwards.
You're the stupid one. You're the one sitting at a kitchen table, with your head propped up on your fist, waiting for Cat to get home like a sad dog. How stupid is that? To have an ache in your chest in anticipation of seeing a person you'll end up acting like is a burden to you anyway?
You sigh, trying to exhale Cat.
You can't be bothered.
You still see the setting sun when you close your eyes.
You pull your sketchbook close to you. At least there was one thing you could get out of your head.
"Honey, I'm home!"
You glance up at Cat before returning back to the drawing before you. "Hey, kid. How was school?"
"So boring!" She throws her backpack down haphazardly near the coffee table. "I thought I was there forever!" She makes her way to the kitchen and scoots you over, making room for herself to settle in close to you. She could've sat on the other side of the table, but no, the space previously occupied by one person looked good enough to her.
You don't resist, but you do try to keep yourself from enjoying the contact too much. Which becomes much harder once she slips her arm around yours.
"Cat, stop. I can't draw like that." You say, giving yourself an excuse to unravel yourself from her.
"Whatcha doing?" She ignores you, rewrapping her arm around yours and even going so far as to lean her head on your shoulder.
You exhale irritatedly. "I WAS trying to draw something from this dream I had. But I guess I'm done anyway since I can't paint it."
"Why can't you paint it?"
"Because I don't have any paint, duh."
"Oh. Sam?"
"Yes, Cat?"
You want to interlace your fingers, but you focus on aggressively wringing your pencil instead. You're close to pushing her off you. There's a pattern here that you're not noticing. The one where since you can't display feelings of affection, it turns into misplaced aggression. That's why you're so mean. Meanie.
"Did it feel like I was there forever?"
You're caught off guard by her question. You weren't prepared to have to come up with a lie, your mouth hangs open as you let out a lame, "Huh?"
But fortunately, she seems to not actually be expecting an answer from you, because she continues talking idly.
"I think they're making the days of school longer without telling anybody. The teachers keep talking and talking when I just want to come home and... Mr. Sikowitz talked about evolution today. I don't think it had anything to do with the play we were supposed to be doing... "
You bring your free hand over your face. "Wow, that's super interesting." Your voice drips with sarcasm.
"I guess." She responds with a sigh.
Her head feels heavy on your shoulder. Not to say she has a big head or anything, it's more so the weight of your own pretending. Pretending you don't want to lean your head against hers, and pretending you couldn't stay like this all day.
You have to get up soon. For your own mental health.
"He said fish just walked right out of the ocean. Like they grew legs, I guess? And we came from apes that started talking? I don't know. It was all very confusing."
You nod. You know she's not expecting any answers from you, but you wanted to give a sign that you were listening anyway.
"If we came from monkeys why does just a bunch of hair only grow from our heads and not all over? And why can't we talk to monkeys?"
"I dunno, Cat. You should've just asked your teacher."
"Yeah, but he's crazy. He's not a scientist!"
You laugh. "Neither am I!"
She smiles at you, lifting her head off your shoulder. "No, you're not!"
A devilish grin spreads onto your face. "Yeah, and you're not a doctor!"
She laughs because she doesn't know what you're talking about. "I know I'm not a doctor!"
"So then what was the deal with that fruit salad?"
You've got her now. You don't know why you're bringing it up though, she's just going to tell you the same thing she always says. Maybe because your ego's still a little wounded from eating the whole thing.
"Wha…?" Looking away from you, she still doesn't get it. Then recognition shows up on her face and she meets your eyes. "Oh! The fruit salad I made you! Did you eat it?"
You were prepared for this lie from the very beginning. "No. Why'd you give me that little bit of bacon?"
She frowns, and you know if her arm wasn't looped around yours she'd have her arms crossed disapprovingly. "Sam! You have to eat healthier! You can't always just eat stuff that's bad for you!"
You frown right back at her, but your eyes are still smiling. You're not really angry, you're just a sadist that likes seeing people get all riled up. Especially Cat. "I thought you just said you weren't a doctor! Let me eat what I want! I'd rather die at 50 with a cheeseburger than 100 with a salad!"
Now she's pouting.
"Sam, don't be mean."
And there it is. That tone of voice that always makes you relent. You decide you've had your fun and smirk.
"All this talking is making me hungry. Are you going to make me lunch or am I gonna have to order out? Probably something real greasy…"
You stare her down and she's trying her hardest not to smile back at you. But she doesn't hold out for long, and she gets up quickly so that you can't see the smile that find its way to her face.
"It's past lunch, but I'll make you something anyway. Something nutritious!" She emphasizes the last part and you roll you eyes. "I just have to use the bathroom first."
She begins to saunter her way to your shared bedroom.
"You just make sure you wash your hands!"
She turns back to you, sticks out her tongue, and then disappears behind the corner.
And as you watch her walk away from you, you realize that stupid thing is there. That unneeded warmth in your chest that stops at your neck. If only you could get rid of it by taking off your sweater.
You know that's not the cause of the heat, but you rip it off anyway, to prove a point. To whom, you don't really know.
The TV beckons you, if not just to offer a simple distraction, but you become keener on the idea once you realize you haven't watched TV at all today anyway.
Plopping down on the couch, you grab the remote, tuning into something loud and violent. There are lots of explosions, fast cars, and people shooting out of said cars. Also known as your kind of program.
You try to indulge because you know that soon Cat will come in and demand that something less intense be put on. And then you'll have to pretend you don't enjoy watching stupid TV shows with her. Because she always leans against you and your body always end up leaning towards her without your permission.
If only you could go back to that ignorance where your behavior never seemed weird because you didn't know you liked her. Back when sometimes you were mean and other times you were nice, but you never really thought about it. Before you started thinking about everything.
Your brain is not used to all this work. And one could definitely tell by the way you're handling things. Ignore, ignore, ignore. Instead of think, think, think. Things are too complicated. You just want to watch movies where people punch things.
And if things are going your way, right now, you can do just that.
The overly muscular man on the screen yells something about revenge.
Someone knocks on the door.
You roll your eyes once you realize it's the actual door.
Things never go your way.
Pausing the movie on screen, you stomp your way to the door. Hopefully the person can sense your annoyance on the other side and will just leave before you get there.
You throw open the door. "What?"
Because that's definitely the way people are supposed to answer doors.
The girl standing before you is momentarily confused by your appearance, as if she was expecting someone else. That or your demeanor caught her off-guard.
"Hey! Sam!"
The girl looks at you like she knows you, and it's strange because you've never seen this girl in your life. Why is she smiling at you? And why is she smiling so big? Ugh, you already find this girl unbearable.
"Uh, who are you?"
The confused look is back on her face. At least her smile is gone. "Tori?"
Your face stays blank.
"Tori Vega? You met me at a party? I'm Cat's friend?"
"Um… no?" None of that rings a bell. And you thought Cat didn't have any friends.
"You don't remember the party? You and everyone from iCarly came! You're Sam Puckett!"
Well duh. You were famous on the internet. Of course she knows your name.
"Yeah?" You say in the most sardonic tone you can muster. She doesn't catch the hint.
"You know what's funny though? From Cat's notebook, you would think your last name's Puckell-"
You slam the door on her face before the sound of the l's even get to fully leave her mouth. She's lucky that's all you do. Hearing your name pronounced like that throws you into a blind rage and you could've done much worse.
Cat suddenly appears from out of your bedroom. "What was that?"
You plop down on the couch and press play on the remote to let your explosions commence. "Nothing," you state indifferently.
"Oh." She takes your word for it and starts heading to the kitchen. That is until the knocking on the door returns.
You sigh loudly and crankily because you want the whole world to know how displeased you are with current events. Cat pays you no mind and goes to answer the door anyway.
That Tori girl is persistent because she's still standing there ever vigilantly.
"Hey-"
Panic rushes to Cat's face and she slams the door.
You smile. Never in the time you guys have known each other have you felt more of a connection to Cat then now. She looks totally flustered when your eyes meet.
However, the girl at your door is relentless and begins knocking loudly, refusing to give up.
"Cat, open the door!" She yells from the other side.
Cat looks like she's going to be sick. But she goes to open the door anyway. Who could this girl possibly be?
"Hey, Tori!" Cat says in her most airy voice, as if the entire exchange didn't occur.
"What?" Tori retorts, reasonably bewildered.
But instead of explaining, Cat just begins shushing Tori. Even going so far as to put her index finger on Tori's lips, all the while nervously glancing back at you and pushing Tori out the door. She closes the door behind them once they're both over the threshold.
That was weird. You know Cat is just a weird person but that was super weird even for her. And why was she trying to keep you unaware of whatever the situation was? And once again, who is that girl?
You don't take very well to Cat trying to hide something from you right in front of your face. You have to rectify this.
You get up and stomp your way over to the window next to the door. You peek out. "What are you guys talking about?" you demand.
Cat notices you and almost jumps out of her skin. She smiles uneasily and then pushes Tori even further away from the door.
You frown something intense in her direction, never breaking eye contact, even as she moves to come back in the house.
"What are you doing?" You pester as soon as she enters.
She moves past you to grab her coat. "My friend Tori just came over because she wants to grab some coffee. So… we're going to go do that."
"What? You don't even drink coffee? And I thought you didn't have any friends beside me?" You might as well have an overhead light with the way you interrogate her. But she slips past you, ignoring all your questions.
"I won't be gone long! I'll see you when I get back!"
And she leaves quickly, before you have a chance to scrutinize her more and continue what is really just you throwing a tantrum.
What does she mean, "I'll see you when I get back?" Does she think you just sit around waiting for her? Waiting to see her face so you can breathe again?
Pffft, the nerve of that girl. You've got plenty of things you could be doing. Like… well, you can't think of anything in particular right now but believe you, there's tons!
She thinks she's the only one that can go out and do things? You'll show her.
In a huff, you grab your backpack out of your room, along with quickly tossing on your black pullover hoodie, and head out the door.
You climb onto your bike and start it up, heading in no particular direction. It's California, you'll find something to do easy. There's people all over all the time, and with people, comes the opportunity for mischief.
Yeah, that would definitely make you feel like your old self. A little mischief. Or, more likely, a lot of mischief. You weren't really the type of person to give someone a break. Yep, if you were going to cause some trouble, it was going to be all out. Go big or go home as they say.
But as you tear down the road with the sun at your back, you can't really think of anything. Your mind keeps going back to Cat. You wonder what's she's doing. You just saw her a couple minutes ago and you're headed in a direction away from her, and yet, it's like you left your mind with her.
You think about driving into the side of a building. Anything to escape this cloud hanging over your head. It's pink and asks you about evolution.
You accelerate your motorcycle loudly. You couldn't go any faster than you already were, you were pushing ten over the speed limit, but you hoped the sound would clear your head. You couldn't get anything done if you were stuck in there.
Digging deep to regain your impulsive nature, you turn onto a street without really thinking about it. You were going to go with the flow, trying to get back to when you made a mess of things and didn't care what anybody thought.
You look to see that you're on route to the mall.
Perfect.
Time to take some ass and kick some names.
Or however that phrase goes.
When did it get so dark out?
You've been driving around in a fog. You didn't even end up going to the mall. Once you got there you didn't have the heart to get off your bike. You stared at the people and thought about all the pranks you could pull. But how funny could any of it be if you were the only one laughing at it?
You never thought that you, Sam Puckett, would need an audience to perform.
You had to do something. You couldn't go back home and when Cat inevitably asks you what you were out doing, say nothing. You couldn't tell her that you can't bring yourself to give a shit about anything outside of your apartment.
You pull into an alleyway. Your take your key out and drag yourself off your bike. Your feet feel so heavy as you walk toward one of the alleyway walls.
When in doubt, make art. Or, I guess, what others would call vandalism.
You dig into your backpack, searching for the spray paint you always keep in there. You never know when the mood will arise so it's best to just always be prepared.
Your search only awards you two cans. You could've sworn you carried more, but you must've knocked them out at some point with how often you just throw you backpack all over the house. But two is more than enough. Heck, you could do something really cool even with one. You hold them up to the light of the street lamp and squint, checking what colors they are.
Black and gold. You can work with this. Dropping your backpack on the ground (you would fight anyone that dared pick it up), you start to spray color onto the gross, forgotten wall. You don't have a picture in mind really, but your hands are moving all by themselves. You're not really good at thinking ahead in general so I guess it's no different when it comes to your art.
It feels like you're hypnotizing yourself. Your eyes get lost in the swirls of paint you create with your hands and the golden pillars you make before you. It's almost as if it's alive, growing by itself. You nearly miss hear the footsteps behind you. Nearly.
You glower in their direction. The footsteps were light, not the sounds of anyone that could be too big, but you wanted to be on the offense anyway. You already weren't really yourself, but you'd be damned if you let someone sneak attack Sam Puckett.
And it's just a kid. Maybe 12 or 13, with snot in his nose and an air about him that tells you he's comfortable in these streets. He's definitely not lost and expecting you to help him. Good.
You go back to your work, and he just watches you.
Where are this kid's parents? What did he want from you? To teach him the ways of graffiti or something?
You're slightly annoyed but not annoyed enough to tell him to leave. Or maybe you just don't have the energy for it. Whatever you were creating was taking the last you had left.
You sigh.
"Don't fall in love, kid." You say without looking behind you, but he has to know you're speaking to him given that you're the only people around.
You step back and stare up at your tag. You bring out your arms to point to it in an exaggerated manner. "You'll start making stuff like this."
"I don't know what that is." He finally speaks, and he practically sounds like he knows you.
You throw your hands up. "I don't know either! That's the point! I'm not making this for me, I'm only making this to pretend I'm not making it for someone else."
Suddenly you look at him as if truly seeing him for the first time.
"Why am I even talking to you? I hate people. Arg, I'm losing it! Get outta here kid!"
He shrugs his shoulders and sprints off, which you're grateful for because kids around that age tend to be shitheads and you didn't feel like roughing him up. Oh man, you of all people, for once in your life don't feel like getting into a physical altercation. That's crazy. You've got to be legitimately sick or something.
You grab your backpack and hop back onto your bike. You take one final look at your handiwork. It's just a crawling mess of black swelling around golden beacons, but never managing to overtake them. Good enough, you think, and slamming the key into the ignition, you speed off before the cops come. That kid could've snitched, so better safe than sorry.
The stars are beautiful tonight. The golden pieces shine brightly against the stickiness of the black sky.
Though you don't realize nor care, you just want to be home again.
This feels like the longest bike ride of your life.
You stumble into your apartment, paper bag clutched tightly in your hand. You slip your backpack carelessly off your shoulder.
"Yo girly. I went to Inside Out and got dese burgers."
Cat is sitting on the couch, a little sulkily I might add, but still she's obviously in the vicinity to hear you but offers no response.
You walk over to sit on the arm of the couch. "You good? Did Tori do something stupid?"
"No. We just talked." Short but at least a response. What is it about this day that is making Cat act so weird?
You reach down to start taking off your shoes, it felt like a rock out with your socks out kind of night. "Oh, man. What did that girl- whoa." Without warning Cat is standing awfully close to your face. She catches you off guard since you were looking down, you didn't even see her walk over. "Hey there Cat."
She's staring at you really hard, and it's like whenever she's this close you can see her thinking.
"She said I should…" Her sentence trails off as her gaze falls to the floor.
"What?" Your voice comes out more demanding and panicky then you would like, but it's probably because your insides are on fire.
And then just as abruptly as she came close to you, she turns around and runs off. "I can't!"
You hear the door to your bedroom slam. You're left with two choices.
Either, one, you leave her be and let yourself cool off.
Or, two, you follow her in there and see what's making her so… strange. I mean, more than her usual strangeness of course.
Despite most of your body protesting, you go with the second choice, figuring she can't be mad at you for coming in since it's your room too.
"Cat, what did Tori sa- You are in the wrong bed."
She continues to lie on your bed and doesn't make any sign of moving.
"I know. I'm not stupid." She retorts, looking particularly cross, particularly at you. But as you move closer to your own bed (which this girl has the nerve to make you wary of approaching), you see that her face is twisted in that "only angry at yourself" type of angry with the tinge of feeling sorry for yourself that comes with it.
She hides her face in your pillow and you sit down on the edge of the bed. You stay like that for a while and eventually you start to get the hint that maybe she might not want to talk about whatever she and Tori spoke about. Although the curiosity is killing you.
"Hey, I got something to tell you. You'll be proud of me."
She leaves the position that you're sure was suffocating her and turns to you. "What?"
"I actually finished all of my dumb schoolwork today!" You don't know why you're telling her this. Maybe you just wanted to give her some sign that there's no pressure for her to explain the events of the day. At least not now.
She smiles. "That's good! I am proud of you!"
That goofy grin that only she brings out shows up on your face. You don't really have anything else to say but Cat's not pouting anymore, so you must've done something right.
Or maybe wrong because she's staring hard at you again. She's not nearly as close as before but that offers no alleviation of the fire that flares up under your skin. Whenever she looks at you for too long, you can't meet her eyes. You're afraid she'll know. You'll look at her for too long and you won't be able to stop yourself from kissing her.
Fuck. That was the first time you've consciously thought about kissing Cat. Shitballs. It's all downhill from here.
"I think this is my favorite place," Cat states, breaking the silence.
You clear your throat. "What? Here?"
She looks from you to the many things surrounding and around your bed. She nods gently. "Yeah. Your bed… with you."
What did that old man say to Carly once? That he had angina?
Well, now you definitely know how that feels.
You can feel your heart beating in your throat.
The boy toilet becomes your area of study once again.
"I like it here too," you breathe. Of course you like it here, it's your bed. There's no way anybody could read more into that, right?
"…with me?" And it's more of a squeak than a question.
You breathe deeply, trying to exhale all this fucking uncoolness. Exhale the butterflies and the shortness of breath, and inhale the smirk and making direct eye contact.
"You're alright, kid."
And she's smiling again because she knows that's the best she can get out of you and her face is making it a lot harder to be cool so you hurriedly change the subject.
"Now are you gonna eat those burgers I got or what?"