I was feeling super ambitious so here's the next chapter- I hope you like it! As always: review, review, review!
Oh, and I guess now would be a good time to mention that this story is rated T for substance abuse (mostly alcohol), some violence, and slight language. (Nothing too extreme though!)
PS: I don't exactly have experience with alcohol, so I'm writing a lot of Sam's parts based on what I have read, and heard from others. If I mess anything up feel free to tell me.
Enjoy! :D
*Sam's POV*
There were many aromas that I had grown to hate over the years. That dreadful, indescribable odor of school in September was one of them. Another was the scent of my mother's cheap, overwhelming perfume, which usually indicated that she would be going out, abandoning me for whichever sleazy guy she went home with that night. The unmistakable smell of the not-exactly-legal substances I often caught a whiff of around my crappy neighborhood was one of the least pleasant, because it reminded me of the dump I was stuck in. All of these sucked, but the worst, by far, was the strong, awful smell of Vodka that had so often hit me when I stepped into my apartment.
On an autumn Friday, late in October, I walked into my home to be greeted by that incredibly unpleasant smell that I had come to be so familiar with. It stung in my nose and was strong enough to make me gag, but I knew the worst part would be looking in the kitchen or den to see what had become of my already screwed-up mother. That was always the worst part.
Growing up, other kids came home from school to the smell of chocolate chip cookies baking, or a freshly cleaned house. For me, it was always alcohol. Although at a young age I didn't know exactly what the point of alcohol was, I knew my mom used it to escape her problems. I also knew that one of the primary problems she wished to get away from was me. A little later I figured out that she was an alcoholic. I even tried to help her a few times when I was younger and more naïve. Of course, each time I confronted her, it resulted in a painful slap across the face, a violent fit, or extreme denial, followed by either of the previous, so I eventually gave up on her.
I walked a little further and came across two Vodka bottles, one half-finished, and one completely empty; I gulped. All I could do now was hope that she had passed out already, so I could avoid the erratic, often violent state she was in when she was wasted. I sighed, looking down at the bottles again. My mother had tried other kinds of alcohol, but always returned to Vodka, because she could get it really cheap. She drank it straight, so it also gave her the quickest escape from the horrid life she so longed to leave.
"Sam…is that…you?" called my mom from the den. I walked in to find her clumsily staggering from the couch towards me.
Shit.
"Uh..yea. I'm home. I think I'll just go to my room now and-"
"Not..so fast." My mother spoke in a tone that sent shivers down my spine. I inched closer and saw how glassy her eyes were.
"How much did you drink?," I asked cautiously.
"That is NONE of your beeswax, young missy…."
Oh, God, I thought. She was so far gone. Her weight was currently being supported by the side of the couch, and her worlds her so slurred that they were practically incoherent. I walked once again towards my room, but was stopped by her outstretched arm. I could've fought past it, but I knew it was best not to mess with my mother, especially when she was this inebriated.
"So, what time did you get home?" I could hear the anxiousness in my tone as I asked this fairly simple question. She had been out when I left for school this morning…
"Why the hell are YOU so curious?" Her stance changed drastically in a split second, the way it often did when she was so intoxicated. She now looked defensive, violent. I backed away slowly as she stumbled toward me.
"Are you trying…to leave, Samantha?" I cringed at her use of my full name. I opened my mouth in attempt to say something to calm her down, but before I could, her cold hand hit my face with a great amount of force. I winced, but I was able to keep silent. Her brown eyes flashed dangerously as I started for the door.
"You, Samantha, are not goin' nowhere…" She stopped me by forcing her pale, bony arms into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. Still, I refused to indicate that I felt any pain.
"You…are a stubborn, little bitch, Samantha," she said, with a somewhat sickening smile. She took a clumsy swing at me, missing by just inches. I ducked as she took another, this time avoiding me by even less. She took one more shot, hitting my left cheek this time. I stumbled sideways nearly falling on the floor. That one would leave a mark. It took most of my strength to keep from screaming.
My mother tried to hit me a few more times, farther and farther off with each swing. Her taunting words slowly became even less intelligible, and her stumbling got worse. I took advantage of her more dormant state, and escaped to my room quickly, locking the door. I heard her giggles and hiccups in the distance, as well as the random words she spoke to no one. Eventually, these sounds faded and I assumed she passed out. I decided not to risk it and check if my guess was correct, so I resolved to stay in my bleak, but safe room.
A part of my mind observed that this had become a twisted pattern. On most days when my mom was home, I hid out in my room after having the crap beaten out of me. Miserably, I sighed, knowing that today wasn't even one of the worst experiences I'd had with my drunken mother. I looked at the damage in the nearby mirror, and was relieved that the bruise on my cheek was light, so it could easily be concealed by make-up. I laughed darkly, with no real trace of humor, as I realized that it was pretty sick to be relieved after any kind of abuse from a parent, or anyone for that matter. It sucked to have a mother who I constantly feared might drink too many shots, and then take some shots at me. My eyes filled with tears, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them spill over, even though I was alone. After all, Sam Puckett didn't cry- ever.
I absolutely detested dealing with the pain that came after a beating. The cuts and the bruises were bad, of course, but the sadness was even worse. Numbness always came first, followed by complete melancholy, and usually some angst. I wanted, no, needed to avoid the emptiness, the self-pity. To block out all thoughts, I stared at my walls, focusing on only them. They were a dark, grey-blue color, never repainted when my mom and I moved in. Normally I loved blue, but this was a dreary, austere color, which, much too often, represented my mood.
Just when I thought I would lose it completely, an idea occurred to me. I grabbed an old pen, and a notebook filled with half a page of science notes, and I wrote.
*Freddie's POV*
"…and remember, don't put your drink down, because someone will spike it! And don't kiss females! Oh, and don't forget to call me…" My mom had been ranting for a good ten minutes before I could get a word in.
"Mom, please relax. I won't do anything stupid. Now, I really need to get to Carly's. We're leaving in a few minutes." It was Halloween, and I was leaving, or rather, trying to leave to get to the party Maya had invited me to.
"Okay, Fredward. Just be careful! And be home by curfew! And make sure there's a mature, responsible, adult, authority fig-"
"Bye, Mom!," I called, cutting her off as I walked out the door, across the hall, and into the Shays' apartment. I looked around; it was empty except for the zesty Halloween decorations created by Spencer.
"Freddie, is that you?," called Carly from a distance. "We're upstairs!" I made my way up, and was greeted by Carly, Sam, and Gibby in the iCarly studio.
"Hey, Freddork," smirked Sam as she struggled to walk in a pair of pink, strappy shoes.
"Hey," I answered, not the least bit offended.
"What exactly are you supposed to be?," she asked, looking highly amused by my outfit of choice, a long white lab coat, round black glasses, and a short gray wig.
"I'm world-famous scientist, Steven Hawkins," I answered as though it was obvious. Sam snorted and rolled her eyes. Now, it was my turn to laugh as she practiced walking across the studio, slowly and steadily, in high heels. She and Carly couldn't decide what to dress up as, so they settled on being exaggerated versions of each other. Carly wore ripped jeans, a blue t-shirt with a crass expression on it, and brightly colored sneakers, a favorite of Sam's. She carried around a bucket of fried chicken, and wore her hair in long curls, instead of her signature straight style. Sam, on the other hand, wore a ruffle-y denim skirt, a pink lacy tank, a ton of jewelry, and heels, borrowed from Carly's closet, no doubt.
"Carly, how the hell do you walk in these things?," grumbled Sam.
"It's easy- just keep practicing! Your shoes are worse. Your feet are tiny!"
"They are not. Your feet are just humungous," I countered.
"For your information, my feet are perfectly proportional to the rest of my-"
"As interesting as this conversation about shoes is, we should leave. The party starts in twenty minutes," I interrupted.
"Spencer's at the Groovy Smoothie. He'll be back in a few minutes," Carly answered bitterly.
"Jackie's with him," Gibby whispered to me, explaining Carly's tone. About five minutes later, Spencer called for us, and we stormed down the stairs and piled into his car.
"So," began Spencer from the driver's seat, "What time should I pick you up? Jackie and I are going out after I drop you off, but we should be back around 11."
"I dunno," mumbled Carly, obviously annoyed. Jackie sat in the passenger seat and tried to break the tension.
"What are you guys dressed up as?," she asked pleasantly. I told her that I was being Steven Hawkins, which received a blank stare. I figured I would be getting a lot of those tonight.
"I'm a ham!," exclaimed Gibby proudly. I didn't care if he was "hot" now, that kid would always be freaking weird.
"What about you two?," Jackie asked Carly and Sam.
"We're dressed as each other," answered Sam, eyeing Carly, who was pouting in the seat next to her with her arms crossed.
"That's such a cute idea! Wow, you guys are so creative," responded Jackie. Sam murmured an awkward "thanks", while Carly sat in silence. We finally got to the party after an extremely uncomfortable ride.
When we walked in, the party was already in full swing, complete with couples frenching on various chairs and couches, beer snuck in by the upperclassmen, and a game of "7 Minutes in Heaven" in session. Yep, there was nothing like good, clean fun.
After a while the four of us split up and went our separate ways. Carly, who was now in a much better mood, danced with Gibby. Sam joined me, after greeting a few of her juvenile delinquent friends.
"Hi, Freddie!," called Maya, running toward me in a beautifully skimpy outfit, "Do you like my costume?"
"Oh, it's great! You make such a wonderful…um…" I didn't exactly know what she was supposed to be. She was clad in a white outfit that was so tight and revealing, it could be mistaken as lingerie. It was like Heaven.
"I'm a bunny, silly!," she responded, pointing to the little white "tail" she had taped to her lower back.
"Oh. Well, I think you make an amazing bunny," I answered, grinning slyly. Sam, who had been standing next to me, snickered. She looked as though she wanted to get her own two-cents in about what Maya really looked like. Instead, she walked off to the other side of the room.
"You know what I think her problem is?," said Maya, pointing toward Sam, "I think she's just jealous that she could never pull off a costume like this." While, I thought that seemed like the farthest thing from true, I nodded in agreement.
"So, what are you supposed to be?," she asked.
"I'm Steven Hawkins," I answered in the most flirtatious tone that someone who was dressed as world-famous scientist could use.
"Who's that?" More giggles.
"A scientist. A really smart guy," I answered in simple terms.
"Oh. I think that's absolutely adorable!," she answered, placing her hand on my chest. She then told me she had to go help a friend who had passed out in the closet, but said to look for her later. I agreed to, most avidly.
"She is so hot!"
"I know. Those legs are fiine." I heard male voices a short distance away, and soon joined Brad, and some other friends from the AV club.
"Who? Maya?," I asked, jumping in to the conversation.
"No, man, we're talking about Sam Puckett." I nearly choked on my water.
"What? You don't think she's hot?," asked Brad.
"Well, she has nice…skin?" I usually tried not to think about Sam in that way, failing more often than not.
"Whatever, man, she's at least a 9.5."
"Plus she's an awesome kisser," chimed in my friend Buddy Hinton. This time I really did choke on my water.
"You and Sam kissed? When?"
"Dude, chill. Are you two going out or something?"
"What! No. Just tell me when you kissed Sam." At this point I was completely flustered for far too many reasons to count. I felt protective over Sam, since Buddy was quite the player, but I also felt oddly jealous.
"We were in, like, eighth grade. It was in a port-o-potty at a Cuddlefish concert." That story sounded vaguely familiar. I recalled Sam mentioning it to Carly and I, nearly two years ago. I also remembered her later insisting that she'd made the story up and that she'd never kissed anyone. Of course, after that Sam and I shared a moment that would ultimately change the course of our friendship forever. It was I moment that crept into my mind far too often.
"Are you sure that it was Sam?"
"I'm positive. It was awesome. And she did this really cool thing with her tongue-" I tuned him out to spare myself the nausea. Suddenly, a thought dawned on me. If Sam really hadn't been lying about Buddy, it meant she'd wanted to kiss me. This thought made my heart pulse faster, in a way that freaked me out.
"So if you and Sam aren't going out," inquired another of my AV club friends, "is she available?"
"Uh...no. She's seeing someone. He's a big guy. You wouldn't want to mess with him." I walked off to the food table, and nibbled on some chips. I observed that Carly and Gibby had grown bored of dancing and were now making out in a corner.
"So I guess they're kind of a thing now," said Sam, joining me, motioning to a now intertwined Carly and Gibby.
"Yea," I responded, my thoughts going back to the conversation my friends and I had just had. God, I had to get my mind off of that. Luckily, as if on cue, Maya began to stroll toward us. She was perfect.
"She is so hot," I crooned.
"You've only said it about five-hundred times," retorted Sam sarcastically. "Besides, she looks like a streetwalker."
"Who cares? She's hot." We were then interrupted by a giggly Maya advancing toward me.
"Hey, Freddie," she said in a singsong voice, "I'm soo drunk."
"Oh, really?" I raised my eyebrows suggestively and inched closer.
"Uh-huh!" She staggered to the table for another cup.
"She's faking it," Sam whispered to me in a deadpan tone.
"How do you know?"
"I can just tell, okay? Plus, she's been carrying the same cup around all night." I had to admit, Sam did have a point. Still, I intended to use Maya's drunkenness, genuine or not, to my advantage.
"Secrets aren't fun!," called Maya, turning back toward me, with an over exaggerated stumble.
"Don't worry about it," I answered. "Sam was just leaving now." Sam's blue eyes flashed at me dangerously before she clenched her jaw and stalked off.
"So, what shall we do now?," asked Maya giggling.
"I have an idea…" I grabbed her hand, leading her to a nearby closet. Evidently, Maya was sober enough to manage to lock the door.
"There are waay too many buttons on this thing," she said as she fumbled with the fastenings on my coat. I helped her along and proceeded to plant sloppy kisses on her lips.
Tonight, I decided, rather rashly, I would just let go…