Title: The Things iCarry
Summary: "We all carry these things inside us that no one else can see. They hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea."
Disclaimer: I don't own NUFFIN.
Author's note: I don't even know the last time I updated this- I'm sure it's been months- but I've committed this weekend to finishing every project that I've ditched, so I'm proud to have finished this.
For writing this in only a few hours, I don't hate it.
There is some slight Seddie, but it's not too extreme. It's potent enough to be noticed, but not passionate enough to turn off a Creddie shipper, I don't think. That's really not the point of the chapter, but I did like to include it. ;)
(Have you noticed that in every chapter, I've made a reference to another chapter?)
WARNING: This chapter contains ABUSE and can be triggering.
Sam Puckett always had a bag packed. In it, she had three pairs of pants, six shirts, various undergarments, one pair of her distinctive patterned sneakers and a 3-page long list, and a pen. Every time she was hurt or hit or heartbroken she clutched it desperately as if she were drowning and it was the last molecule of oxygen. She read, and sometimes added to, the list of 347 alternatives that might be a better decision than running away and always concluded that escape was still the best thing for her to do.
One particularly bad night she called up the one boy she would never admit was her best friend, ordering him to come pick her up. When Sam wasn't yelling directions at him she bit her lip and took deep breaths, her best way to prevent herself from crying.
She tricked him into going back to one of her best memories, a large tree on the side of the road that she climbed 3 years ago and broke her wrist. Every time it snowed her wrist cramped up and reminded her of kissing him on the cheek, only showing her more how much love only hurts.
"We could run away, you know? Leave?" she said, her voice composed with seriousness.
"To where?"
"Anywhere." her voice was now just a whisper.
The blonde that was so grown up for her age was still oblivious to the fact that this boy loved her, and wanting nothing than to disappear with her too. But he knew better.
"You know we can't. You know each and every second you'd want to call your mom and say sorry and say it was a mistake and you want to come back home." he tried his best not to sound spiteful or insulting.
"That's not true!" she said, getting angry.
"It's an impossibility."
But she knew that he was right, and that just made her crave the escape even more.
The silence surrounding them made her wonder what turned her into the person she had become, what made her want to put on her plaid Nikes and run away on foot if she had to, without even considering telling her best friend she loved him.
In the beginning, she never thought it would elevate to the point that it did. But, of course, she was probably too young to tell.
You see, her father always grabbed her wrist a little too tightly, made threats that were a little too physical, and played a little too rough. But it surprised Sam Puckett when her father, her knight in shining armor, purposely backhanded her across the mouth when she talked back. Finally, the day her hero beat her into near unconsciousness was the day he left.
Sam's now added this to the part her brain storing these repressed memories, but the next morning she silently lay on the stairs, listening to her already drunk mother argue with her now hung over father.
Some may think otherwise, but her mother loved her and still does.
"I don't want you treating my daughter that way." she said to him.
"Come ON, Pam, I was just bluffing." he said, rubbing his temples. Sam carefully inspected the bruises her father never remembered giving her.
The argument continued, and eventually ended with her father storming out of the house. Sam whimpered a small "No" and reached through the bars toward him.
And then she waited. For such a long time, she searched for his face in crowds, reached out for his hand only to realize he was nowhere to be found. And every single time, she wondered when her dad was coming home.
Sam Puckett's bruises faded and then the visible damage was gone, just like her dear old father.
There's one memory Sam frequently returns to, only months after he had left. She was on her knees, gingerly holding her poor, dead hamster in her hands as tears fell from her eyes.
"It was your own fault," her mother said loudly from the kitchen, "You never fed the damn thing."
And in that moment, Sam understood why her father had left, and she forgave him, just a little.
It was six years later when the doorbell rang. Sam answered it, being the only one home.
She waited for so long and there he was, standing right in front of her.
His face was worn six more years and he carried half a dozen roses, as if one rose each could make her forget 365 days of his absence.
That was the day she packed her bags, when he came back. Living with her single mother was the closest thing she ever had to okay.
There was an "impromptu family reunion" that very same day, as if her father had come back from something impressive like the military or prison.
That night Sam slipped out the back door to sneak a cigarette, and there he was, smoking a cigarette of his own.
She couldn't even look at his blue eyes, the way they mirrored hers almost perfectly would only fuel her hatred, knowing that he was a part of her and she was a part of him.
"I waited." she hissed angrily into the smoke, "I waited for so long. And you weren't there." She stared forward into the blackness, the only light at the end of their cigarettes.
"Sam, you know I wanted to be." he replied into the same shadows.
"Why did you come back! We were fine without you! And we were… safe!" she said, crying as hard as she did the night he left. And then the tables were turned, she yelled at her father the way he yelled at her, the cigarettes were her whiskey. Then the finale, she hit her father strictly across his face, which looked so much like her own.
First she was seven, and then she was thirteen, and now she's nineteen and still more lost than she could ever imagine.
Practically down on her knees in tears, hiding behind the boy she'll never admit she loves- she knew even if she did find a better future with her packed bags, it would be ruined by her past.
(Sam's packed bag is supposed to symbolize emotional baggage- I know I should have left that up to the reader to assume, but I wanted to share in case no one understood)
Aaaaaaand, finally, I'm done with this fic! Sorry it took so long! I hoped you enjoyed the emotional journey of the characters we love so much, and I hope I've opened your eyes to characteristics you may have possibly overlooked. Everyone has a story. 3