Disclaimer: Neither of these delightful shows belong to me, yet I have mashed them into a hybrid monster that still... doesn't belong to me.
I watch my feet, one in front of the other, the faded red converse slapping against the pavement. I focus on it, just one foot forward, onward and onward. I shove my hands deep down into the pockets of my red plaid hoodie. A wry smile flickers at my lips; I would've forgotten it on the way out of Cat's apartment, but the colour caught my eye. And I'm trying so hard to focus on just walking, but my vision is still filled with red. Red, red, red. Cat's hair, casting a curtain over us, Cat's lips, flushed and parted, Cat's cheeks, flooded with blood. It's all swirling around in my mind, like a pot that's boiling over, and I'm trying my best to put a lid on it, to stop it from spitting out and scalding me. I can't think about it, I can't.
She's still on my lips. I'm scared to lick them, to wipe them, because it acknowledges that she's left a trace, that there's something to clean away; a taste, a sheen. She... she... kissed me.
My feet stumble over each other, and I shake my head, trying to blinker the world with a shield of blonde curls, head hanging. Stop thinking about it. Just stop. I can't even begin to... to understand. It just... it doesn't make any sense to me. No. Focus on walking. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. I'm studying my shoes so closely my eyes start to ache, and I wish they were any colour but red right now. I can see the dark splatter where my permanent marker bled from when I graffiti-ed Fredbag's backpack, the slight split in the toe from where I kicked a drum in and the metal edges snagged, the scuffed sides from where I've scraped them running, and climbing fences. This is me, this is Sam. I'm rough, and I'm messy, and I feel like I've forgotten, like whatever Cat did took away my memory, and I can't remember who I am. Everything's been turned upside down, and all the blood's rushing to my head and making me nauseous.
Maybe she's teaching me more than I thought. All I wanted to learn from her was how to fake happiness, and I've already learned how to mask my feelings, because I'm sure I'm not showing half the turmoil I'm feeling right now. I'm damping it down right now... it's a storm that's approaching out of the corner of my eye, but I'm looking away and predicting a sunny day, even while thunder drowns out my words. I've always been good at denying things, and right now, I'm denying anything even happened. I have to, because I just can't process it. As Freddork would put it, it's like I'm a computer, and I've been told that, hey, guess what, two's a number. Life isn't all ones and zeroes. It's inconceivable to me, it's completely foreign, and I just need time to... to not think about it.
Feet. Just keep walking. I don't even know where I'm going, part of me is scared to look in case I'm just circling around Cat's apartment, or in case she's chasing after me. I've been walking for a while now, watching the pavement change, a spiderweb of never-ending cracks. I wonder what would happen if they ever joined up? If all the tiny cracks met... would it cause a big one? Would it break them irrevocably? It's funny how the little things can pile up to make big things. How every little thing is part of something, and it just gets bigger and bigger until it crushes you. How every little act of vandalism, every little petty theft, were just words in a book that's on the last page and ready to end. I know if I mess this up, there won't be a to be continued... at the end. Just Sam goes to juvie, and then the covers close. And to be honest, I wouldn't mind it ending that way; I don't read, after all. But Carly does... and she's what stops me from doing everything. She's the little voice in my head that say maybe it's not such a good idea to call that cop fat, or to throw eggs at that old man, or to steal that icecream from that little kid. Most of the time, her voice is loud enough that I can't ignore it; it's when it's a whisper that the trouble comes. I get so sick of caring, of watching every step, of having her hover over me, even when she's not there. It makes me feel trapped, but by myself, by her, by guilt, by my feelings. I don't want to let her down, and I hate that I care if I let her down. And maybe some of the stuff I do is just me rebelling, trying to prove to myself that I'm still free, I can still do whatever I want and not care. But I always go back to her. I always keep my mouth shut about the stuff I do, because I do care if she knows. It hasn't worked anyway, I still let her down, and I still care.
My feet stop suddenly, and I sway on the spot, looking up. Of course. They always bring me back to her. She's where I go when I have nowhere else, she's where I go even when I have somewhere. I take the stairs to Carly's apartment; the more I walk, the more steps I take, the further I can leave what happened behind me.
I knock hesitantly at Carly's door, knuckles rapping over the wood, and it feels weird. It feels like... not-Sam, because I never knock. I always just burst in, because I'm here just as much as Carly and Spencer, it's as much my home as it is theirs. It bugs me that I still don't know how to act, it means that something did happen, and I'm trying hard to pretend nothing did. I don't need these reminders that Cat- that nothing happened.
Carly opens the door with a smile, eyebrows jumping in surprise when she sees it's me. "Hey, Sam." She looks at me strangely, like she's not sure why I'm knocking either. I move past her, jerkily, forcing myself down onto her sofa, to remind my muscles that they've done this same thing a million times before. They should know it off by heart; it shouldn't feel strange to sit here. But even my skin doesn't feel like it fits right at the moment.
Carly sits next to me, coffee-hued eyes curious, hands folded in her lap. "I thought you had a thing with Cat."
A thing. I blink, tearing my eyes away from my shoes. I need to focus on something that isn't red. Anything. "I did." I say shortly, picking a tiny sculpture that Spencer's been working on. It's some twisted shape that doesn't end, but doesn't really begin either, and for some reason, there's a horseshoe nailed to it.
Carly waits like she's expecting me to continue, to tell her about how I couldn't help myself and pounded Cat, or flayed her with my words and left her a shivering mess, so she can say she told me so, and that she knew I hadn't changed. Oh, I've changed alright. I don't know who I am at the moment. I'm still waiting for the Sam I'm supposed to be to come flooding back. I can't just be blank like this. "How'd it go?" Carly asks after she realises that I'm not going to expand on my answer.
How did it go? How did it go? It... it went, alright. "Fine."
"Just... fine?"
I tear my eyes away from Spencer's sculpture to look at her. "Yeah." I nod a little, and my eyes feel like they're open much too wide, my lips feel like they're drawn much too tight, like I'm making a physical effort to show that I'm not hiding anything, no shadows here, no siree. Carly's eyebrows are tucked down a little, her head canted to one side. Her hands lay flat on her jeans-clad lap, and they twitch slightly, like they're deciding whether to twist over each other and try to solve this puzzle.
Carly purses her lips, giving a little shrug and standing. "You want a drink? I've got rootbeer, and Peppy Cola."
"Peppy Cola." I answer quickly, licking my lips subconsciously. It's stupid, but it's almost like I can still taste her. I know it's just the rootbeer, I drank it too, but... it's like she's in it, and I have to obliterate that taste as soon as possible. Because nothing happened.
My fingers almost snatch the can out of Carly's hands, metal chilling my slick fingers, hissing as I pop the tab. I take a long swig, washing it over my lips and feeling it bubble and fizz it's way down my throat.
Carly laughs, sitting down again. "You must've been thirsty."
I burp as a response, and it feels like I'm a little more Sam again, a little more me. Carly's even wrinkling her nose like she always does.
"Hey, did you want to help Freddie and me with iCarly? We were gonna come up with some skits."
I take another long sip of the cola, propping my feet up on Carly's coffee table. Red. "Nah, I think I'll just raid your fridge and watch Girly Cow."
Carly's shoulders drop a little, last trace of a wrinkle disappearing from her brow, and frankly, I'm just glad I've said what I was supposed to, that I'm sinking into Sam again, and that maybe Cat just startled her away for a little bit. Like when you're cold and your fingers go all blue, 'cause your blood stays close to your heart. She just froze me, but now I'm thawing out again.
Still... the cola's making my stomach churn, I can't look away from the red of my beaten up converse, Carly's eyes are cheerful just like Cat's, so close to the same colour, just more complex. Nothing happened, and I can keep saying that and saying that, but I know tonight I'm going to have to admit that something did happen, and I'm going to have to scour it out of my system, get it out of me, clean the stain off my skin until it changes to something that happened, once upon a time, and it means nothing. But for now, I'm Sam. I'm completely Sam, and this stuff doesn't happen to Sam. Carly can't know about this... no one can. And eventually I'm gonna have to talk to Cat too. To tell her to keep her mouth shut, and hope she does a better job at it than she did today.
Freddie bursts in as I click the channels over on the TV, remote in hand. He looks stunned to see me, even a little disappointed. I better break something of his to justify that disappointment. He tries to turn it into a joke, shaking his head. "Sam? You actually showed up? What happened?" He waggles his stupid eyebrows, and I wash my mouth with another swig of cola, turning the volume on the TV up.
"Nothing happened."
A/N: As always, please do review. I've been ever so prolific. And the more you review, the quicker I update. You see... all the words I use I take from your reviews. I piece them together into a story and- no, that doesn't even make any sense. Yeah, I just want reviews. They serve no real purpose but to make me clench my fists and roll around squeeing. Like a dignified woman, of course. In petticoats, and... uh... garters, and... feathered hats. Like wot ladies wear.
Tell you what, you review, and I will shut up. I think that's a fair trade :P
