A/N: Wow… Can I apologize very, VERY sincerely to all of my readers? A month… a fucking month! It took me a month to update this when I promised updates wouldn't take that long… I give you all permission to virtually slap me right now. lol. Well, if you've totally forgotten what has happened since the last time you read, please skim that over a bit. I'm very sorry for the long wait. Seriously. I'm about to walk up to a mirror and scream at my reflection right now. :P
Thanks for sticking with me, and continue on! I hope this chapter makes up for it. :/
Chapter 10: All My Fault
- ONE DAY LATER -
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone
Freddie gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands as the song "Big Yellow Taxi" played on the radio. It had been playing for only about forty seconds, and he was beginning to get annoyed.
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone
It had him thinking about Sam as his car stopped at the red stoplight that always took forever to turn green. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in frustration and checked the time on his dashboard. 8:40 AM. Good. He was going to be on time. As usual.
He was on his way to the hospital, and he always got there at precisely ten minutes before visiting hours would start, which was 8:50 in the morning. The receptionist that he had scared shitless the first time he was there—whose name he'd discovered was Cindy—always said hi to him in the morning after being there constantly. Sometimes they would even have a friendly conversation. But right when that clock hit 9:00, he would sprint to the elevators and get up to the third floor and to room 308 with lightning speed.
Hey now, now
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
His hand flitted up to slam the radio off, having enough of it. Don't get him wrong; he always loved the song. It was catchy. It was just the fact that its lyrics fit so well into his life's situation at the moment that irritated him.
Damn you, Joni Mitchell.
After a few more minutes of driving around, he finally pulled into the visitor's parking lot, which was full as usual, and quickly found a spot as close as possible to the entrance. He hopped out of his car and jogged to the entrance under the thick, stifling heat of the blazing Seattle sun, pressing the lock button on his keys as he moved farther away from his car. The automatic doors slid open as he approached, gradually slowing down his jog to a casual walk. He saw Cindy and gave a friendly wave, the corner of his lip turning up slightly and walking closer to her.
"Hey, Cindy," he said, leaning on one arm against the desk.
"Hey," she smiled back. "What are you here for?"
"Uhmm, is that a rhetorical question?" he replied, smirking a bit.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm just kidding around with ya'," she laughed, waving a hand casually and turning her attention back to the computer sitting in front of her.
He laughed, removing his arm from the desk and walking over to one of the chairs nearby, sitting down and staring at the digital clock on the wall until it turned to 9:00. It was 8:50. Just ten more minutes and he'd be up and out of his chair and to the elevators up to the third floor and room 308 in record time. So he leaned back and waited, twiddling his thumbs and studying the rest of the people in the lobby, looking back at the clock every 10 seconds as if the ten minutes would go by like seconds.
Nine minutes later, his leg was bouncing up and down in anticipation, biting his lip and twiddling his thumbs even faster in his chair. He was like this every morning. Right when it was 8:59 it was like he was preparing his body for that sprint he would take to the elevators and up.
9:00.
Freddie sprang up from his seat, startling an old woman sitting next to him, as he proceeded to bolt to the elevators. Cindy shook her head and chuckled a bit as she stared at her computer screen, seeing Freddie go careening by the front desk from the corner of her eye. He spotted the first open elevator and shoved himself into it, nerves bouncing in anticipation as he tapped his foot and looked up at the floor number illuminated at the top of the elevator. Floor 1.
"C'mon…" he whispered, but not loud enough so the other people in the elevator would hear it.
The doors finally closed as everyone got in, and once Freddie heard the ding that indicated the third floor, he pushed his way through the people and sprang out, muttering a quick apology over his shoulder as he flew by the receptionist on the third floor who managed visiting hours.
"Sir, it's not visiting hours yet!" she screamed after him as he flung open room 308.
"Look behind you and at the clock, smarty!" he yelled back over his shoulder as he ran into 308, now slowing down and walking towards Sam calmly. He took her hand in his and kissed her gently, letting his thumb trace the now fading bruise on her cheek lightly.
"Morning, sweetheart," he smiled, still tracing his thumb over her cheek.
He grabbed his usual chair and placed it at the same usual spot and plopped down into it, intertwining their fingers again. He kissed her hand lightly, leaning forward to rest his forearms against the side of the bed. As he waited out the fifteen minutes for Carly to come, which was at 9:15, he sat there, studying Sam and the room around him.
Seventeen minutes later, Freddie scrunched up his eyebrows, looking at the clock in the room and wondering where Carly could be.
"Hmph," he said, looking back at the door.
As if on cue, Carly sprang in, slightly out of breath with Spencer dragging in after her.
"Hey!" she exclaimed between breaths, dropping her purse on the floor and a white plastic bag.
Freddie smirked. "Well, you're late."
"Well, we all can't get here at exactly 9:00 in the morning, Freddie," she deadpanned, glaring at him.
He laughed. "Yeah, yeah. I'm kidding. But seriously, 9:17?" he exasperated sarcastically, gesturing towards the clock.
"Ugh, shut up!" she laughed, throwing a nearby tissue box at him.
He laughed as he caught it right before it hit him in the chest, placing it on top of the monitor next to Sam's bed. She crossed her arms and made her way to the other side of the bed, yawning as she grabbed the chair and dragged it as close to Sam as possible.
"So what's in the bag?" he asked as she sat down, looking back at the purse and plastic bag she had left on the ground near the door.
"Oh, it's lunch," she said. "I was kinda' getting tired of the hospital café food."
"Oh, okay," he said, leaning forward to intertwine his fingers with Sam's again, his tone going serious again.
"Uh, y'know… I'm still here," said Spencer, gesturing to himself as he stood there awkwardly near the door, no one paying attention to him.
They didn't respond, just looked over at him and stared. Not angrily. Just to indicate they honestly didn't care.
He sighed in defeat. "Okay… I'll probably be going now before I start to have those flashbacks again," he said, shuddering a bit. "You're driving Carly back home, right?" he asked Freddie.
"Yup," Freddie replied. "Spencer, we already discussed this. I told you Carly and I would drive home to Bushwell together every day we visit."
"Yeah, but I just wanna' make sure so I don't need to worry about it," Spencer said. "So… I'll see you guys later, okay?"
"Yup," both of them supplied.
Spencer turned around and left, closing the door behind him. They turned back around, sitting together in silence as they studied the figure in the bed in front of them. Sam's coma was hard to deal with; both of them had such a difficult past week. Sure, Dr. Jacobson told them that most comas usually only last a few weeks and that he was pretty confident Sam would be one of those patients, but there was that one little tidbit of information that he had told them that made them worry so much sometimes: that the coma could possibly last years.
Dr. Jacobson had said he was confident Sam's coma would only last a few normal weeks, but he didn't say he was sure. That's what made this so hard for the both of them. They couldn't imagine what they'd do if Sam would stay in a coma for years. It was terrifying to think about, so they never brought it up with each other, though both of them knew the other thought about it often.
"Hey, have you thought about what we're doing on the new iCarly this Fri—" Carly suddenly started, stopping as realization came over her, looking away, embarrassed. "Sorry," she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I forgo—"
"Don't worry about it," Freddie interrupted, not wanting her to get uncomfortable.
He understood her mistake. iCarly had been a part of their lives for so long; he didn't blame her for thinking they were still managing it at the moment. Though the fans had gone berserk and got scared when they announced it on the website, Carly and Freddie knew it was for the best. It was for Sam. Either they had to manage a web-show while Sam was in a coma or they put it on hiatus. They chose the latter.
The steady beeping of the heart monitor had filled the silence, and they both sat there, Freddie still rubbing circles on Sam's hand and Carly just studying her, looking over at Freddie every once in awhile. Some would call it awkward. Some would call it weird to just sit there with a coma patient without speaking. But it wasn't. Carly and Freddie had actually felt comfortable the past week being in there with Sam and not saying anything. It felt comfortable. It felt right to be spending time with Sam while she recovered.
They just hoped they didn't need to do this for years.
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Freddie leaned back in his chair, yawning and stretching his arms up over his head. It was 1 o'clock already; the five hours had gone by so quickly. He looked over at Carly, who was eating the sandwich and Wahoo Punch she brought from home. He felt a grumbling in his stomach. All he had this morning was one of those wood-tasting organic granola bars in the kitchen that his mother bought all the time, and he stared at Carly, now being consumed by hunger. Pun not intended.
His mouth began to water just staring at the turkey that was sandwiched between the slices of bread of Carly's sandwich. Suddenly, she looked at him, an odd expression on her face as she stopped chewing. She continued chewing slowly and swallowed it down slowly, still looking at Freddie weirdly.
"Is there a reason why you find my sandwich so fascinating all of a sudden, Freddie?" she asked, still holding the sandwich up.
"Huh?" he asked suddenly, shaken from his reverie.
"You're staring at my sandwich," she said slowly with an amused look.
"Oh… I-I was? Sorry… I'm just- uh. Hungry," he stuttered, a loud growl coming from his stomach.
Carly smirked a bit, the corner turning up slightly as she gave a short chuckle.
"Was that your stomach?"
"No. I mean, yes... I dunno'. Probably," he stuttered again.
Besides the hunger he was feeling, he was also feeling an uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. Was he that hungry? Or was there something else there?
"Then why don't you… get something to eat?" she asked almost sarcastically, wondering why he was acting so strangely.
"Uh, yeah, sure… Yeah, I'll go do that now," he said, gesturing towards the door and getting up from his chair and leaving, grumbling to himself at how ungraceful that all was.
She watched him walk out of the door, shaking her head and still smiling as she went back to her sandwich. That was strange. He was acting all… weird. Just because he was hungry. Maybe there was just a lot on his mind.
Freddie yawned again as he pressed the down button for the elevator, crossing his arms and wondering why he acted so weird. He just felt like he should suddenly be guilty of something. But why? He pondered this as he walked in when he heard the elevator ding and open in front of him. He looked to see that level 1 was already pressed by someone on the console, so he just took a spot and waited for it to go down quietly. The guilty feeling was still prodding at him when he stepped off the elevator, and he couldn't figure it out.
It's probably just the hunger, he thought, not making too big a deal of it.
Later on, though, even as he ate his sandwich alone at one of the small, round table's in the hospital café, the guilty feeling was still eating at him.
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Carly disposed of her sandwich wrapper and Wahoo Punch can in the trash bin by the door, and she went back to her chair and waited for Freddie to come back. The steady beeping of the heart monitor brought her attention back to Sam again, and she leaned forward, studying Sam again.
She looked to be healing a bit. The cuts she had were beginning to scab, and the once nasty bruise on her face had finally alleviated to a round, light brown mark. Carly could feel herself beginning to feel sad again. Seeing Sam in this bed, and being reminded of the good times they spent together when she was awake always made her sad now. Some days it just made her cry, and it would make Freddie cry, too. Sam was their best friend, and seeing her go through something like this was absolutely terrifying and heart-wrenching. Some days it was just too much to take.
Carly was shaken from her reverie when she heard the door open with a squeak as Freddie came in, a contemplative, almost worried expression on his face as he stared at the floor and closed the door slowly.
"Finally got over that hunger, Freddie?" she quipped, smiling a bit.
Her smile drops off her face when he doesn't respond, just keeps that worried expression on his face as he sat down.
"Freddie?" she asked, suddenly getting really worried herself. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
"That's just it, Carly," he said, shaking his head a bit. "I… I don't know. I just suddenly have this like… guilty feeling all of a sudden, like I'm supposed to be guilty of something."
She tilted her head to the side a bit, eyebrows scrunching up. "Why?"
"I don't know!" he exclaimed, shrugging a bit and finally looking up at her. "Should I be guilty of something? Did I do something wrong?"
"Uhm, not that I know of," she responded. "I mean, you've spent the entire week here at the hospital, so unless you did something bad to Sam, I don't think you did anything wrong."
"But I didn't!" he exasperated, gesturing with his hands a bit. "Why would I even think of hurting Sam? Or anyone for that matter?"
He leaned forward in the chair, bringing his elbows to his knees and staring at Sam, clasping his hands together in front of him.
"But for some reason," he started, barely a whisper, "it feels like I should be guilty of something that has to do with her."
"But if you didn't hurt her or anything, then why would you feel guilty of—"
"That's exactly what's going through my mind right now!" he exasperated, clearly confused, worried, and scared all at the same time. "It's just… weird."
She doesn't respond this time, just waits for him to say something as he sat there and stared at Sam, hoping he didn't do anything wrong.
"You know what? I don't think it should be anything we should worry about too much. Let's just leave it alone; it'll probably disappear by tomorrow."
"I hope so."
"Me, too," he answered, taking Sam's hand in his and kissing it, that worried, slightly scared look on his face again, the one he always wore when he saw Sam now.
After sitting there for a few minutes, Freddie reached for the remote to the flat-screen TV hanging on the wall in the room and pressed on, wanting to take his mind off of the guilty feeling that was currently eating him alive. He wanted to ignore it, put it off as some sort of weird feeling that occurred as a result of teenage hormones, but it wouldn't go away, and it just worried him even more as he continued to think about it.
He flipped through the channels and stopped finally at the news, the only thing he seemed to be interested to watch at the moment. He placed the remote back in its original spot and leaned back in his chair, watching the TV. His mind wouldn't focus on it, though; he kept thinking about the damn guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it wouldn't allow him to focus on anything but itself. After several minutes, he yawned and went back to looking at Sam, who was breathing steadily and lying there motionless as usual. He shook his head, feeling incredibly sorry that this happened to her.
He turned his head suddenly when the TV mentioned the crash.
"In other news, we have just received more input about the huge crash on Route 2 last week, which had totaled up to 29 fatalities and left 15 injured," the woman said.
"Jesus Christ," Freddie muttered under his breath.
He hadn't expected the number to be so high. For a car crash, 29 people was a lot of deaths. Sure, he felt sorry for Sam, but he had to think about all the families that didn't even have a chance to say goodbye. He thanked God for being able to have that chance.
He just hoped it wouldn't have the goodbye included in it.
"Eric Davidson has more on the story," the woman continued.
"Thanks, Lisa," the other reporter, who was standing next to a bulky man with his arm in a sling, said as the screen cut to his frame. "I'm standing here with Robert Mendelson, the driver of the tractor-trailer which had tipped over as a result of the crash. Miraculously, he has only suffered a broken arm and is, as you can see, currently in a cast and sling. He has just been released from the hospital, and we came to learn more about the story. Robert, would you mind telling us about how your truck tipped over?"
"Well, I was just driving down the road to deliver some goods to a supermarket down in southern California, and it was really pretty late," the man said in a countryside accent. "And then, to the right of me, I just see a small, red car with a tired-looking young lady in it. She seemed to be crying a bit, too. For a split-second, I saw her eyes sort of droop, and before I knew it, her car was leaning into my truck. I blasted the horn to try and wake her up or something, but then she like jerked awake and swerved the car right into the front of mine. I wanted to avoid hitting her, so instinctually, I jerked the steering wheel. And before I know it, my truck is skidding down the highway sideways. I mean, I don't know what condition that young lady is in now, but I sure do hope she's okay. Her car seemed to be pretty beaten up."
"So, basically, you're saying all that occurred because of a tired driver?" the reporter asked, bringing the microphone back to his mouth as he spoke before tilting it back towards Robert.
"Yeah, basically," he replied in his southern accent again.
"Well, there you go, ladies and gentlemen," the reporter said, turning back towards the camera as it panned away from Robert's view. "Always stay alert when you're driving and never drive when you're tired. I'm Eric Davidson, and this has been the Seattle News."
Freddie sat there in disbelief, his throat closing up and drying all of a sudden. His breath seemed to have been taken away from him, his breathing becoming shallow as he looked from the TV and back to Sam, who lay there, still motionless and breathing steadily.
"I… I caused this?" Freddie asked, his voice cracking a bit.
Tears were beginning to brim his eyes, and he looked at Carly, who just looked back at him with a worried expression.
"Freddie, no. You didn't cause this. What do you mean—?"
"NO! I should've known Sam was too tired. I should've known I shouldn't have let her leave!" he began to panic, his breathing becoming even shallower. "If I had stopped Sam from leaving, she wouldn't be in this bed right now and in a damn coma!" he screamed at Carly, a tear rolling down his face which was quickly followed by another. "Is this what I was feeling guilty about all day?"
"Freddie, no, you didn't cause this! How were you supposed to know—?"
"I… I can't deal with this right now," he whimpered, getting up from his chair and fleeing the room.
"Freddie!" Carly called after him, getting up from her chair frantically and running to the door herself. "Freddie! This isn't your fault!"
She saw a flash of his dark blue plaid shirt down the hall to the right of her, and she ran after him, seeing him for a split-second turn the corner into another hallway.
"Freddie!" she yelled after him, trying to catch up with him.
She grunted in frustration when she saw him turn another corner into another hallway, and she tried picking up her pace as fast as she could without tripping. She veered the corner, nearly running into a nurse as she did and saw Freddie run into the men's bathroom. When she reached its door, she stopped short of it, momentarily worrying if she should go in or not before taking a chance and bursting in, yelling Freddie's name again.
"Freddie!" she yelled, looking around immediately and feeling relieved there were no other people inside.
Knowing he wouldn't respond to her screams, she listened silently for a noise to indicate which stall he was in, and it didn't take long. She could hear him sniffling and breathing heavily in the sixth one down. She walked over to it and knocked on the door violently, getting angry with him.
"Freddie! Get the heck out of there! It isn't your fault!" she yelled, banging on the door again.
She continued screaming at him to get out before she finally huffed and walked backwards, crossing her arms and resting her back against the white ledge of the counter of the sinks.
"Freddie! Get out of there right now, or I'll crawl under the stall and get to you! This isn't your fault!" she yelled at the gray door of the stall.
She listened to his heavy sobs and the sniffles he made for a few more minutes, tapping her foot, until she heard him say something.
"I… I promised her, Carly," he whimpered, sniffling again.
"Promised who? What?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing.
"I… promised Sam," he whimpered, voice distorted due to his sobbing.
"You promised Sam what, Freddie?" she asked, walking towards the stall again and leaning forward to try and hear a response. She was met with silence and more sobs. "Oh, my God, get out of that stall right now! You're being so unreasonable right now! Sam's coma isn't your fau—!"
He burst from the stall suddenly, startling Carly as he walked towards her quickly, making her walk backwards into counter again.
"I promised her I wouldn't hurt her, Carly! I promised her," he yelled close to her face. "When we first started dating, she asked me to promise her I'd never hurt her. But look! Fucking look! I hurt her in a way neither one of us can even handle! She has the possibility of dying because of me, Carly! Do you realize that? The crash. The coma. Everything! It's all my fault!" he screamed, nearly unintelligible due to his heavy crying and shaky breaths.
The rapid beating of his heart, the overwhelming feeling of guilt that washed over him in waves as he continued to think about it, made the tightness in his chest grow even more constricting, and he gasped for air, stumbling towards the nearest wall to sit down against it. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes tightly, hugging his lips together and shaking his head before he gave up, hanging his head to his chest and crying endlessly, letting the tears darken his shirt in small patches. He couldn't say anything anymore, the guilt piercing his chest making his head feel dizzy and tears to continue burning his eyes.
Carly looked at him sympathetically for a moment before walking towards him and crouching down in front of him, gently placing a hand on his knee.
"Freddie," she coaxed him. "Freddie... Freddie, look at me."
He finally lifted his head and looked at her, eyes beginning to rim with a harsh scarlet color. She could see they were beginning to swell along with the dampness traced around them, and it only made the look on her face look even more worried than before.
"This isn't your fault," she said, squeezing his knee.
"Yes, it is. I—"
"No! Oh, my God, can you shut up for at least five minutes so I can just say something here?" Carly interrupted him in frustration. He stopped arguing, letting his lips stay shut and allowing Carly to talk.
"Look, I don't care what you think, but the accident Sam was in was not your fault."
He wanted to open his mouth and argue again, but he fought against it, not wanting Carly to get more frustrated with him than she already was.
"I mean, how were you supposed to know Sam was that tired? How were you supposed to know there just happened to be a tractor-trailer next to her while she was driving?" she said softly.
He just looked up at her, shaking his head as if to say it was his fault, and he should have known those things.
"This crash. Sam's coma. None of it is your fault. Like you said, we shouldn't blame Sam's coma on anyone. You tried blaming it on me, and you know how absolutely guilty I would've felt. You yourself said no one would be able to handle that type of guilt! What makes you think you can?" she exasperated, shaking her head at him in disbelief. "Now, I'm not saying it was your fault, but don't be an idiot. Whatever happened that night happened. And it wasn't your fault. It was nobody's fault."
"But if it's nobody's fault, then how did it happen in the first place?" Freddie tried to challenge forcefully, but his voice still shook a bit from the tears.
"Well, then, maybe life decided to throw a curveball in your way. And you just have to find a way to hit it right back," Carly said. "I mean, all those people who died? Twenty-nine people died that night, Freddie. And Sam wasn't one of those people. There's a reason for that. You broke up with Sam that night, too, and now you feel closer to Sam than you ever have before, and she's not even awake!" she exasperated, smiling a little bit. "If I were you, I'd actually be a little bit thankful that Sam was in that crash. I mean, without it, you wouldn't be together anymore, and you probably would have gone your separate ways. Screw becoming better friends before dating again; this coma made you realize how much you value Sam and how much you love her! And how much you care about her. I see it in your face every day now, Freddie. That worried, slightly scared look you get every time you see her. Like you're terrified the next breath she takes could be her last," she said, making his heart pang a little bit before she continued.
"You care about her now more than you ever did. And the crash, no matter how painful and hard the outcome was, believe it or not, helped you out with that. It brought you closer to Sam, and you know it," she said, pointing to him with her forefinger. "Life works in strange ways, Freddie. And even if you might hate what it did to you, it helped you out in the end. Remember that. This wasn't—isn't—your fault. Life's hard, and it's really hard right now. I know that. But you'll get through it. I know you can. Sam's not dead. This isn't over, Freddie. It never was, and as long as you hang in there with me, it never will."
Freddie's breathing had become considerably calmer now with Carly's words. He was taken aback. He hadn't expected Carly to be so… right. Usually, he hated being wrong, but he had to admit, Carly was being absolutely reasonable right now. Where the pain in his chest was previously wrenched with guilt, it now faded to a very dull ache that he could start to forget about. He looked up and at Carly, taking his gaze away from the floor.
"Uh… Wow, Carly. Thank you. That was really… helpful," he said softly, staring at her in wonderment, wondering when she became such an intellectual. He wasn't sure he would've been able to say things like that if the situation were reversed.
"You're welcome," she grinned, holding her hand out to him as she got up from her crouching position.
He smiled up at her and took it, placing his other hand on the floor to push himself up.
"Now let's get out of here and back to Sam," she said, smiling and nodding her head towards the door. "I don't want to be caught hanging around in the men's room."
"Yeah," he laughed. "No problem."
Later on, as Freddie kept Sam's hand intertwined in his, studying her carefully, he realized what Carly had said was right. Life was going to be hard from here on in, at least until Sam woke up from this coma.
He just hoped he'd have the strength to power through it.
A/N: Alright, my lovely readers who so painstakingly waited out that one month for an update. If you would like to yell at me in your review for taking so long, I totally would accept it. In fact, I'd love it if you did that; it means more motivation for me. Hahaha. :P
Anyway, thanks for sticking around, and I really am sorry about updating so late. I sincerely hope the next update won't take as long and my teachers don't bombard me with work this week.
Hopefully, I'll get the next chapter up by this weekend. Maybe even earlier if I'm lucky. I'm working on it right now. Just hang in there and if I don't update by this Sunday, please yell at me! lol. :)
Thanks for reading! Review? *sigh* Maybe I shouldn't even ask anymore. I say that word far too much in my author's notes. lol.
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