It had already been a long day when she got the call at lunchtime.
"Honey, if you aren't busy tonight, Mike and I were thinking of taking you girls out for a family dinner. How does that sound?" Sam's eyes had closed and while she had managed to choke back her automatic response – "Like Hell" – she didn't quite stop a sigh from squeezing free. "We're going for Chinese food." Which her mother had likely heard, if her taunting sing-song voice was anything to go by.
"That sounds really great," she tried for sincere, "but I think I'm getting sick." She felt the heavy hands of guilt, cold and clammy, pull her stomach down into her feet as the words left her. This wasn't fair. The last thing she wanted to do was spend her evening sitting across from a blatantly icy Brooke, who would spend the evening shooting her frigid glances and speaking to her in a voice that held all the warmth of an avalanche. But if she bailed, then she'd feel like crap for the rest of the night.
"Oh." The disappointment in her mom's voice was evident and Sam had had her fill of upsetting the woman who had given birth to her. Jane had endured thirty-six hours of labour for her, Sam could managed one evening of torture in return.
"But as long as you guys aren't offended if I don't eat, I think I can stomach at least smelling the food." Her mom's sigh was quiet, but undeniably there.
"Thank you, Sam." As was her gratitude.
She spent the rest of the afternoon dreading it and now she stands in the shared bathroom, trying to smooth out curly hair with some expensive hair product that she had been assured would tame her wild mane and simultaneously make it shine. In reality, it seems to do nothing more than make her hair look greasy. She gives up and tosses the small container that had cost her more than the rest of her accumulated toiletries combined under the sink.
"Before you moved in, this bathroom was actual presentable." Brooke is suddenly there, like an unexpected thunderstorm, and Sam spins to face her. Brooke barely even looks at her, just continues on until she's standing at the second sink. "I'd love it if you could at least do me the courtesy of respecting that by leaving your teen slobbery at the door." Sam licks her lower lip before sucking it in between her teeth and biting down. Brooke's words bite at her, but she won't let them sink below the skin. She lets her lip go with a laugh that holds no mirth.
"Right. God forbid I make the mistake of putting something back where it doesn't belong." She manages to make it sound like she's talking about genocide or homicide or murdering Gwyneth. She folds her arms across her chest and glares at the back of Brooke's head. "This coming from the girl who puts empty juice cartons back in the fridge." Brooke slaps her palms down on either side of the sink and meets Sam's eyes in the mirror. They pin her to the spot.
"Can you please leave?" It doesn't sound like much of a request. "I need to actually take time on my appearance." There's a lump in Sam's throat that feels like it's been sitting there for months. Always present, but sometimes manageable. Lately though, whenever Brooke's around, she struggles to swallow past it. It swells and makes it difficult for her the breath, to take a steading breath. She tries not to wince at Brooke's words, tries and fails to swallow around the lump, and covers it all up by storming out of the room and slamming the door behind her.
It's only then that Brooke lets her head loll forward, blonde tresses slipping forward to curtain her face. She stares into the empty sink and almost laughs. Because part of her doesn't think she meant what she'd said as an insult. Sam obviously took it that way though, whatever she'd meant.
"Which was what, exactly?"
That Sam doesn't need to try.
"What is wrong with me?"
She's so sick of the answer staring her in the face.
The restaurant they're taken to is fancy. It's one of those upscale Chinese places with islands scattered in between the regular seating, ones with their own chefs who cook everything right there in front of you. They aren't at one of those though, something Sam is grateful for because she really doesn't need one extra person she has to put on a show for. Their table is still nice though, more than nice. The napkins are folded into swans.
"Wow honey, this place is great." Jane says, smiling widely at her husband-to-be as he pulls her chair out for her and then moves to sit opposite. Brooke and Sam slide into the remaining chairs on opposite sides of the table.
"Ken at work recommended it. Said it was pretty great." He returns her smile and she opens a menu to peruse.
"Well, tell Ken I said thank you." A waiter brings their menus over and they fall quiet, perusing their choices. The dishes all have some spin on their usual names and Sam narrows her eyes as they scan the pages. It feels like some sort of trick, like they're misleading her into the wrong choice. A loud clap sounds across from her and Sam glances over the top of her menu to catch Brooke laying hers down on the table. The blonde's expression is dark, daring Sam to say something, start something and she looks back down and away. She has the sinking feeling that this was a very bad idea. Whatever Brooke's issue is, it's clearly with Sam, and history has taught them both they need the entire length of a football field, approximately, separating them when things get rough. Otherwise, they get ugly.
"Is everyone ready?" Their waiter is an overly cheerful, well dressed twenty-something, and he smiles at them as he takes their orders. He tells them that he'll be back momentarily with their drinks as he collects their menus, then disappear through a cloud of steam created by the hotplate on the island behind them. Sam can't help wishing that she'd love to be able to disappear in a similar, more permanent fashion.
"Brooke," Jane begins, all enthusiastic smiles and genuine intrigue, "how's cheerleading?" Sam pretends not to notice the way Brooke fights against slouching further down in her seat, the way she has to force her smile; because they're things that Sam shouldn't notice. Things that only someone who pays too much attention would.
"Great. We've been working on a routine that's really different to what we usually do and I think we finally mastered it."
"That's great, honey." Mike is sitting on Brooke's left, wearing that 'proud father' smile that used to make Sam sick. "And Sam, how's the paper?" Something she feels tremendous guilt over now, after how hard he's tried.
"Also great." Sam's tone is a little too enthusiastic, but apparently she's the only one that notices that. "Harrison and I rented the video equipment again and interviewed some people at the mall. We're doing a piece on the pressures, or lack thereof, placed on society by the media. I'm hoping it'll shine a spotlight on the obsessive photoshopping that media outlets have adopted and the damage it can do, especially to teenagers."
"That's a very admirable subject." And Sam smiles at him, but all she sees is Brooke shifting uncomfortably at the edge of her vision. A chill slithers along her spine.
"Yeah, a lot of good it'll do." It's Harrison's name and the way Sam says it so nonchalantly that gets to her. Reminds her. Drags sharp little nails along a chalkboard inside her mind and makes her snap. She'd wanted to be a better person than this, had been trying, and even liked that person better. But the betrayal that wasn't really a betrayal at all hurt and it's so easy to fall back on old habits. Sam's dark eyes snap to Brooke, landing heavily.
"What's that supposed to mean?" The question is curt, snappish with an air of disappointment, like Brooke just told her she was a crappy journalist. Guilt creeps up on her and that, combined with Sam's harsh gaze, is enough to make the blonde deflate a little.
"I just don't think a high school newspaper is going to attract the needed amount of attention for something like that." Because Brooke knows all about feeling inadequate. She watches Sam's shoulders slump slightly, and wonders if the reporter just remembered that. She almost sighs her relief when the waiter returns with their drinks.
Conversation moves from one thing to another, with Mike and Jane playing the starring roles and Sam and Brooke 'hmm'ing and nodding their way through supporting cast. They pay enough attention to know when to do what or partake in a way that actually requires them to speak, but neither of their minds are really there in the moment.
"How's Harrison these days?" Sam is sipping her drink when her mom asks and she eyes her over the rim of her glass. "Are he and his mom…?" Jane trails off as their waiter returns, this time with their food, and places the dishes in front of the appropriate people.
"They're good." Sam gives a kind of half-shrug; Harrison hasn't really gone into detail about it with her, but she's gleaned an overall impression of things from what he has said. "Better than before, I think."
"Well, I for one have always thought that sharing things can bring people closer together." Brooke unexpectedly pipes up, eyes on her cutlery as she stabs a fork into her slightly seared salmon and attacks it with the knife. "Really cement a relationship." Jane doesn't seem to notice that there's anything off about the way Brooke speaks, neither does Mike, but Sam hears the underlying growl and bristles at it. Still winded after having a cold shoulder driven into her gut the night before and wound tighter than the world's biggest spring thanks to spending the day wondering what she'd done to piss Brooke off, she knows there's only so much she can take before she snaps. So she stares at Brooke, eyebrows drawn together into a frown.
"Me too." Sam says slowly, eyelids not even flickering as she waits for Brooke's to say something else.
"I'm glad. I was worried for a while." Jane lets out a relieved sigh. "I'd hate to see something like that tear apart a family." At that, Brooke does look up, but Sam's attention has moved to her mother.
"Yeah." Sam's voice is soft and Brooke suddenly feels like the biggest bitch in the world. "Harrison's a good guy. He's just hot headed." But it doesn't last, because Sam says his name with such affection that it makes the blonde's skin crawl.
"It's nice that you and he are such good friends." The emphasis on the last two words is laid on thick and their eyes finally meet over them. Sam can't read Brooke's expression, but she knows her well enough to understand that it isn't a good one.
"Thanks." She gives the blonde a single, slow blink. "He means a lot to me." Her tone is still slow and even, because she doesn't understand why Brooke is suddenly speaking to her, nor how she has apparently missed a huge chuck of this conversation somewhere. There's a quiet pause as everyone begins to eat, Mike voicing his opinion of the food in loud, satisfied noises of appreciation.
"This is good." He says without looking up, but Jane's eyes are flitting back and forth between her daughter and the girl who is becoming as close to her own as possible without the genetic connection with each passing day.
"I'm surprised you decided to grace us with your presence, Sam." Brooke says, and she's all smiles on the surface but it's all too sweet. There's a seething ire rippling beneath her skin, just itching to get out. Sam's eyes narrow ever so slightly at the corners, bringing her brow down even as she offers a too-sweet smile of her own. Because even though Sam has no idea why Brooke is being so bitchy, she's not going to lie down and take it. It's kind of in her nature to fight back, especially when it comes to Brooke.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She keeps her voice steady, light and cheerful, and to any and all onlookers they appear the very picture of a functional family enjoying a nice night out. Brooke isn't thrown off in the slightest and she lifts her fork to her mouth, projecting an image of amiable chatter. Like they're talking about the weather. Jane's face is starting to cloud under her growing confusion and Mike is, well. He's just eating.
"I just thought you'd have better things to do than have a boring family dinner with the rest of us." She's absently waving her fork in the air as she talks and Sam wonders how much of that is calculated. How much of it is Brooke trying to ground herself in some way, stop herself from blowing her top completely. Because that is exactly what's about to happen; Sam can feel it. Like the promise of a hurricane.
"I thought you loved Chinese food." Mike comments, frowning at Sam and then looking around at the spinning tables and servers behind their hot plates, spinning meat into the air before pressing it against the scorching surface. "What's not to love about this place?" He sounds offended. Neither of them hear him.
"Well, Brooke," a warning trickles through every word that leaves Sam's lips, as she tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear and leans over the table, closer to the blonde, "since you seem to know all about me and my extracurriculars, why don't you enlighten me?" Sam's glare could peel paint off walls.
"Funny." All traces of good humour, however forced or fake, are gone from Brooke's face. "I didn't know the school board considered screwing around with Harrison in the backseat of your car an extracurricular activity."
"Brooke!" Mike yelps like a startled dog, his obliviousness to the escalating situation allowing him to be taken off guard by the crass comment. Sam's expression turns cold, all emotion fleeing from it, and in that moment she thinks she sees things so clearly. Enough that she doesn't really care about the fact that what Brooke is insinuating doesn't hold so much as a grain of truth.
"Jealous?" She shoots back, feeling a surge of dark joy swell within her as she sees Brooke wince in response to the accusation, and Sam smirks a little, smug. Because it makes so much sense now, enough that it makes her want to cry. Harrison is her best friend; why couldn't Brooke find someone else to crush on? She knew Harrison didn't know what he was talking about, but wow.
Blood rushes to colour the blonde's cheeks and Brooke fights against the urge to scream or slap Sam. Yell about how Sam is right for all the wrong reasons and tell her she's so stupid for not seeing through Brooke's bullshit. For being so god damn fickle with her feelings and falling into Harrison's waiting arms because she thinks she doesn't have a chance. She wants to yell at herself for being such a coward.
"Girls!" Jane's low hiss breaks the death glare thickening the air around them. "What is wrong with you two?" She glances between them, finally stopping on her daughter and frowning. "Sam, are you and Harrison-?"
"No!" Sam shrieks loud enough to attract the attention of patrons' three tables over. Her eyes are wide with indignation and she throws her hands out as if to ask where the hell this is coming from. Her mother's expression doesn't waiver. "We're not! I'm not! Harrison and I are friends!" Brooke can't quite hold back her scoff and Sam's head snaps in her direction. "Shut up, Brooke! I am so sick of you!" Any response the cheerleader had been preparing dies on her tongue at Sam's words. She feels her heart sink, the adrenaline and anger draining from her, and she abruptly pushes her chair back to stand. She mutters something unintelligible and leaves the table, eyes hot and vision starting to blur.
"Sam, what is-?" Jane begins, but Sam mimics Brooke's movements and gets to her feet too.
"I'll be right back." She says stiffly, throwing her napkin down beside her plate and setting off after the other girl. Mike and Jane's eyes meet.
"I don't want to have to pay for the cost of cleaning blood out of the carpets by washing dishes." He confesses with a worried smile.
"If they're not back out here in fifteen minutes, all body parts attached, we'll consider it over and dine and ditch." Jane raises both her eyebrows and, at her husband-to-be's nod of agreement, they silently return to their dishes.
Sam see Brooke's hair disappear around the door to the women's bathroom and quickens her pace. She can't remember the last time she'd felt this angry with another human being, let alone Brooke. She slaps her palm against the door to stop it from closing and throwing it back open, barely registering the sting of her skin. Brooke spins, blonde hair flying like a golden wave, and her heart stumbles over its next beat as she sees Sam. Catches sight of fiery eyes and a face like thunder.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Brooke?" She yells, not stopping until she has Brooke pressed flush against the wall beside the sinks.
"Step the hell back, Sam." The blonde cautions, her voice carrying more anger and warning than she feels she's ready to back up. If she's pushed though, she knows she'll find the resources. They're too close and their emotions are too high and something is going to happen if one of them can't calm down. She knows this, she sees it happening like she's suddenly clairvoyant, but knows she won't be able to stop it. When Sam doesn't move, she lifts a hand to the brunette's shoulder and pushes her. "Step back." Sam's eyes flare and her own hand snaps up to knock Brooke's aside.
"Not until you tell me why you're being like this." And even though the anger is still plastered on Sam's face, something has shifted. Brooke's entire body has gone rigid. Being pulled in two different directions, conflicted, and every nerve in her body has frozen. Sam is so close, Brooke can smell the lingering scent of her shampoo and it's doing things to her that will undoubtedly get her into trouble. So, forced into choosing between giving into anger and giving into the truth, Brooke falls back onto more reliable, safer habits.
"You can talk." She snaps, straightening her back so that she stands taller and looms a little over Sam. "I haven't been fighting with myself." Sam rolls her eyes, exasperated.
"I'm not the one who started this!" She yells and throws her hands up in frustration, finally turning away from Brooke as she slips her fingers into curled hair and tugs angrily.
"Oh, please." Brooke snarls and in the back of her mind a meek voice is telling her to calm down, but she's not in control anymore. "You're the one who suddenly decided I wasn't good enough to talk to about stuff anymore." Sam spins back to face her, an utter lack of understanding shadowing her features.
"What are you talking about?" The blonde can hear the pleading in Sam's voice and suddenly she's confused. Because if appearances are anything to go by, Sam looks like she genuinely has no idea, but if their past has taught the cheerleader anything, it's that Sam can be a very convincing liar.
"Harrison." His name drips like venom from Brooke's lips, as though the word itself is poisonous. Sam stares at her, pushing down at the new feeling of flaring jealousy that comes with hearing her say his name.
"What about him?" She forces the question out through clenched teeth, each word slow and deceivingly steady.
"Don't play dumb, Sam. I'm not blind."
"So, just crazy then?" Sam asks with raises eyebrows, folding her arms across her chest. "Brooke, I have no idea what you're talking about." But then her eyebrows drop and comprehension makes her eyes roll. "Were you serious about what you said at the table? About me and Harrison?" Brooke mimics her actions, wrapping her arms around her torso.
"I saw you guys. In your room." Sam just blinks at her.
"Okay, well, you might not be blind, Brooke" Sam lifts a hand to brush her hair out of her face, suddenly tired. "But you definitely have some kind of vision impairment, because I was there too and there was nothing going on that looked even remotely like screwing of any kind." Brooke's cheeks colour for the second time that night and she drops her head. She suddenly feels stupid, a cloying sense of guilt settling in the pit of her stomach.
"But you guys were all..." She gestures with her hand and the movement is shaky, unsure. "Snuggly."
"I was upset. Harrison was just trying to comfort me, as a friend. We're not together. Not in a conjugal sense." Sam is staring at Brooke again and the blonde shifts nervously under her scrutiny. Now she's really starting to feel stupid. "Is that seriously what this has been about? You were jealous?" Blonde hair swings wildly as Brooke's head snaps back up. The burning heat of panic shoots along her spine and instantly spreads a thin sheen of sweat along her entire body.
"W-what?" She stutters. Brooke McQueen does not stutter. Sam doesn't bother asking again, she knows Brooke heard her. "No, I'm not jealous!" Her pitch, bolstered by the panic, is punched up a few octaves. She takes a deep breath and repeats herself calmly. With more conviction. "I'm not jealous. I've just been in a bad mood." And the fifty foot high guilt wave that's been swimming steadily closer for the last five minutes hits her full force as Sam's eyes soften and the anger is replace with hurt.
"That wasn't a bad mood you were stuck in Brooke, it was a goddamn ice age." Brooke knows she deserves to be yelled at, feels like she deserves a lot more than that, but she already feels like crap and she's never much enjoyed Sam being mad at her. It sucks even more when it's because of something Brooke herself has done.
"I know." She replies, timidly. Sam is quiet for a moment, just staring as she presses her tongue into the side of her cheek.
"Look, if you want Harrison you should have said something. This whole silent, pole stuck up your ass treatment has been giving me a headache." She pauses, feeling vulnerable about her next words but knows that they need to be said. "And it hurts."
"I don't!" Brooke all but explodes, shaking her head so vigorously Sam is surprised her teeth don't rattle. "I'm not interested in Harrison." Sam's throws an arm out towards the bathroom door, indicating the room beyond and what had just transpired.
"Then why-"
'I mean, I was jealous, yes." Brooke finally admits, feeling the pressure at her chest lighten. "But not because of you." Sam's head jerks back an inch or two and she frowns, leveling Brooke with a glimmer of hope that makes the blonde's heart ache. She realises how her words are being taken, how close to the truth they are. "Not like that." She amends quickly and sees Sam's posture relax slightly. "I just, I saw you guys, and I assumed and-"
"You do know what they say about people who assume, right?" Sam deadpans and Brooke answers by shifting her weight, cocking her hip to the side.
"Okay, do you want an explanation or do you just want to be a smart ass? Because I can leave you here with your reflection if it's the latter." Sam remains silent, but waves her hand to let Brooke know that she should continue.
"I saw you guys and assumed you were dating, and I got angry. So-"
"Why angry?" But the aspiring reporter can't seem to help herself.
"Because I thought he'd take my place!" Brooke finally snaps, annoyed by the interruptions and frustrated by having to admit to having a weakness. In the ensuing silence she realises that, once again, she's said too much. Emotions high and her mental filter breaking down with every exhaustive second that slips by, the real reason behind it all edges ever closer to the surface. Big brown eyes are staring at her, less confused but no more assured, and Brooke wants to leave it there. Let Sam come to her own conclusions about what she means, because if she asks, Brooke doesn't know if she'll be able to keep lying.
"What do-" So, Brooke can't let her ask.
"He'd be your new confidant." She blurts, eyes watering now because even if it isn't the whole truth, it's still pretty close. "He'd be the person you went to with everything and we wouldn't be as close anymore. I'd just… fade away and become secondary to him." Frustrated – with herself, with Sam, with everything – a tear tumbles along her cheek and she lifts a hand to brush it away. "And I freaked. Because I don't want to lose," she stumbles then, covering it was a harsh swallow, "that." She can feel her heartbeat in her hands, turning her palms clammy, and she's watched Sam's expression shift from confused to something like sympathy. Hostility kneeling before an emotion strong enough to overpower anything. An emotion that Brooke knows the name of, but is afraid to say. Not that she needs to.
Looking at Sam, she knows that the worst is over now. Knows that her words, while not the total truth, have proved true enough to set her on a path to redemption. Forgiveness.
"Brooke." But there's still a note of frustration lingering in Sam's voice. She lifts a hand to rub at her forehead and takes a step closer to Brooke. "You are the most infuriating person I have ever met." Brooke arcs an eyebrow and a small smile curls her lips.
"Have you met you?" Sam rolls her eyes, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue again as Brooke's smile tips from teasing down towards repentant. "I really am sorry, Sam." Then she frowns a little and it changes back. "About being a bitch, not about the burn, because that was pretty good."
"You're lucky I'm so gracious and forgiving." The sigh that leaves Sam is the sound of the last hurdle being blown over and Brooke knows how true that is.
"I know." She'd almost ruined everything with harsh words and cold shoulders, all because of some dumb misunderstanding. And Sam has forgiven her. She knows that it isn't all because of her gracious and forgiving nature, knows that Sam's ability to let go of everything Brooke has done over the past few days has a lot more to do with underlying feelings, because it wouldn't have even existed back in the early days of their households merging.
Mike and Jane had breathed mutual sighs of relief when their daughters returned to the table void of one another's blood. They'd sat down, smiled, and then gone back to enjoying their meals. That was it. Nothing more was said about the outburst – neither parent wanting to risk bringing it up for fear of history repeating – and once the immediate awkwardness passed, there was no indication that anything had ever gone awry.
Of course, once they got home Jane made some excuse to get Sam alone and had proceeded to thoroughly grill her about her relationship with Harrison. Or, as Sam had insisted, lack thereof. That had been fun. After a good half hour, Sam was fairly confident that she'd convinced her mom that there was nothing beyond friendship between the two of them and certainly nothing sexual. She'd argued, with a healthy dose of vehemence, that "Harrison's like my brother, that's gross", before the sound of Brooke laughing at something in the other room had turned her blood cold and made her feel like the biggest hypocrite on the planet.
All in all, the evening had turned out better than she'd been expecting. Which was saying a lot.
After narrowly escaping what she was momentarily terrified might become a 'sex talk', Sam had put as much distance between herself and her mother as was possible without actually leaving the walls of the Palace and retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom. She'd quickly changed into shorts and a t-shirt and collapsed onto her bed to watch mind-numbing T.V. in the dark. Which is where she is when a tentative knock at her door reaches her ears.
"Still here, Mom." Sam grins, only slightly annoyed by the older woman's lack of trust, her eyes not leaving the screen.
"Not Mom." She doesn't know why, but she's surprised to hear Brooke's voice. Maybe it's because, even though she's thankful for things being back to 'normal', she's not quite used to them being back on speaking terms. It might have only lasted twenty-four hours but it had felt like her own private hell, one where she had spent a small eternity. Then again, maybe it's the simple fact that she's not really used to Brooke knocking and then actually waiting for Sam to respond. Although after the last time, it might be a while before Brooke went back to doing that.
"Brooke?" Sam looks over to see the door open with a gentle push and arms extend around the side of it, hands baring bowls of something unidentifiable in the dim light. The hands rock the bowls from side to side, tantalizingly, then Brooke nudges the door the rest of the way open with an elbow.
"I made jello." Brooke says, pausing longer than is necessary in the doorway so that she can take in the reporter's form, illuminated in the ethereal glow from the television set. Sam raises an eyebrow and muses that there might as well be miniature white flags stuck in there somewhere. It's strangely touching.
"Is it green?" She sees Brooke grin and nod and, ignoring the flipping of her stomach, Sam pats the vacant spot beside her on the bed. With only a second or so of hesitation, Brooke settles down beside Sam and hands over a bowl of the radioactive-looking food. If you could call it that.
"Peace offering." Is all she gives as an explanation and Sam throws a quizzical look her way.
"I thought we did that already." Brooke shrugs.
"I felt guilty." Sam accepts the spoon Brooke is offering her and slips it into the jello with a bob of her head.
"You owe me big time, by the way." Brooke wonders if the gratitude she feels at Sam choosing to joke about this rather the alternative is written all over her face. She tries to keep her expression neutral, but there's so much inside of her trying to get out that she's surprised it hasn't started leaking through her pores. Gross. "My mom would not let the Harrison thing go. I'm pretty sure she's expecting me to sneak out any second now to meet him for some illicit rendezvous in his nonexistent car. I'm surprised she hasn't come to check up on me yet. Thanks for that." Somehow, Sam manages to say it in a way that doesn't make Brooke feel guilty, or like she should be feeling guilty and she smiles, but has the good decency to blush.
"Sorry." She means it. And in one of those once-rare-but-now-increasingly-and-frighteningly-more-frequent moments, Brooke wishes she were brave enough to tell Sam just how sorry she is, and why.
They sit in companionable silence, eating the jello and paying only a small amount of attention to the TV while the rest of it is focused on their respective bunk buddy until the commercials end and Brooke's eyebrows shoot to her hairline.
"You're watching Jerry Springer?" She asks, an amused smile lighting her face in a way that makes Sam's cheeks burn a little. She's glad she can maybe blame it on embarrassment at being caught watching a trashy trailer park brawl disguised as a talk show.
"Okay, look. It's about the only thing left that can make my life seem even halfway close to normal." Sam confesses with a smirk and the blonde lets out a laugh. Blood singing at the sound, Sam finds herself continuing without prompt. "Seriously. With everything that goes on at school, our parents..." Being in love with my sister-to-be. "We'd be a shoe in for guests of the year. I'm seriously contemplating calling in." Brooke grins and settles back against Sam's pillows, placing the now empty jello bowl on the nightstand.
"Mary Cherry would scar them." Brooke's already picturing the scene.
"Yeah, I don't think they'd have enough security to handle her. Or Satan for that matter." Brooke's head lolls towards Sam and she levels the other girl with a look.
"Sam..." Brooke's tone is warning, but playful, and Sam rolls her eyes.
"Sorry, sorry. Nicole." The name rolls off her tongue with so much sarcasm, Brooke is surprised it doesn't carry it right out of Sam's mouth, but she lets it go. She's not sure she really cares all that much anymore. It's more of an instinctual correction, rather than an actual bone of contention.
"So what's going on?" Brooke asks, watching as the last spoonful of jello disappears between the reporter's lips. She watches Sam swallow and then her lips part to draw in a breath before she speaks. Heat rushes up along the back of her neck and her fingers twitch. Sam shifts until she's half facing Brooke, legs bent at the knee and pulled into her chest. She bends an arm, resting her chin in her palm and her elbow against her pillow.
"Mister Male-Pattern-Baldness has been cheating on his wife with Lady McTeeth-Missing. He says it's because she only has one leg." Brooke frowns at the explanation.
"His wife?"
"The mistress." Sam clarifies, eyes twinkling in the dark.
"Well, why would that be the deciding factor?"
"I don't think you really want me to answer that." After a few seconds, Brooke makes a face.
"Oh, ew." The brunette shrugs her shoulder with a grin and a chuckle.
"How do you think they stay on the air? Each guest has to exceed, or at the very least meet the expectations of the last." Brooke dramatically supresses a shudder and they fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching as the drama before them unfolds.
"I don't get that." Brooke muses aloud and Sam glances over at her.
"What, the leg thing? It's 'cause-"
"No!" Brooke thrusts a hand up in the air. "I'm begging you. Some things aren't meant to be verbalised." A smirk tugs at Sam's lips and she reaches up to bat the blonde's hands down. "I mean cheating. You've got a guy who isn't…" she flounders for a second, searching for a nice way to say it, "particularly attractive, yet he found someone who loved him for him and they got married. Then poof, ten years down the line, some one-legged hussy comes along, flashing her prosthetic and it's as if his wife means nothing to him. Like he doesn't care. I know statistics have been telling us for years, but is marriage really doomed to fail? Can anyone stay in love for five minutes without completely ruining it?" She can feel Sam's eyes on her, burning a hole, but she's flipped some kind of switch and there's no stopping her tirade until it has run its course. "You get married because you love somebody. I can't understand how someone who claims to love someone else can go and hurt them in what is arguably the worst way possible. You commit yourself, body and soul to that person. To just go and share that with someone else, or leave because it's too much effort to stay… I don't get it."
"Maybe…" Sam begins after a very pregnant pause. "Maybe feelings just change. Maybe it's not something anyone can stop. They don't want to have feelings for someone else, but they can't help it." Sam's gaze is on something just over Brooke's shoulder and the blonde is thankful for that. Because something is telling her that Sam isn't talking about Jerry Springer and she's suddenly finding it difficult to draw in steady breaths. "They're inexplicably pulled to that person, despite the possibility that someone is going to end up hurt." At that, Sam seems to come back to herself and her eyes refocus to meet curious hazel orbs. And there's an infinite span of time in that moment where Brooke can't stop herself from thinking about kissing Sam. Because they're sitting on Sam's bed, bodies so close, and she knows – truly knows, for once in her life – that she won't be rejected if she takes this leap. Sam might stare and maybe even yell a bit, but she wouldn't reject Brooke. That feeling of assurance is immense and the heat emanating from Sam's body isn't helping. It's so difficult to hold back. "I mean, look at you and Josh." Brooke blinks against the bucket of cold water the question douses her with. "You guys seemed in love and that changed, right?" Sam's question is hesitant and Brooke can hear everything she isn't asking.
"I don't…" She trails off, not knowing what to say, and Sam's face flushes with embarrassment.
"Wow, I'm sorry. That was totally inappropriate." Sam's lifts a hand to her forehead and she rubs at it worriedly.
"No! No." Brooke grins at the girl's chagrin and reaches out against her better judgement, giving into the familiar pull that seems to spin around Sam like gravity. She grips Sam's wrist and yanks it down until she's soft of cradling it in her lap. She can feel Sam's eyes on her, drifting over the spot where their hands meet. "Not inappropriate, you just caught me off guard." She explains and forces herself to release Sam's hand. There's hesitation before it's pulled back and Brooke fights with the urge to grab it again. "I thought I loved Josh, I really did. I mean I wouldn't have-" She stops short, glancing askance at Sam in time to see the other girls eyes drop to stare at a spot on the bedspread that has become incredibly interesting. "I thought that I loved him, until I realised I didn't. Not the same way he loved me. I made him wait a whole month before I let him kiss me because it didn't feel right before then. Eventually I just let him do it because I thought he'd waited long enough. I wanted to make everything perfect… but it finally clicked that I shouldn't have to make things perfect. It should feel like that naturally. I guess the problem was, even though I didn't know what I wanted then, I knew it wasn't him. And I felt so guilty, I still do, because I know I hurt him. But I couldn't string him along, knowing that wasn't what I really wanted."
"And you know now?" Sam's attention lifts and Brooke feels all the breath in her lungs evaporate. She can see the stark, naïve hope in dark eyes that haunt her dreams and her entire body seems to seize as she realises that she isn't sure she can lie to Sam when she's looking at her like this. The moment hangs, tense and heavy, and she's hyper aware of how close Sam is lying next to her. That their legs are almost touching. She can feel everything unsaid bubbling up inside her chest, straining and clawing as they try to leave, but then her gaze is freed from Sam's and the brunette is chuckling, dismissively. "I guess that's one of the few pros of being a teenager, right? We're allowed to not know what we want or what the hell we're doing, because we're young and..." She interrupts herself with a sigh and the sounds tugs at Brooke. She can hear Sam's internal monologue telling herself she's stupid. "Naïve." And Brooke knows exactly what Sam is talking about.
"I think that sometimes a person can know all along, deep down. It just takes a while for everything to get pushed to the surface. For the layers to get peeled away. Like, it's there and you can make out the general shape of it, but things need adjusting before it can be brought into a sharper focus. Maybe it just takes time." Sam smiles and shrugs her shoulders, completely unaware of what Brooke is really trying to say.
"Maybe." Sam's attention returns to the television set, only to find the credits of the show rolling. She watches them blindly, her brain working, quiet and quick, and when the commercials between shows begin to run she sits up and crosses her legs, reaching for the remote and shutting off the power.
Brooke swallows, uncomfortable with the silence. It's always in these close, quiet moments that she feels the strongest urge to just blurt everything out. She fingers the hem of her shorts nervously and stretches her bare legs out across the bed, smoothing out creases in the material that aren't really there. She feels Sam shift beside her and looks up to find the other girl now kneeling beside her, leaning back on her haunches and wearing an apprehensive expression. Brooke kind of half frowns and half cocks an eyebrow at it.
"Do you remember when we all got locked in the Novak?" It comes out in a rush and Sam already knows the answer, but she can't find another way to broach the subject that isn't just jackhammering the crap out of the ice. She'd really like to break it gently. Brooke gives an affirmative groan and then laughs at the memory. "Not something I'm going to be able to forget any time soon." Blonde hair slips from behind an ear as she tilts her head to the side and her eyes become purposefully unfocused and distant. "I still have nightmares about a fifty foot Mary Cherry waving a bottle of Tabasco sauce around like a club." Sam lets out a snort and then lifts her hand to her mouth, looking embarrassed, but she keeps laughing anyway. Brooke grins.
"I think Carmen does too." She drops her hand to the bedspread and lowers her gaze to watch her fingers pick absently at it once more. Her heart thuds a little more exuberantly against her ribcage. "What did you mean when you said that you'd thought about it?" Everything about Sam screams nonchalant, but Brooke can see through it like the girl is made of glass. She knows exactly what Sam is talking about, why, and that she's so far from this projected external dispassion on the inside that Brooke is surprised she hasn't palpitated herself off the edge of the bed.
"I…" She chokes on the rest of the words, not wanting to lie to Sam but finding herself unable – or unwilling – to think of any half-truths. But apparently Sam isn't done and she continues, giving Brooke a few extra seconds to recover. To think of something.
"I think the general consensus is that you said it to take some of the Satan-heat off Lily but-" At that, Brooke finally finds her voice again.
"That's not, I wouldn't." Brooke interrupts and Sam lifts her gaze again, lets it linger over the blonde's face. Brooke tries not to shift under the scrutiny. "Lying just to make people feel better doesn't do any good. You just wind up tangled in the webs and someone else gets hurt." She sighs and wets her suddenly dry lips with a sweep of her tongue. "I don't like being the one to give people false hope." The moment after she says it, she holds Sam's gaze for longer than she knows she should. She doesn't know if it's to make Sam understand or to make her understand, and when Brooke realises that she has no idea what she's doing, she distracts herself by tucking her hair behind her ear. "I didn't say it just to make her feel better."
"Oh." Sam replies, uncharacteristically meek, and all of her breath leaves her with the word. She hadn't expected that, not for a second, but once the immediate shock has worn off she realises that her question hasn't been answered. Ever the journalist, she presses on. "Then why'd you say it?" With Sam's attention once more focused on the bedspread, Brooke allows her eyes to widen in terror. Panic rushes over her skin, pulling with it a chill that makes her shiver. She draws in a deep breath, then takes a handful of seconds to think about this, properly. She doesn't actually have a whole lot to lose by letting this secret out.
"Because it was the truth." Sam's head snaps up and their eyes lock. "I didn't want Lily to feel like she was a freak or something, so I spoke up." She pauses, thinking back to that conversation and her confession, and how Nicole had looked at her afterwards. "Not that it did any good. I don't think anyone other than you or Nicole were paying enough attention to catch it, and she just thought I was joking." Brooke feels a familiar heat wash over her under Sam's gaze, one that chases away the chill and the familiarity of which was becoming increasingly dangerous. When Sam looked at her like that, it made Brooke want to do things. Lose control, just a little. It blurred the lines between right and wrong, between teasing and leaving something the hell alone. She's been struggling with the latter for a while now though. Pushing it down, Brooke dips her head and looks at Sam through thick lashes. The look makes Sam's head spin. "Then again, you thought that too, right?" Brooke watches, a little mesmerized herself as Sam blushes when she realises she's staring at the blonde and taking too long to answer.
"If I'm honest, yeah."
"Why?" Brooke's emotions have suddenly taken a nosedive, folding under the avalanched Sam created when she hit that nerve. "Perfect, popular Brooke couldn't possibly have such deviant thoughts?" Because it's too close to home and she knows that would be everyone's immediate reaction if anyone ever found out. Her prissy homecoming queen image and social status has screwed her over, practically forced people into assuming that she'd be capable of such thoughts. There are people that hold her up on this immaculate, heterosexual pedestal that nobody can touch, and she has no one to blame but herself. They all just assume and never question. Sam at least wishes things were different, entertains the idea of Brooke being into women before brushing it off as nothing more than a fantasy.
Guilt bites at Sam's insides but then Brooke's question finally filters itself through her brain, which sparks and slows and lets an embarrassing, "What kind of thoughts?" slip free. Brooke flushes scarlet and she laughs, glancing down at her hands as she twists her fingers together. Sam is looking at her with an unabashed curiosity and Brooke knows exactly why the reporter is so interested in her "impure" thoughts. That Sam wants so badly for Brooke to have been thinking about her. Her cheeks burn with the knowledge, because she has been thinking about her. And then Brooke is sad, because she knows that she's too afraid to confess that to Sam.
"Just… thoughts." She finishes vaguely, waving her hands out towards Sam in a random gesticulation. Brooke suspects the movement is actually the truth attempting to manifest itself into being. Then Sam is suddenly darting forward with a grin and shoving Brooke in the shoulder with the heel of her hand.
"Oh come on, Brooke." Sam scoffs. "You've thought about someone." Brooke just looks at Sam, shaking her head, and a dark eyebrow raises as lips twitch in a smirk. "More than one?" The blonde laughs, vaulting forward and shoving Sam in the stomach with both her hands so that the other girl falls out of her kneeling position and into her back near the edge of the bed. "Brooke McQueen!" Sam all but shrieks, smile stretching wide as she laughs up at the ceiling. "Day dreaming about Sapphic getaways to the isle of Lesbos, surrounded by half naked female Greek natives. I'm shocked!" She's still laughing when a pillow connects with her face and she gets a mouthful of it.
"Shut up,Spam." And now they're both laughing. It's exuberant and giddy, and it obliterates any lingering unease lying between them. Then it's all shrieks and giggles, nonsensical vowel sounds as Brooke continues wailing on Sam with the pillow. The girl on her back keeps trying to snatch it away, but the blonde foils her every attempt. She makes a vain final grab for it and then in the time it takes Sam to blink and breathe, Brooke has crawled up her body to straddle her. Still grinning, thought now with a somewhat maniacal slant, the blonde brings the pillow down again and again, until Sam finally catches it and holds tight. Brooke tries to tug it free, but it's to no avail.
"You gonna make me, Princess?" Brooke's insides roil at the challenge, at the way Sam is looking at her. Everything is charged, intense, and Brooke's laughter starts to fade. She wonders then, how Sam can be so shy and insecure, so closed off with her feelings one minute and then able to play the part of a teasing temptress the next. She wonders why Sam does it if she thinks there's no chance for anything more between them. Why indulge in touching the forbidden fruit if you aren't allowed to pluck it from the tree? Why tease yourself that way? Brooke doesn't have the answers. She's guilty of the same.
A high-pitched noise squeaks by Brooke's slightly parted lips at Sam's words and her grasp on the pillow slackens until it rests against Sam's chest. The brunette's hands drop away and Brooke stares down at her, quietly considering all the way she could try and shut Sam up. Meanwhile, Sam is glad she's lying down because she's suddenly lightheaded. Without her consent, her hands have come to rest against Brooke's thighs which are partially covered by the shorts she's wearing. It's a gesture that is decidedly more than friendly, more than sisterly, and Sam's mind goes blank. A perfect pitch black. She has no idea what to do now, other than hyperventilate, and now she has the contact she's loathe to disengage. Her brain wars between worry and pleasure, and she's afraid Brooke with freak if she yanks her hands back. Which she would have to do in order to convince herself to actually move them. So she leaves them there, hoping that Brooke with either not notice or not think anything of it if she does.
"Sure, feel her up, that won't give you away. God McPherson, you are sucha hormonal train wreck."
"Oh my god." Brooke's skin is on fire where the bottom of Sam's palms are touching her. "She's… touching me." Even in her thoughts she whimpers, but she reminds herself to breathe and not pass out. Because there's no amount of talking that could explain that. There does need to be talking of some kind though; Sam is gazing up at her, waiting for an answer. Brooke's brain manages to narrowly avoid sputtering and dying and she regains her composer with an air of determination. Sam shouldn't have this effect on her. Invisible fingers wind around the part of her that rejoices whenever Sam throws down the verbal gauntlet and she holds on tight, anticipating the ride like it's something that belongs in Disneyland.
"Damn right I'm going to make you." Before the sentence is half past Brooke's lips, Sam has had no fewer than six separate fantasies that involve Brooke kissing her, but as the seventh begins to manifest, the blonde grins and lifts the pillow from Sam's chest, then brings it down over her face. There's no danger, but Sam's heartbeat speeds to new heights. She isn't sure if it's down to her survival instincts kicking in or the fact that Brooke has shifted and her thighs are brushes against the skin of Sam's stomach where her shirt has risen. The press of bare skin is electric and Sam instantly feels the buzzing intoxication of it beginning to cloud her mind. At the same moment though, she's being smothered by helplessness. All she has to do right now is survive Brooke and what she does to her, but Sam hasn't been doing the best job of that lately. Or ever. So, blind and a little frantic, Sam reaches up before she can chicken out and runs her fingers over Brooke's sides. It's like an automatic release button and Brooke yelps, letting go of the pillow and crossing her arms over her chest. Sam retaliates by hefting the pillow up, smacking Brooke in the side of the head with it before tossing it off the end of the bed out of their reach.
"Jesus, you can't even make it through an evening without trying to bring me down." Brooke's face crumples beneath a frown at the hurt in Sam's voice and she's suddenly so, so scared. She can't have messed this up again already.
"Sam, I didn't-" Sam cuts her off, lunging up and forward, forcing Brooke backwards until she slides off of Sam. Her back hits the bed and the momentum pulls Sam along. She grunts as the girl's landing knocks the wind out of her, but pulls it together and throws her arms out. They flail wildly and Sam gets clocked in the side of her face before she gets a hold of Brooke's hands. She doesn't really think about it as she locks their fingers together, only knows that she needs to keep hold of them otherwise Brooke might win, and Sam can't have that. That would be tragic. They grin and giggle as Brooke tries to push Sam off of her, but the brunette has leverage that she doesn't and Brooke knows she isn't going anywhere. And it's a struggle, with herself as much as it is with the feisty, dark-haired girl above her. Because the entire length of Sam's body keeps pressing against her and if it keeps happening then Brooke is going to snap and lose any remaining ability to push Sam away. "You're…" She huffs against the pressure at her chest, soldiers on, and then is rewarded with a yelp from Sam when she manages to get a knee up between them, bodily rolling Sam away from her. "So freaking heavy."
"Hey!" Sam protests, panting heavily and glancing at sidelong at Brooke. The blonde's chest is rising and falling just as rapidly as her own and Sam smiles. Because it's one of those moments. Where she can forget all the misery and the hopelessness, and just give in to the closeness that them being friends has given her. Even if that's all she can get. "Don't get pissy just because I'm way stronger than you." She smirks and Brooke tilts her head towards her so that Sam can catch the exaggerated eye roll that's directed at her.
"You have a very high opinion of yourself, you know that?" Brooke raises an eyebrow and Sam laughs, her shoulders lifting against the mattress in a shrug. She rolls onto her side and props her head up with her hand again, looking down at Brooke who has all but stopped breathing and is praying Sam doesn't notice.
"So, do I know her?" Brooke's breath returns only to leave her again in a whoosh of exasperation.
"Sam!" The reporter's eyes twinkle, actually twinkle with mischief and as Brooke stares back, she knows that their faces are far too close together. "When I answered you I thought that would be it." She deflects, having to consciously not allow her gaze to flicker to Sam's mouth. "I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition." Brooke almost jumps out of her skin when Sam throws a hand into the air to point a finger at the ceiling and yells.
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" Brooke stares at her, completely befuddled by the outburst.
"You are the weirdest person I have ever met. That's including April Tuna." Sam beams widely down at her.
"Thanks, Brooke!" She says with overly enthused sincerity. "I think you're awesome too." There's a beat of silence in which Brooke rolls her eyes, again, and Sam pokes her tongue into her cheek thoughtfully. "Tell me." She dares her, looking far too enticing for her own good, and Brooke shakes her head.
"Wasn't the point of this to deduce whether or not I was telling the truth about whether or not I'd actually thought about it?" Sam nods. "And I told you the truth, so technically, shouldn't this conversation be over?" She asks, looking up at Sam hopefully. Sam's expression softens a little and for a minute, Brooke thinks she's going to be let off the hook.
"Nice try." Brooke groans and moves to pull Sam's pillow out from under her head. "You get points for using 'deduced' in a sentence." But the brunette intercepts and catches Brooke's wrist, holding tight. "What's the big deal, Brooke? Just tell me!" Refusing to back down, Brooke struggles to pull her hand free. Sam holds fast and sways with the motion, so all Brooke does is pull her closer. Far, far too close. "Is it a teacher?" Sam's close enough that her breath tickles her cheek as she hovers over Brooke, who's heart is in her throat. She turns her head to give herself some needed distance, using disgust to cover her tracks.
"No! God, I've had alternative thoughts, I'm not deranged." Sam lets out another laugh.
"So tell me!" Something occurs to her and she pulls a face, nose crinkling as though she just smelled something unpleasant. "As long as it's not Nicole. That brings some seriously less than pleasant images to mind." That familiar heat is kindled in Brooke again by Sam's words, spreading with the realisation that Sam hasn't noticed that she's slipped up.
And Brooke knows she should leave it alone, that she should give Sam some random name to satisfy her and be done with this. Let the comment go.
But she knows herself as well. Knows that when the opportunity is there, she's too weak to resist it. She discovered a long time ago that pushing the boundaries is dangerous, but it's addictive and it's fun. And Brooke can't help but tease Sam sometimes. Knowing how the other girl feels brings something out in her that she can't always control, and while she might be too afraid to actually confess, pushing Sam into a confession is less of a concern. Maybe if Brooke drives her crazy enough, Sam will break and tell her.
Slowly, she twists her head back to Sam, who hasn't even attempted to pull away or release Brooke's wrist, and raises an eyebrow.
"But if it wasn't, if it was someone else, they'd be good visuals?" Sam's cheeks blossom with colour, she can feel the heat, and she looks down as her heart pounds in her ears. Her brain tries frantically to escape the fog Brooke's question created and come up with a suitable response, but right now all she can focus on is breathing. "Tell me, Sammie…" Now, Brooke's voice is soft and it urges Sam's eyes to find her own again. She can feel the thin ice beneath her feet, has seen all the warning signs, but she can't help edging further out. She wants to see how far she can go. "Who do you want me to have been thinking about?"
Sam blinks and something shifts. Her eyes change. They become a swirling mix of fear, hope and desire, and the look she's wearing tugs at Brooke's stomach. Maybe, she thinks, this time she's gone too far. Far enough. Might have done it, broken through. She imagines she can see the fissures forming on the surface, can feel Sam starting to crumble above her. The grip on her wrist suddenly feels like a ring of fire is circling it and Brooke can't look away from the brunette's lips. And then Sam's tongue slips out to moisten them and Brooke can practically feel Sam lean in, ever so slightly.
Towards Brooke.
"Knock, knock." Actual physical knocks accompany the words and Brooke feels a kind of sympathy whiplash as she watches Sam's head snap to face the door. The gravity around her seems to drop through the floor, taking her stomach and all her hopes and dreams with it. She finds the strength to pull her eyes away from Sam as a surprised sounding "Oh." follows. Then Sam is retreating from her at lightning speed, sitting a good few feet away, allowing Brooke to sit up and meet Jane's eyes. The older woman's brow is furrowed and she looks both confused and concerned. Like she isn't sure what she just saw or what to make of it.
"Mom, for the last time, Harrison and I are not sneaking out to hook up." Sam sounds frustrated, grossed out too, and Brooke isn't about to trust herself with anything that so much as resembles speaking at this point. Horrifically distressing thoughts of accidentally confessing to meeting up with Sam in her dreams freeze her in place. Jane straightens at the tone in her daughter's voice and she plasters on a look of extreme offence.
"I was just coming in to say goodnight." Sam stares at her mom, utterly unmoved.
"Which would be totally acceptable if I were still ten and needed tucking in." Jane lips twitch, she knows she's been caught. Brooke just sits there, still reeling. "Nice try though." The woman shrugs, defeated.
"Can't blame a mom for trying." Her eyes shift over to Brooke. "You guys… doing okay in here?" Sam hums in the affirmative.
"Just talking." Jane glances pointedly at the pillow lying on the floor and Sam rolls her eyes. "There may or may not have been an altercation with the pillow."
"Just don't break anything, okay?" Sam smiles and makes a cross sign over her heart. "Goodnight girls." And Jane leaves, completely unaware of the moment that she herself has broken. Brooke doesn't move, face blank except for the small crease of a frown, and there's a pause of silence before Sam opens her mouth to speak.
"I'm really tired." Brooke beats her to the punch, scooting off the bed and getting to her feet. Sam's eyebrows lift in surprise but then droop in acquiescence.
"Oh, okay." Sam fidgets and Brooke can't help but wonder what's going through the other girl's mind. "Thanks for the jello." The blonde thinks she manages a smile before she mumbles a goodnight and somehow turns herself around to leave.
Brooke returns to the sanctuary of her room, thoughts of what could have happened if Jane didn't have such impeccable timing swirling around inside her head. She scrambles onto her bed, not bothering to get under the covers, and allows her eyes to close as her back hits the mattress. She thinks about Harrison and the misunderstanding, how terrified she had been when she thought that she'd lost Sam. How much that had hurt.
Brooke likes to be in control of things. That simple fact is at the core of her eating disorder and it's a constant in her everyday life. It's part of the reason she keeps herself, her feelings, hidden away. Because she can. She can make that decision. If she doesn't, she's afraid that things will spiral and she doesn't know how she'd control the consequences. It petrifies her. The problem is, Brooke can feel the threads of control starting to unravel and as much as she tries to stop it, she's finding it harder and harder to maintain her grip.
She stares at the ceiling, remembering with a sick feeling how she'd thought she had lost her chance with Sam. How decimated she had felt, realising that all of her daydreaming would remain as such. It had hit her like a tidal wave, swept in and rearranged everything, and only now where things starting to settle. But the landscape had been changed, something in her had shifted. The things that had kept her balanced on the teeter-totter sitting between yes and no, can and can't, the one made up of indecisions and uncertainties, that had shifted too.
So, as Brooke lies there with only her fear and dreams for company, she takes a good hard look at both.
And she makes a decision.