-Hiding IT-
Chapter 14: False Evidence Appearing Real
FREDDIE'S POV:
Fear.
This is something I've experienced regularly. It's also something that Sam has never shown.
I'm afraid because…
...because...
Because I think I'm falling in love with her. She's pregnant, because of me. I love her. I LOVE Sam Puckett, and also, she's got my child in her stomach. But now, I've searched through the park, around Ridgeway High and the mall. I even popped into the Groovy Smoothie, to check if T-Bo had seen the blonde girl anywhere.
No such luck.
Just then, my phone rang. I looked at the name, scrolling across the screen and a photo of a certain spazzy artist flicked on and off, until I pressed the 'answer' button.
"Spencer?"
"Hey Freddo. Listen. There's something you should probably know. About Sam."
His voice sounded serious.
"What about S-"
"She's leaving."
My ears must have deceived me. I couldn't have heard that right.
"Leaving! She can't... What about... Spence, stop her! Do… something!"
"I can't. She said she was going home to pack and then-"
Wasting no more time, I hung up my pear phone, shoved it in my pocket and took off up the street. Dodging people, ice cream stands and trees, along the way. I was not stopping until I got to where I needed to be.
Like hell, she was just going to up and leave... and never speak to me (or Carly, or Spencer) ever again! That was NOT happening.
In front of a familiar intercom. I pushed the 'talk' button.
No answer.
Pushed it again. Twice.
"Hello?" Sam's voice came through, all crackly.
"Sam… it's Freddie."
The sound of shallow breathing could be heard, but she doesn't say anything more.
With a click, the door opens, and a run upstairs. Only to be greeted with the same metal door. I knock on it and after some time it swings open to reveal a girl, in a sweater and sweat pants and a smear of purple paint on her cheek.
She must have been painting. I knew that she loved to paint, when she felt upset. Kind of like Carly's shower thing. This was Sam's thing to do. Paint.
When her eyes flickered to meet mine, immediately she slammed the door. I let out a sigh.
"Please open the door Sam," I say, leaning my forehead against it.
"Go away, Fredward. You're the FIRST person on my list of 'people I don't want to speak to right now'."
Her voice shakes on the word 'don't'. I try again.
"Listen. This is going to be a lot harder if you don't let your friends help you."
The door opens suddenly, and because I'm leaning against it I go flying forward, onto the floor. I get up and brush myself off, as if nothing happened.
Looking at the girl, I see she's slowly giving in to that "strong girl" façade. I know she appears it on the outside. But deep down… Sam is just scared. Scared of the people who she knows are nice enough to tolerate her, and accept her as a human being. I know this.
"Come in then," she says, pulling me inside and shutting the door quickly. "Speak."
"…is your mom-" I start to say.
"My mom is currently grocery shopping. Apparently." Sam interrupts me, as she so often would do.
"Okay."
"What do you want, Fredward?"
I shift uncomfortably where I'm standing.
Where do I even begin? I think to myself, and start pacing around the room. Where do I even begin?
Sam, I love you.
Nope. Can't say that. She's punch me in an unmentionable place. Twice, probably.
Even though you cause me both physical and emotional pain… I think of you and me as really close friends.
Well, that's a blast from the past. So, no.
"I'm… I may know who the father of-"
"Don't care." Sam says plainly, and goes to sit on a stool and continue painting.
I take my chances and step over to where she had set up her easel and canvas, then folds my arms. My heart is pounding in my ears, or so it seems. My palms are starting to sweat like nothing on Earth. My legs wobble and a breathe in slowly.
"Y-you should care," I reply. Standing right next to her.
This is when it all comes to reality.
Her eyes are flashing red, her nostrils are flaring widely and her mouth contorts, sideways. A scowl appears on her face. Dropping her paintbrush on the floor angrily, she stands up and pushes the easel aside roughly. It lands with a C R A S H! onto the ground. I jump back a little. Now, I'm scared. Really scared.
I realize that just maybe… I probably shouldn't have said what I said to her. Just a guess.
"Why should I care, Freddie? Huh? Is it because YOU care? I don't think so, dude. Why would you care about something that isn't YOUR problem? This is MY problem. I will DEAL with this BY MYSELF. Got it! I don't need a whiney nub telling me that I should FREAKING CARE! When I know, full well that-"
"I'm the father," I say calmly.
Surprisingly this cuts her yelling, ranting and raving short.
My eyes close, tightly. I brace myself for the punch… kick or y'know, something equally painful, I'm sure.
But it doesn't come.
Slowly, I open my eyes, and see her looking at me. But it's a look I've never seen her give me before.
Fear.