Caterina Valentine: My Life.

FlorMorada

I do not own Victorious, or any songs that may be used.

…

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I've had no (proper) Internet for almost three days, oh, sweet Jesus, please revive me.

(It's also been a year and two days since I uploaded this. :))

…

Chapter Twelve

Don't Take Care of Me.

…

:Beck:

…

I let out a sigh as we reach my parents' driveway. I park my truck beside the RV and pull on the handbrake.

It's only twelve thirty, but I decided it was best if we listened to Cat in a place other than school - hence being back here. We were alone in the theatre, but that fact that students were still within ten meters of us made me feel weird. The stories are too personal to just listen to anyhow - and they're not even just about Cat. They're about us all. They'll reveal about us all.

Like that last tape revealed about Jade.

I get out of my side of the truck, pulling the tape bag with me. André, next to me, gets out of his. I turn to see Jade's car also pull up in the driveway – Tori and Robbie climbing out of her car as well.

I lock my truck, and I'm reaching for my RV keys, but I see Jade making her way to my door already.

I'd forgotten – she does have keys. I never did take them back when we broke up.

Slowly, André and I start walking towards the door, and I hear him sigh. I look over at him. "Are you okay?"

He shrugs, head to the ground. "I guess. It's just…it's weird. You'd never think there's so much people can hide. So much goes on in their lives…and you never know, you know?"

'Self-harm - Jade.'

"Oh, I know."

We step into the RV. I drop the tape bag to the floor, next to Jade's jacket – she's still wearing another though. A giant, oversized, deep blue sweater, and it engulfs her whole body.

I shut the RV door, before glancing at her sleeve rolled-up arms.

Her wrists are still covered with bracelets.

I sit on the sofa, before beginning to start a tape up.

Well, André's definately right.

It is weird. People hiding so much from you – people you think you know well. Like Jade; like Cat…like, it's not even weird.

It's just plain terryfying.

…

"Ah. 'Rejection'.

Who'd have thought so short a word could create such an infinite stream of emotions?

…Wait, it's like nine letters, isn't it? Okay – not so 'short'.

And, that makes it sound too deep.

Oh, well.

You'd think I'd stop thinking about that day we were recording your song, wouldn't you, André? But this is, like, my fifth story now - you'll have guessed that if it's a reason, I obviously haven't.

'Cat, why not? Just forget about it!' That's what you're thinking, right?

But here's what I've realised: people saying shit like that, it doesn't work for me. It isn't what people do to me that decide what I feel, it's how I feel about something inrelation to what the person did.

So, in other words: you could trip over your damn shoes and I'd still feel you should blame me.

Us guys - pre-you obviously, Tori - really 'closened' ourselves with you, André, when you came. Beck, Jade, Robbie, you and I: one little 'group'. But then, suddenly, we were all OMG!teenagers, and things started to change

Who we, individually, spent more time with; who'd come to our houses the most; who we'd work with in class.

Who we were. Remember when you told me, Jade, the day before I had to go back home? That you and Beck weren't just 'friends' anymore. Becky and Jadey were together.

And you were happy, André. I was semi-happy. Robbie simply thought we were too young, but all was cool.

But then I noticed, instead of video games with Beck, you'd rather a HarryPotter marathon with me. Instead of asking Jade to perform with you in class, you'd opt for my voice - still good, but almost a year less mature. Instead of super-smart Robbie, you'd want me to help you with tech homework, André.

Basically it was like it was all about me.

So, although it sounds stupid, how I reacted that recording day really dissatisfies me. It's guilt-tripping.

And before you say how sweet but overreactive that is, imagine this for me:

Imagine, with having so much gone on in my life, I soon assumed it was to do with me. Satisfying people - that's what I thought I was lacking in. So I decided giving everyone what they wanted 'secured' some sort of happiness.

But I didn't do that for you, did I, André? You weren't mad, but you would've been more satisfied with another reaction.

And, look, my life isn't happy.

Even proves that theory was right."

…

"Okay, just the part again," André says to me, and he presses the recording machine. I clear my throat as he begins the chords on his piano, and look down at the music sheet.

"I know you've been hurt," I whisper-sing in tune, "by someone else. I can tell by the way you carry yourself."

"And higher," he mouths to me.

"If you let me, here's what I'll do: I'll take care of you."

I softly hold the note for a few moments. André finishes the chords and grins and me, before stopping the recording. "That was amazing, Cat."

I pull the headphones to my neck, smiling as well. "Thanks." I look at the sheet once more. "What's this called again?"

He takes my hand. He guides my finger to the scrawl at the bottom of the page. "Take Care."

I nod slowly. "Ah."

I pull my hand away.

Not that I don't like him touching me, it's just the third time André's done it.

This practice.

"I…can't believe you wrote it,"I say. I look over the words. 'My mind didn't change and I still feel the same', 'I'll be there for you; I will care for you'… "How'd you come up with these lyrics?"

André laughs, knowingly tapping his chest. "Life experience."

"'Life experience'?" Well, understandable.

I've written a song or five.

But my 'life experiences' aren't all that much like others'. Frankly, I only lyricized them to forget them - unsuccessfully, of course.

My songs look more like suicide letters, though. Not like Take Care. I could never perform them.

"I wrote the song about a person, actually." I flip my head to André, still speaking to me. He puts points to a line near to top of the page. "It's about this girl who's had some shit on in the past. And, people," he runs his finger across the lyrics, "'they told me things, but my mind didn't change'."

I stare at André. "Change about what?"

He smiles at me. "Change about her."

And insert my cartoon-like 'gulp'.

"And, people 'don't get her like I will'…like I would, if she told me about her." André slides his finger further down the page. "Like, the girl, if she does tell me…she 'won't ever have to worry', she 'won't ever have to hide.'"

I swallow. "Oh." I feel a small lump in my throat - I wasn't even aware it was there. "Wow," I all I can think to say.

André leans back in his chair. "Yeah, she is wow."

I suddenly feel the pounding need to get out of the room.

But I only have half-answers here, half.

Let me just confirm my suspicion.

"What 'shit' went on in her past?" I air quote.

"I don't know. I've only known her a few years."

A few years…five years? Second grade, when André first came?

"That's why I've had to ask people things. I've noticed stuff about her, but they could just be normal things. But as I said, my mind wouldn't change anyway. Nothing'll change how I feel about my bright girl."

I suddenly get a cramp – a gnawing pain in my gut.

I'm not even overanalysing when I connect 'bright' to 'bright red' and relate it to me.

Okay, I'm positive. This song's about me. So- wait.

That means André really does like me.

I don't even know why, but I suddenly lose breath and shoot up out of the recording chair. Without thinking, I say the first words that come to my mind. "Uh…c-can I use your b-bathroom?" I stutter.

André opens his mouth, but I only sheepishly smile. I pull the headphones still on my neck and throw them across the table. "I, uh…" I put on my elementary school voice. "I gotta pee."

I see André start to get out of his chair, but I'm already half-through the door. I leave him in the love-filled room before he even has a chance to reply.

…

"See. I did not deal with that right! And that's so annoying.

I was so inexperienced with the whole 'liking' thing, André. You putting me in your song practically killed me. You, a boy, liked me how Beck liked Jade; it felt overwhelming. 'Body image' et cetera still wasn't great for me either, so 'being liked' wasn't something I'd even thought possible.

But the thing was, unlike Jade to Beck, André, your feelings…weren't returned. And, as you know, it wasn't because of just you…here was a reason more than one."

…

I stop my pacing in front of André's mirror and stare at myself for a minute.

God, I hate this – situations like this. Where I don't know what to think or do.

Events like this, where my mind's as clear as fog, are what drag me to bathroom drawer at nights – that then leave me to toilet paper-clean my skin and wash my freaking blood off the floor.

André didn't actually say he likes me…he said he wrote Take Care about a girl.

What if I'm not the girl? I'm probably not. I can't be the girl!

Why would you be the girl?

Right!

"Cat?"

And there André is, calling me now. Looking at my watch, I see I've been here eight minutes. "Coming," I shout. I cower into the hallway, to the top of the steps.

There are ten the bottom step. If I take two seconds down each, that's twenty seconds before I have to face him.

Thirty, if I walk down even slower.

I could even stretch it to forty.

…

"God, if you knew what went on in my brain. You wouldn't even stand me."

…

I reach the bottom of the stairs on number forty-two. I join André, now in the kitchen, and sit up on a stool. He offers me a bowl of chips on the table, but I refuse.

Not because of calories. I just don't really want one.

No, really. I swear.

I squeeze my hands into fists. "André?" I brace myself before I lose courage, "if I ask you a question, will you answer it for me?"

"Only if I can tell you something and you reply."

Only half-hearing, I shake my head, but in agreement. "Fine, sure. Who first?"

"Both say it on 'three'."

Wait, how will that work? I want to ask André but he's already counting. I take a breath on two, and open my mouth on three.

"Did you write Take Care about me?" I blurt it out, but I hardly hear it. All I hear is,

"Cat, I have a crush on you."

…

Immediately, I hurry to beside me and slam down on 'pause' on the tape player. I look right at André and the look on his face is better than indescribable.

I bite down on my lip. Hard.

It takes all I have in me not to, with shock, laugh.

"Woah, dude, you liked Cat?" comes from Jade. Despite the other three of us, her expression seems to hold some composure.

I feel my chest tighten from restraining myself, and I see Tori slap her hand over her mouth too. "Wow, André," I say to him, fighting the tugging corners of my lips. "That was certainly…unexpected."

He slowly, painfully, brings his eyes to me. "Cool story. Now, play the tape," he says, voice low.

"No, man-" I start.

"Just play. Tthe tape."

I swear, I'm biting my lip so hard I taste blood.

It's only funny because it's surprising, okay? It's not like we laughed with Cat's other tapes - this one's different! The others were sad…this one's almost hilarious.

…

My eyes widen at André's words. I look at his face – he looks confused. "Of course I wrote Take Care for you, Cat. As I said, I have a cru—"

"But I don't like you."

I don't even realise how harshly I say the words, but then it's suddenly silent.

Before I can even say anything more, André turns his whole body away from me.

"Oh, God. André…"

And I tell him I'm sorry; I didn't mean to say it like that. That I wasn't thinking. I get no response. I rub his back and he still doesn't react.

What if…what if André wants to kill himself now? What if he dies because of me?

I feel a pound in my chest and the thought begins to invade my brain, but suddenly, André shrugs my touch off his shoulder and turns back to face me. His eyes glisten – are they tears? I prepare for him to be angry. However, what arises from him isn't a cry or even a yell; it's a chuckle - and I'm totally confused.

"Wha-…"

Laughing, his eyes gleaming even more, he loudly says to me, "You trying to burp a baby?"

Without even hesitating, I reach my arms out and hug them around André's neck. I begin to chuckle; hysterically die— and his comment's soon not even that funny.

I feel something relax. He's not mad! I haven't screwed everything up. And feeling André's own arms hugged around my back, I actually don't even tense. It's not awkward - it actually feels normal. Pre-today, pre-André liking me, normal.

I sigh into his neck. "Don't say sorry, okay," - exactly what I was going to say. He pulls away. "So, you don't like me, huh?"

"Not more than a friend, André…I'm sorry."

"Cat!"

"Sorry! Wait, sorry!"

André shakes his head. "I'd have have played it down if I knew I was obvious."

I cock my head to the side.

"You knew my song was about you, didn't you?"

I feel my cheeks blush, and sink into the stool. "It kind of was obvious."

André's eyebrows furrow, and he stares at me. "Seriously?"

I can't help but giggle as I nod. "This is the first time we've been together for work in weeks, André; you always want to hang out. Even choosing me for this project," I say, "aren't you always paired with that eighth grader? Katrina..?"

"Trina Vega."

I push his shoulder, my smilw teasing. "See? So picking me? Totally 'Mr. Obvious'. Even with my question - you you could have made up a Take Care girl name."

André scoffs. "So, 'it's for Paterina Hammertine' isn't obvious?"

I let out a laugh - always humouring. "Well, you wouldn't have told me! Plus, they'd have rhymed with me."

"You'd feel confident saying that?"

I shrug, hesitantly. "I'd at least try to make up something."

I see a smirk appear on André's lips, and he clears his throat. "So, say I'm Jade, and I'm all, 'I love my hottie-hot boyfriend!" I can't help but – what's it Jade calls it? 'Facepalm', "'who do you like, bestie?'" he impersonates. "Then what would you say?"

"Something…unobviously obvious."

"Like?"

"Like, 'he rhymes with 'deck'' or something!"

I then notice a frown appear on André's face, and one soon appears on my own. "Wait, say that again?"

I stare at him, confused. "I said I'd say he rhymes with 'deck'…"

And then I literally hear the time bomb start to tick the seconds off in my brain.

Four, as André evidently realises the message behind what I've just said. Three, as, my heart skipping a beat, I freaking realise what I've said. Two, as André exclaims, 'You like Beck?!', and…I do, as a matter of a fact. And one—"

…

One is as I kick the player with such force, Cat's voice stops, and the machine…cracks.

…

Welp.

Shit.

(You guys want a shorter reason for Bat, or a multi-chapter (like Lilith and Jade etc.), longer one?

'Cause they'll be next *winkety-wink*.) :3

…

FlorMorada.