How bad, you ask?
Well... the scale runs 'very' to 'pretty damn':
Sam is the type of person who flips to the end of the book first, because she doesn't like wasting time and energy being disappointed on purpose. She would rather read the wiki-entry before heading to the movie, so she knows what to expect, because if she's going to waste four hours of prime meat consumption time she would like some assurance that the investment is not going to fuck her over in any major way. (She's looking at you, Hunger Games and Those Left Behind.)
This, she feels, is reasonable, because in life, you could almost be certain the ending will let you down at some point, and the whole idea of escape is to get away from the giant piles of shit the sidewalk of your life is littered with.
So she wishes in that somewhen at the truly hazy beginning of the mess that is her and Freddie she'd gotten a cheat code that would have let her skip straight to level three, world eight. She wishes for a strategy guide that would have warned her to cut ties, and not have played in the first place, not gotten so invested. She had deserved a spoiler for the boss battle so that she could see that the last level was bugged- just an infinite loop of her own shortcomings and regrets- because she had never intended for everything to come to this, for her entire social structure to collapse in on itself. She certainly never meant to lose the only two people who had ever mattered to her that she thought would stick around. She really should have known better- everybody always leaves- and this time, she only has herself to blame.
"You aren't really... Please, Sam-"
She's not even half listening to Freddie's attempts to- well she doesn't even know what. An apology? Another accusation? A hamfisted attempt to justify dating her and wanting her best friend the whole time? Who knows? His princess is in another castle! Sam fights off her light headed urge to laugh.
She wipes her face with her hand, and feels grimy. She hadn't washed her hands after iCarly, and they'd been digging in piles of cereal for the "Idiot Farmgirl Who Thinks a Cowboy Lost His Squirrel in the Cheerios' Box" sketch. She thinks about the tiny, ground up grains settling over her skin, into her pores, seeping in -creeping in- without her tacit consent and how no matter how hard she scrubs them against her jeans nothing is going to get them out without a full wash.
This, she takes a small measure of pleasure from, is an excellent juncture to have that metaphor to cling to. She turns to Freddie, and wills herself to be strong, untouchable, untouched- wills herself to be Sam.
"We're done here, Benson." She feels something slip away at those words, feels it slide down her throat, past her spine straight and stiff as a rod, through her stomach and wash out her toes away into the ether. It cuts the whole, slimy way down, leaving deep, thick, ropey currents of pain behind it, but it bleeds a certain mix of resignation and relief that pools in her heart like finality. It's almost with wonder that she continues. "We really, really are."
Speaking of escape:
"Okay, so that was when the spaceship swooped in, right? And all the people are screaming and yelling, 'Ahh! Squirrels with ass probes! Ohgod ohgod! We're going to die!' and running around and then Godzilla in a bowler hat comes in, holding the detonator and-"
"You are one hundred percent making this up."
"I'm not! Derek, I swear, it was epic! The best webtoon I've seen in my life! So, he's stomping through downtown, holding the detonator, and the president is all-"
"Can I ask you something?"
"What? Is it 'why is the president pregnant with the Dali Lama's baby?' because I told youthat already!"
"No, thank you, I actually remember the answer to that, and wish I didn't so, please, it's not necessary to repeat it."
"Pfft, that's an integral part of the story- how else would you be able to explain the tuba? But, whatever. As long as you were paying attention, yeah, go ahead. Shoot."
"How do you feel about me?"
"Whoa, what does this have to do with Boom Boom Space Bats and the Chamber of Funk? You said you wanted to know!"
"No, Sam- not... Okay, let me start again. We have fun together, right?"
"Sure, yeah?"
"Don't sound so enthusiastic!"
"No, I'm sorry, yeah, of course. We're not Jedi weapons."
"What?"
"Not lightsabers? Blasters? We have a blast. C'mon, keep up."
"Nice!"
"Watch your mouth, Bearden. I am not now, nor will I ever be nice."
"I stand corrected, but Sam-"
"What's up, Derek?"
"You think I'm an okay guy?"
"Def. Snappy dresser, floppy hair, likes meat- what's to hate?"
"Ok, yeah, actually, let's roll with that! How long have we been hanging out?"
"You do know that I'm the current record holder for 'Most Pop Quizzes Ever Skipped' at Ridgeway, don't you?"
"Bear with me, for a minute here, Puckett. I'm working on something. How long have we been hanging out?"
"Okay, okay! Jeez, I dunno. It's been a minute, so I guess- a month, give or take?"
"So we've established that you don't hate me, we have fun, and it's been working for a month or so. So, I have something to say. I don't want to go to the park anymore-"
"Damn, one story about a raptor in a nun's habit and you're running for the hills- I won't talk about Boom Boom Bats anymore, God, but you are going to be missing out."
"Stop! Wait, Sam, please. Just stop moving for a minute. Let me get this out."
"I get it, Derek, and I will not tell you the ending, and we can just keep hanging out. Done deal!"
"It's not that. Just- I like you! Okay? I have since you raised your eyebrows at me when I gave you my number and said 'This might be good.' I like your directness, and how honest you are, and you're really fuckin' pretty, Sam, and I don't want us to be just park buddies anymore. I-"
"Oh, Derek. I'm... so, so sorry."
The walk from Bushwell Plaza to Derek's house is surprisingly short. She figured it wouldn't be too far, since presumably he'd been at his house when she'd called him, but the incredible speed with which they'd managed to close the distance between those points in space is astounding her. She recognizes that she's been somewhat distracted, and that for all her feet were marching through his front gate with a grim sort of determination her mind was still latched firmly back on the corner of Pine and Main, locked on the tableau that Freddie had presented, mouth open and expression sick as she had walked away. She figures he'd pulled himself together quickly post her departure, so she isn't too worried about the after (he could turn around and go straight back up to Carly, crying on her shoulder over what a bad girl Sam is and maybe this time is the time she finally listens and then there would be no reason at all for he and she not to- no) but damn if the before hadn't been way less satisfying than she'd hoped it be.
She'd wanted to feel powerful leaving him there, expected the end to be hard, and cold, and somewhat triumphant because, when all was said and done, she'd been completely justified. She'd closed the book on Sam and Freddie, and was ready, she thought, to deal with the fallout from that, whatever it is. (If she loses him to Carly, well, she won't have lost Carly, she doesn't think, and she'll find a way to live with that.) She'd pictured scenes just like the one she'd just been through half a billion times since their breakup and a billion and half before they started dating, and they had all tasted like contentment, contained all the ingredients for gratification. She had, of course, not been naive- she knew it would hurt, but really, this feeling like she'd left large chunks of organ and bone smeared across the bricks and pavement slabs, pieces of herself that she knew were vital to her ability to function- it was more than she'd bargained for.
Derek's hands are warm on her shoulders as he guides her to a sofa in the den. He'd been quiet the whole way, and it was the best kind of consolation she knew how to want at the moment. He had steered her steps with a light, unobtrusive hand on her back, that kept her grounded and reminded her to breathe.
"Well, that was something," he starts, folding his long body into the chair across from her. He takes her hands in his.
"Oh man, I'm so sorry you had to see-" He cuts her off with a finger on her lips and shakes his head, before moving to cup her cheek in his palm. He really does have the kindest eyes.
"Don't apologize to me, Sam. Not ever again." He cracks a small smile, and for some reason she finds it insanely comforting. "I'm still trying to deal with the emotional fall out from the last time."
"Derek, I-" she starts, because she'd like to explain herself. She'd like to organize the moments between signing off on iCarly and sitting here on Derek's supersoft, not at all second hand sofa, fit them into a neat, efficient narrative that he will understand, because then maybe she will understand how in a handful of minutes everything she's spent nearly ten years building could fall so completely apart. The charmingly kitsch wall clock tells her that it's been less than an hour, and it's almost funny in a terribly, horrible, no good, very bad sort of way.
His thumb brushes slowly under her eye and it's only then, as she coughs out a watery laugh, that she realizes she's crying again.
There was also a moment when:
"Hey, Sammie! How're you? How've you been?"
"Me? Same ol' same ol', Benson. Nothing's changed since third period, why?"
"It's just been awhile since we've talked, I mean, really talked and-"
"Yep, I hear that's kind of a big part of being broken up, though. Not, you know, having discussions about feelings. It's actually probably one of my favorite parts about it."
"Ouch, Sam."
"Toughen up, Freddifer. I'm just giving you a hard time. Unclench."
"How about we let bygones... do whatever it is that bygones... do? I miss you, Sam. You're my best friend. And between iCarly and wherever you've been disappearing to after school, I haven't seen you lately. I promise I will... unclench? Really? Unclench? Is it necessary for you to pick the grossest word?"
"Um, have we met? And I guarantee given time and enough Fatcakes I could come up with something epically grosser than 'unclench.'"
"Point... Point taken. It's just... I just... I miss you. I want to see you. I want to get back to where we were before all this blew apart."
"Huh."
"'Huh?' That's all?"
"No, I mean... Well, I mean I suppose that I could probably allow the bygone to proceed unmolested. It probably has things to do, and I'm feeling exceptionally generous today."
"Really? That's surprisingly accommodating for a Puckett. What's in it for you?"
"For me? Peace. Quiet. Freedom. I don't miss you at all, if you're wondering, but I will genuinely stab someone if I have to talk any more about emotions. People need to leave me the hell alone. And the best way to achieve that looks like making nice with you. Don't let it go to your head, nub."
"Oh good. You had me worried for a minute. There's the Sam I know and loathe!"
"Did you grow a sense of humor since the breakup? A backup spine? Do I need to fix this?"
"Ha ha, Puckett. Unclench."
"I knew it. I knew I should have been firmer with you from the start."
"Whatever, you like it."
"Your face likes it."
"That it do, Princess Puckett. Anyway, it's been awhile since we've done a 'Wake Up Spencer,' hasn't it? I thought maybe if you weren't busy we could get together, and work on some ideas."
"Uh, yeah. I guess. Got to get back on that horse eventually, right? We did promise that it wouldn't hurt the show, after all."
"We did, but the important thing is that it doesn't hurt us."
"Oh my god, Benson, you're like a Lifetime movie on estrogen pills."
"And you're like the Terminator if it ran on ham instead of fuel cells."
"You... I... God, sometimes you just suck all of the joy right out of insulting you. How could you be this big of a dork, nerd? How?"
"I live to please, Sammy. So are we on? Your place, after school?"
"Sounds good, nub- Oh, shit."
"Who's that?"
"Excuse me. Sam, can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Derek, this really isn't a good..."
"Please, Sam? I know what you said, but I need to... I need to talk to you."
"Well, alright, I mean... I guess, yeah."
So maybe there's some context there.
How about a peak into the elevator, that night?
"Oh, God..." His voice trails off as her mouth travels further down his neck.
"Sam," she says, and noses the line of his jaw gently. "Saaaaaaam. You should enjoy addressing me informally while you've got the opportunity, nub."
His laughter is distracted, but then, she thinks, if it weren't she'd be insulted. Even more, she guesses, than she already is. Her own mind starts to wander, down a path that is littered with mines (how could they be broken up, what is she going to do, oh god, how, did carly...? no no no, this is for the best, really, because now they don't have... they don't have anything, but fuck, they have right now and) but she decides that that she doesn't need to lose a mental foot by thinking this over until she absolutely has to. And with his hands against her skin, holding her so tightly that she's forgetting what it's like to not have him in her arms, so tightly that she can't fathom how it's going to work when he isn't, she doesn't feel it's necessary yet.
He kisses her.
She can't explain it anymore than that. He kisses her, and they've kissed before, of course, damn, but this is different somehow. He's kissing her.
He's kissing her.
"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," she pulls back, away, because he's kissing her like he's never going to let go of her and that is kind of the whole point of this exercise. He's kissing her like he loves her and means it, and she is damn worried that she has started to believe it and there is just no way. (how could he? how could he get her hopes up is she stupid why why would she be a fuckin' idiot enough to hope anyway she knows better and oh god, this is the absolute worst) He presses closer, and their bare skin sliding across each other doesn't feel like biology, like the mating instinct or hormones or the mammalian imperative to procreate, but like... It feels like... necessity, like...
Like it's going to hurt like a sunuvathing tomorrow. But tomorrow isn't right now, so even though he stops at her words (like a gentleman, like the good guy she knows he is, like how she wants him to be) she's the one jumping right back into the fray, ripping his shirt a little in her haste to rid him of it. His forehead presses against hers, and even that close, that sweaty, winded, and as red as an apple skin he looks like the last Christmas present under the tree.
He doesn't have your name on him, the little part of her that wanted her to survive this intact chimes in. These I love yous aren't yours to keep.
She thinks maybe she should pay more attention to that part, but she can't find it in herself to try when he makes that noise in his throat and can't stop himself from shoving harder against her, knocking her into the side of the elevator hard enough to make her catch her breath. She's too busy trying to memorize the feel of the cold, steel wall at her back, in contrast to his warm, firm body in front, at her sides, all around...
She wonders for a minute what he's feeling, how this is all being categorized in his big, bouncing Benson brain. She wonders what it looks like in his head, what he thinks this mad, clash of desperation and fury and love and lust and regret and motherchizzing stupid hope is. But then, as the last pieces of her clothing and self preservation instinct both come off, she decides maybe he, like she, isn't thinking at all.
"So, wait, you and Freddie broke up?"
"A-yup. Looks that way."
"But, why?!"
"Carly, you have just basically spent the last week of your life showing both of us the errors of our ways. Take a little credit where it's due."
"Ohmigod, Sam, that was never my intention- I didn't mean… I just thought that you guys were acting a little weird, but I never thought-"
"Relax, Shay. It was going to happen anyway. It's not like this was a long haul type of deal to begin with, right? We should be thanking you. But I have literally just spent the last hour and a half making out and I need to wash my face. There's spit all over it and I don't want pimples."
"Spit? But I thought you said…"
"Yeah, we broke up at midnight. If you hadn't of called the elevator we might have wound up breaking up at one a.m. Might want to… hose that down at some point, by the way. Call Lewbert, but god, anonymously. I don't need his accusing stare following me down the hall. I'll see you tomorrow, Carly."
"But Sam! Don't you want to talk about it?!"
"Really don't."
"So, at least I know it really is you, and not me," Derek cracks, and it's the right thing to say because the tears stop, and she lets out a watery snort. She wipes her face on her sweater and she feels- not better, but more in control.
"This is above and beyond the call of duty, you know. Having your ex-whatever snotting up the couch after a fight with some other jerk… it's gotta be making you relieved that this bullet was dodged."
"I care about you, Sam. And I wish I had known that you were… that you still had feelings for him, because I would have waited. I wouldn't have given you my number that day if I had thought I'd be the rebound." She feels a thick, chunky layer of guilt spread outward through her stomach and lungs. She hadn't really thought about the fact that he might have wanted anything from her other than her body. It had honestly never even entered her mind. How damaged was she, exactly? That was the question that always came up at times like these. Just because one boy ran roughshod over her feelings doesn't mean the next one will. But like the realtor her mom had once dated said before trying to steal their car, "Once the foundation is built, the rest of it follows that lead."
"It wasn't that, Derek. I really am so very-" at his warning look she snaps her mouth closed. "Okay, let me try it this way. I never intended for you to have any feelings for me. I didn't even consider the possibility that you might. And you don't want me to say how I feel about that, so I won't, but please don't think that I wanted to hurt you on purpose. It was a complete and total accident, and it's because I'm the worst. It's not because you aren't amazing- you really kind of are, p.s. This? Here? Disney movie material."
He sighs and let his head fall back onto the top of the chair. "That is the greatest consolation speech I've ever heard. I'm guessing this means that you're not planning to be over Benson for awhile."
She stares at him in disbelief. "How… How is that what you took from that? I want nothing more than to be rid of him body, mind and what passes for a soul when it's inside a Puckett woman."
Derek kicks her foot lightly. "You are so full of him you don't even have room to see anyone else, Sammie."
She lets the Sammie slide. This kid had earned it today. "But I don't want to be! That's the whole point!"
"Do you think that you're the one who gets to decide that? You love him. And from what I can see, he's ass over feet for you, too, the bastard."
Those words require pacing. She takes a lap around the coffee table, and it doesn't help in the slightest so she continues between the end table and the sofa, repeating the loop. "Yeah, you missed the part today where he called me and my mother whores. Also where he thought I'd sleep with you just to make him unhappy."
Derek's head shoots up. "Was that an option? I volunteer as tribute!"
She smacks him lightly as she weaves by him. "The fact that you let me come over to cry about Freddie is starting to fade a little, Prince Charming, so watch it."
"I guess the question is, did you want him to think that?"
"That is neither here, nor there," she declines to comment, but he doesn't let it go, and snags her arm as she goes by. He pulls her down to the chair with him.
"That is both here, and there. Because it killed me today to see you fighting with him on the street and you were never even really mine to get jealous over to start with. No, stop with that kicked puppy expression- I get it now." He slings an arm over her shoulders and she rests her head against him, like she had so many afternoons in the sun. It would be so nice if she could just have this and want this, instead of… well. "I was never going to win the race, so let's just consider those hands I got up your shirt as my participation ribbon."
She's laughing now, and she really does think he's the nicest, most wonderful guy she's never going to be in love with.
"He's an asshole, clearly, and you could do much better, clearly, but you love him. So why are you here with me, crying, instead of with him?"
"It's not that simple," she sighs, and rubs at her stomach which is both empty and beginning to feel it.
"It can be that simple- you just need to figure out why it isn't and then fix it." She stands, and grabs his hands, pulling him up with her.
"Thank you ever so much for that fantastic advice. I don't know why I couldn't think of that myself! I should repay that genius with some food at least. Let's hit up Gibby's real quick, and not talk any more about this at all."
"Good idea. Because this is the last time I will ever give you relationship advice that isn't, 'pick me, duh' and I want to get back to that." He slides a hand across her spine as they head out the door, but he pulls back after that and steps a little away with a rueful smile. "Just think- life with me could be all Boom Boom Bats and meat picnics."
She appreciates the distraction for what it is. She certainly has a lot to consider, but that feels like a later problem, and not a right now problem. She's had enough of right now problems for today.
"Please Bearden. You couldn't even make it through one episode. As soon as all the ninjas started doing helicopter jangles, you peaced. Don't tempt me with a good time."
They're at the gate when he stops short and turns to face her, with a very serious look on his face. "Last chance to use me for revenge sex. Please choose wisely."
She hits him, and it feels like maybe one day they might be able to be good friends.
It's dark by the time she gets home. The dinner had been pleasant, and kind of bittersweet and she felt like maybe she'd learned a little something about herself by the end of it. She doesn't want to be the sort of person who uses others- not emotionally anyway. You miss out on a lot of great stuff if you only focus on what people can give you. So she is really grateful to Derek, for a lot of reasons. She's just also extremely tired and has a lot to think about- most of which centered around what she was going to do about Freddie.
So she's not going to lie, it's a bit of a mixed bag to find him on her doorstep, slumped over with his head in hands, as she climbs the stoop.