Bold, that's the word for it.

I couldn't believe the balls I suddenly grew until it was over, and I had gone and done it. I mean, sure, I can snap a few words or land a punch, anyone can. Bruises hurt for a little bit, but after turning all colors and looking really gross, they go away. The byproduct of something like this? It never goes away, it's something you either remember as "This is the moment I really screwed up." or "This is the moment I really scored." And I haven't really gotten to the point of being able to say either of these, I know this from straight-up experience, because I'm dragging my lips across her cheek, something I can't take back, and she's just sitting there and letting me. She's letting me. I wish I could just read her mind right now, that would answer a lot of questions I have, but my brain is so fried from nerves and anticipation and arousal and fear that I just don't think I'll be using any of my crazy voodoo powers tonight. Not tonight, at least.

Suddenly, I feel the softest breath on my lips, and I shudder as I realize mine were touching hers, and I can hear her take in some kind of shaky breath that makes me feel the bumblebees fluttering their sick little wings against my insides. I pull back what was more like millimeters but spoke for miles, so they wouldn't sting me.

"We're best friends, Carls," I state obviously against her lips, still having not gotten any kind of reaction or movement or anything yet, but I can't decide if that worries me or tells me she's cool with this. "Does that make this okay?" and I add in that question because I need some kind of reaction, before noticing that I can't even answer that question.

It seems like a zillion years before she finally whispers, "I don't know," and that's all she says. Like she's leaving this as some kind of open-ended situation that I can take and bend however I want, because she's handing control over to me. If I walk away now, this won't go away. If we go through with this, things will fucking change. Yeah, this is worse than a bruise. Especially considering I don't know what to do right now. Almost in defeat, I finally open my eyes I had squeezed shut long ago, meeting hers. I mean, I've always been able to read her like a book; she's one hell of an obvious person sometimes, but this is just the one time I need to, that I can't. Her whole face is all stoic and emotionless, and I can't decide if she's trying to distance herself or just wants this to stop.

And then the look on her face changes, it softens, and I can see some kind of light in her eyes that I haven't before, when she says "Sam?" like my name's a question, like this is all a question, like my arms giving out from shaking and holding myself above her and crashing down on her, finally kissing her is a question. Then she answers them all, pouring back everything I was showing her I felt tonight through this absolutely burning kiss. And even though it should, it doesn't feel wrong. It just doesn't. Because I'm sure this is because, She's always been there.

In retrospect, if there's anything I learned from this night, it's that everything is always way awesome before it all goes to hell. And if they took this night and made it into some Six Flags rollercoaster, I don't think many people would survive riding it, as cheesy as that metaphor is.

I don't realize anything really shitty's happened until I hear screaming and doors slamming, and when the two of us snap back up from our horizontal positions on the beanbag, one glance between us is all we need to know it's Spencer, and we both know that we've got some hella explaining to do, even if neither of us really can.

"Carl--"

"Look, I'll go talk to him," she rattles, nervously running her hand through her hair about six times a second, "He's my brother and you're just Sam and you're not some icky boy and it's not like you could get me pregnant or anything and he's got to trust you because you're just Sam, I mean this was all just some stupid...fling, anyway, so, it's not like it's going to happen again and...I'll just go talk to him now," Carly tries to make a break for it before I grab her by the wrist and yank her back down to sit by me, and I don't say anything yet. I just stare at her like I had moments before I lost my cool and started kissing her, and I can see her instantly chill out.

"Is that all that was to you?" I ask her, visibly wincing because what she said wasn't a bruise either, just like this whole night. That was gonna haunt me, for a while. And I can see the gears in her brain really start to move, she's finally starting to see that--

"We can't screw this up, Sam. We've come too far to..." her voice falters a little as a tear slips its way out of her eye, and that hurts too, because she's cried in front of me before, but it's never been my fault.

"...To what?" I end up questioning, even though I don't really want to know the answer. Carly bites her lip before sighing heavily, taking my hand in hers, and that almost hurts.

"Sam," she breathes, "People meet each other. They hang out, they get to know each other. Sometimes they fall in love, they go out, and then they see each other's flaws and it's not good anymore. And then they start fighting at it all goes to pieces, and..." She's not holding back the tears anymore, but she's squeezing my hand like she can't let me go. "...and they break up, and go their separate ways, and sometimes they hate each other or never see each other again." Her eyes lift back up to mine, and I can finally read love there. But it's not the kind of love I want to see. "I can't have that with you."

I'd love to think by "that" she meant losing me, but I knew she meant "that" as in "us". That hurt the most.

And now I'm being real bold, because I'm letting her hand go and I'm leaving the way I came, because nobody sees Sam hurt, nobody sees Sam cry, and no one ever sees Sam defeated. Not even Carly. I bypass Spencer on the way out, eating aspirin like it's candy and looking absolutely numb as he stares into space from the shock of what he just walked in on a minute ago. I don't think he even saw me leave. I snarl to myself and also to him because it's all his fault. It is. It has to be. He ruined the moment, he ruined it all.

I'd love to think that she did what she did out of love, but I knew she just had to find some way of letting me down easy, of sugar-coating what she really meant to say.

I love you, Sam, but not like you need to be loved.