Hey, everyone (: I hope you've all been excellent as I have. I'm happy to say that I'm doing well in college, not that I expect anyone on the internet to care haha. Anyhow, listen up, I'm here to breathe some life back into the Cam section, finally. I'm just shaking it up with a few updates to my stories and I've been working on a couple one-shots here and there (but they aren't Cam, you guys might be a little surprised to see what shipping I'm going to venture into soon. Here's a hint: It's dirty, filthy, wrong and oh so right XD If you like iPoke and... other things, you should enjoy my other works soon to come. I just love going there, you feel me?) I have to admit, I'm a little crazy, so who knows what I'll write? This story has an interesting future, let's just say.
Sorry for the potential mistakes and errors in this chapter, you'll have to forgive me, for I am fairly intoxicated, but come tomorrow morning, I'll make any necessary changes to make this more pleasant and less annoying to read seeing as how I hear people like correct grammar usage - that may or may not be a jab at people who submit stories without any regard for grammatical rules in regard to the English language. *cough*
Whew, it's been too long, did you guys miss me? I missed you all, you have no idea! So, now enjoy this steaming pot of angsty goodnees (:
"Carly, what you did was wrong," Spencer admonishes in an uncharacteristically serious voice, and from across the line I can feel his disapproving frown aimed right at me. His voice has taken on the tone of an astonished father, disappointed in their child's choices in life and at a near-loss for words. "It was just… incredibly not right. Sam loves you Carly, so much. I'm so… I feel like I don't even know you anymore," Spencer says, struggling to speak to me, his own sister.
"Who told you?" I ask him, feeling that it probably wasn't Sam for obvious reasons. She would feel pathetic and weak running to my brother like a tossed away dog with her tail between her legs.
"Freddie's mother told me everything," he said without missing a beat in a way that sounded like he meant to say shouldn't have had to find out that way. "She said that you didn't even tell Sam you were leaving until after you both signed the lease," he added matter-of-factly, sounding extra unhappy. "Personally, she thinks that was a very underhanded thing of you to do to someone that you're supposedly in love with,"
"How did she know?" I ask, not really knowing what the connection was and trying to dodge the verbal jabs my older brother was sending my way. "Better yet, why would she know?"
"Mrs. Benson was so kind as to inform me that Freddie was staying at your old apartment with Sam. She was hysterical, saying that he wouldn't come home until Sam had fully recovered. So, naturally, I wondered what she of all people could have to recover from, seeing as how she was made of steel in terms of stomach and physical strength," he says. "But, Carlotta Taylor Shay, that girl could hardly even muster the energy to get out of bed when I went over there to see what Mrs. Benson had been talking about, and it was all because you totally ripped her heart out and left her for dead, like some ruthless heart-eating spider-woman-mutant that takes offerings from dead baby goats."
"Spencer, you know it wasn't like that," I say, sounding a little annoyed.
"Well, Carly, what was it like, then? Because I know that I didn't raise you to act that way, and to treat someone who's been there for you no matter what that way. And you can bet that I've already told dad all about this, as well as grandpa, so expect a call from them. They were both speechless when I told them about what happened, especially dad. Sam gave up her dreams for you."
"I gave up a lot for her to!" I reply, anger beginning to surge throughout my being. "iCarly could have done incredible things, but no, she just had to pursue music. Where did that leave me, Spencer? What about my needs?"
"Carly, you just got a job working as a television co-host for a hot new show because of the work both you and Sam did on iCarly, and what has Sam to show for it? I visited her yesterday, and thanks to Freddie she doesn't look like she's the living dead anymore, but she's seriously depressed. Something inside of her has died, and all you give a shit about is your career?" Spencer asks and if he weren't holding himself back he would be hollering at me, and I'm actually in awe at how he's talking to me right now.
There's a tense silence over the line after his outburst and I'm biting my lip, trying my hardest to think of words to say in my own defense, but I find none so I resign myself to silence.
"You've changed," he replies in a quiet, even-tempered, if not exasperated voice after another moment. "I have to go, Carly, I'm late for an exposition. I'll talk to you some other time," he says, and Spencer Shay hangs up on me. I drop my phone to the ground and my face falls down into my palms.
…
…
"You're crazy," I say, sitting next to Sam in the tattoo parlour as she's being prepped for her second tattoo - a cupcake with wings inside of a heart-shaped balloon.
"Damn right, I am," Sam replies grinning and removing her shirt fully, leaving her only in a bra as the artist begins to ink in the outline. When the pen brushes over her ribs, the blonde giggles hysterically and squeezes my hand. "I love you, cupcake," she says, grinning up at me.
I beam back at her, feeling my heart warm at her show of affection. "I love you, too, Sam," I say, and back then I meant it.
…
…
"I just can't believe you could do something so selfish like that," Freddie says, sounding almost disgusted at me. His tone is harsh and I visibly wince. "She's more hurt than I've ever seen her – even more than when they shut down the old pork plant downtown, or when she caught sight of Melanie kissing you under that mistletoe at Christmas time a few years back."
"Freddie, you have to try and see it my way," I say, but no one seemed to want to listen to me.
"I don't know what there is to see, Sam is amazing! She's one of those people that are truly capable of anything," he said, sounding like the de facto captain of the Samantha Puckett Fan Club. "And she loves you. She even quit her old band and started going to college just to be with you and to keep you," he says, and now he sounds like an encyclopedia on her the inner workings of her life.
"That band was no good for her!" I protested. "It was for her own benefit."
"They were getting real record label attention, playing ten shows a month and they were really good. And I don't think that you're one to comment on what is and isn't in her best interest, seeing as how you just damn-near killed her inside. I'll be glad to tell you that Sam's joined another band, and they're doing really well despite what you've done to her. She's actually trying to be happy and do something that she loves to do, and soon she won't even have to think about you or the pain you've caused her ever again."
"You make it seem like I raped her or something!"
"You might as well have, seeing as how you took away her heart, and pretty much her everything. Carly, you were the only person that she ever truly opened herself up to. Now, Sam is completely closed off. She let you into places where no one has ever been, and now, thanks to your screw-up, no one ever will be again! Not even me…" he finished his tirade by trailing off, sounding both sorrowful and resentful.
"Wait a second," I say, piecing together a quickly clearing puzzle in my head. "You have feelings for Sam, don't you?" I question, and the second the words leave my lips it all clicks into place. His silence is what verifies it. "You do!" I accuse, sounding amazed as so many things began to make sense. "You've had feelings for her for all this time, haven't you?" I question accusingly, looking shocked. "Everything is so clear to me now," I say.
"No, wait, Carly –"
"Oh my god, I can hardly believe it," I mutter to myself and place a hand over my forehead.
…
…
"Really?" I hear an incredulous screech and after about a minute of high-powered vocabulary, I recognize the voice as belonging to Melanie Celeste Puckett. Hearing her yell is uncharacteristic, and something I have never heard aimed at anyone but Sam when the twins start to really get under each others skin.
"Carly, Freddie's mom had better have been lying to me, because I swear if I have to drive to California and kick your skinny little ass, I will! All those years of fighting with Sam have made me a hell of a boxing partner, and I'm not afraid to get my hair ruffled," she says, and I've never really been threatened by this usually sweet girl.
"Melanie, I'm sorry. I meant to tell you - "
"Meant to tell me what? That you screwed over my sister? Fuck you, I told you that she had trust issues and that if you weren't going to be gentle, then to stay the hell away from her!" Bearing witness to the usually proper Puckett speaking in this fashion completely threw me off and had me awe-struck, unable to respond.
"Nothing to say, huh?" she asks, accusingly and suddenly she sounds almost identical to her poorly-behaved twin. "Well, I'm only gonna tell you this once, so listen up - keep yourself away from my sister, or I'll show you what I learned the summer she and I stayed two weeks at my cousin Christian's house."
I audibly swallow. "You mean the one who was incarcerated for torturing people in his basement?" I ask, a light sweat breaking over my brow at the threat.
"The very same, and this time I'm not fucking around, got it? Now, have a nice day," she chirps to me in a chipper fashion before I hear the 'click' of our lines being disconnected.
Jesus Christ, did Mrs. Benson take it upon herself to notify the whole world? Next thing I know I'll be getting a call from the mailman that caught us making out against his truck, or even Mrs. Briggs, or Lewbert! I slump down into the couch of my apartment and sigh, placing my phone in my lap.
The idea crossed my mind that maybe I should finally call Sam and see how she was, but I couldn't help but feel a streak of fear from Melanie's threat, even if I knew deep down there was a small chance of her following through with it, or at least, that's what I hoped. If Melanie Puckett could talk to someone like that, who knows what else she was capable of? If she's anything like her twin, then she could probably do anything.
…
…
"I don't want to love you anymore," she declares with her broken voice, choking back sobs every moment, "not when you're leaving." She's more composed than most people would be, but that's not much either way. My heart throbs when I see her tears, but I do nothing about it. What could possibly be done, though? "But, I can't help it," she says.
I move to comfort her, wrapping my arms around her waist. At first, she flinches, but she melts into my touch slowly like she always did. My body shivers when she's flush against me and my lips move to her ear. I allow my hot breath to move over her neck and her body trembles gently.
"Would you like to come to bed with me?" I ask, and I know I'm terrible for being so insensitive but having someone like Sam as a bedroom partner is every girl's dream, so I like to take advantage of that often.
"Okay," she says, sniffling and sounding unenthusiastic about the idea. Her eyes lock onto mine and they're filled with pain and irreversible damage. "I wish I was worth more to you than to only be used," she whispers and if I had been inhaling I probably wouldn't have heard her. My current intake of breath is halted and trapped in my throat and I feel a prickling in my chest that I soon found not even hours of passionate sex could erase.
As Sam slept beside me, her peaceful face was something to be admired. It was so unlike her during the daytime. My eyes traveled down her body and they came to rest on the small cupcake tattoo she had a few inches under her left breast.
I stroke her hair and watch her. She would have made the perfect wife had I discovered my feeling for her at a better, later time in my life. She stirs and I place a kiss on her soft lips. I would miss this. But, it's something that I have to do.
"We could have done great things..."
…
…
A few moments after hanging up on Lewbert, my phone rings again with another Seattle number that I didn't recognize. "Wonder who it could be this time," I say to myself sarcastically. "Perhaps the mailman remembered us, too," I mutter before pressing 'talk'.
"Carly Shay, you have some serious explaining to do," a vaguely familiar and feminine voice calls over the receiver.
"Uh," I semi-stutter out. "Who is this?" I question.
"This is Nevel Papperman," the voice states matter-of-factly and if that's true then he's probably the only male in recorded history that had their voice get higher after puberty, rather than lower. "I've been informed, hopefully in error, that you and Samantha are no longer with one another," he states. "I would like to know what the meaning of all this hee-shaw is," and after that sentence, I've realized that I was indeed speaking to none other than Nevel; only he would speak in that flamer-ish manner.
"It's not 'hee-shaw,'" I respond, sighing and using air-quotes with my free hand, even though he couldn't see them over the phone. "It's true, I moved to California to go to school,"
"So, when will your girlfriend be moving up there to live with you?" he questions, obviously missing my meaning completely. "To my knowledge, she and Freddie are living together presently."
"Nevel, I broke up with her," I deadpan. "She won't be moving up here with me."
"Oh dear," he mutters, tutting lightly. "This is unacceptable, it simply won't do," he says, and I can tell this is going to be a quick conversation.
"I'm sorry that it's unsatisfactory to you, Nevel, but that's just what it is," I say, trying to leave no room for further argument.
"I won't just let this go," he says in his strange accent. "I simply won't!" and I can just imagine him wagging his finger in the air like it meant something.
"Goodbye, Nevel Papperman," I chirp before hanging up.
…
…
"Hello?" I answer the phone, even though I didn't recognize the number. By now this was becoming a bad habit, seeing as how it never brought any benefit to me in any way and always seemed to yield negative results. Yet, I answer anyhow. It's what a lady would do.
"Hello, dear, this is Mrs. Benson," I hear, and I scowl in response. When I don't speak for a while, she continues. "Carly, I know that you're probably upset with everybody ganging up on you and everything - " speaks Marissa Benson, but I cut her short.
"Yeah, because you told them!" I exclaim. "And now they've all been calling me and getting on my case about it," I say. "Why would you even tell them? You told Lewbert!" I exclaim in unadulterated annoyance.
"I told them because they needed to know and because I want Fredward home and in one piece. You do realize that you were the only thing standing in the way of my son trying to pursue his feelings for Samantha, don't you?"
"I didn't know that until a few days ago when Freddie called me and I finally connected the dots," I admit.
"It seems like you and her are the only ones who didn't know, and now my son's staying in her apartment, and I can't even get him to come back home! He's so absorbed with catering to her every need that he refuses to leave her side for a moment," she says, distress clear in her voice.
"I'm sorry Mrs. Benson, but what does this have to do with me?" I ask, sounding slightly annoyed and admittedly jealous to hear about Freddie trying to get closer to Sam.
"Because, Sam is your responsibility, and she's going to break my son's heart, partly due to the fact that she's a lesbian, and partly because she doesn't love anyone but you, and she probably will never love anyone who isn't you," she says, and I've had more than enough.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Benson, I have to go," I mutter into the receiver before I hang up.
…
…
A cigarette is held between her lips before she withdraws it, and a moment later she exhales smoke into our, soon to be her, apartment. There were tear-streaks staining her face and she looked thoughtfully in the other direction, facing towards the open window by the fire escape.
"You don't have to say anything," she whispers, her voice hoarse, but not from spending hours in the throes of ecstacty. She didn't even let me touch her this time, insisting on me being the only one to receive pleasure. "I won't tell your brother. I'll tell them all that I cheated on you so we broke up or something," she says and her voice sounds void of all emotion and life. "Except Freddie, because he'll know I'm lying and ruin everything."
"Thanks," I say and she nods slowly, still not looking at me. She looked so fragile sitting there in the nude with her legs drawn up to her chest and a cigarette in her mouth. She turns her head after a moment and fixes me with an entirely too peircing gaze.
"One day I might need you to return the favor, right?" she asks, and underneath her pain, I saw that she was mocking me. My chest tightened and I felt shame.
…
…
I take a bite out of my bagel and enjoy the first long amount of time in the last few days that I haven't gotten a call or text in any way related to my ex-girlfriend. That is, until my phone rings. I sigh, my caller ID informing me that I was receiving a call from Rebecca Berkowitz.
I swallow my food and answer. "Hello?" I greet curiously.
"Hey, Carly," Rebecca greets me in return with almost too much enthusiasm. "I have to ask you about something really quick, y'know, if that's cool," she drawls annoyingly and now I remember why I didn't keep in close touch with her too much after graduating from high school.
"Uh, go ahead," I say, not knowing quite what to expect from her.
"Like, now that you're *finally* done with Sam, can I have her? I don't want to break girl code and not ask. Like, would it hurt our friendship?" she says. I hang up before I can even give myself to respond to her.
…
…
"I am at a loss for words," begins Gibby Gibson. There's a silence and he clears his throat. "Why did you do it?" he asks. "And why did you execute your evil plan in such a cruel way?" Of course he takes Sam's side, they have a bond that transcends social norms.
"Listen, it was the only way. If I told her ahead of time, she would have found some way to convince me to stay or at least tried to work out something long-distance, and I just don't want that. I need to move into a new phase of my life that doesn't involve my childhood crushes," I say, and I have to admit that didn't sound nearly as ruthless the millions of times I said it to myself in my head as motivation.
There's another thick, unbearable silence that's worsened because it's over the phone, and because it's Gibby. I struggle to find a way to come back from my last statement, but he speaks first.
"Wow, I could have sworn that the two of you were in love," he says, sounding more shocked than bitter. "How could she not have seen your heartlessness sooner?" he questions himself more than he questions me.
"Gibby, come on, I've gotten enough crap from everyone else. I did love Sam, it just wasn't going to work out."
"Don't 'Gibby, come on,' me, Shay. How could it not work out? The two of you were inseparable. I'm not sure if you knew this or anything, but, Sam was going to propose to you. She wanted to make you her wife. She got Spencer's blessing, was working on getting your father's blessing, and she and I had plans to go ring shopping next month, which she canceled, hmm, I dunno - because you broke her heart!"
"See, that's what I'm talking about! I'm way too young to get married, Gibby," I say, even though my heart stung; I had no idea that Sam had been planning to take that step with me. "I'm too young to even think about it when I haven't even established my career yet," I reason.
"Is that all you care about? If you broke up with Sam because you weren't ready for marriage, then that's weak. You could have said 'no,' or that you would have to wait. I'm sure she would rather be rejected than left for dead and in love still," he says, sounding like this whole situation was a no-brainer.
"She... she still loves me?" I ask tentatively. "I thought that she hated me," I whisper out.
"If she saw you right now, she would probably beg on her knees to have you back. The best songs her band has are about you because that's all she thinks about, so it's all she writes about. Everyone in the city is wondering who it is that broke Sam's heart, including the record labels who are watching the band's progress," Gibby claims.
"Really? I wanna look them up online and check them out, what's the name of the band?" I ask, wanting to hear what Sam's songs were saying about me.
"I've been instructed not to tell you by Freddie, I'm sorry, Carly," he says, not really sounding very apologetic at all. "I can tell you that I went to see them live, and they just blew me away - mostly Sam. I sent my cousin that works at Rise Records to go check them out," he says. "This one might just go all the way."
"That being said," he starts again. "You have to do something. I think you should call Sam and make up with her," he says and I scowl.
"That isn't going to happen," I say, sticking close to my guns.
"Carly, she just isn't herself anymore. I offered to let her give me a wedgie to help cheer herself up, and she politely declined! Politely declined, Carly! That's not Sam! That's not who she is at all," he says before a feminine voice sounds in the background similar to the tune of 'Gibby, come back to bed.' "Alright, I've gotta go," he says before hanging up on me unceremoniously.
I guess it's official - all my friends hate me.
…
…
"Hey," I say hesitantly, feeling that every phone conversation I have had in the last week has been about what a terrible person I am, and I can't expect this one to go any different. There's silence over the line and just when I thought I was hung up on, I hear a slow intake of breath.
"Hey, cupcake,"
Her voice is free of all malice, and this isn't the Sam I know. So soft spoken and thoughtful with her words to the point where she can be seen as bashful almost; 'reserved' is the word/adjective that I've been dancing around. It was odd to use that word to describe anything about her. Silence washed between us as I struggled with myself to recover and think of something to say to her; I mean, this is Sam we're talking about! This should all come naturally.
"Sam, are you sure this is a good idea?" Freddie asks the blonde who was grinning from ear to ear and holding a red plastic cup filled not with beer, but with pure vodka.
"What are you talkin' 'bout, Fredweena? This party's poppin'!" she exclaims before clumsily lighting a cigarette with her drink in her hand. A brunette in a black tank top and a mini skirt walks over to the jovial girl and proceeds to introduce herself, taking all of Sam's attention away from her friend.
"Er, I guess I'll just be over here then," Freddie mumbles dejectedly and grabs a beer out of a random open cooler before heading into the kitchen to see if he knew anyone there.
"We used to be classmates," the girl says. "My name's Tori," she says, biting her lower lip flirtatiously. If possible, the blonde's grin widened as she tossed back the rest of her drink and threw her cup down into a random bag that may or may not have been for trash.
"Oh yeah? Well, hey there To-ri," she greets, slurring slightly and pronouncing each syllable individually and swaying just a bit as she takes a drag of her cigarette. "I don't remember you, but then again, I'm a little tipsy. You're pretty hot though," she says and the brunette giggles.
"I always thought you were sexy," she says before lacing her hand through the taller girl's. Sam flinches slightly, but she let's it be. "There's some guys playing around on guitars in the living room, didn't you used to be the singer in that really kick-ass band?"
"I guess you could say that," Sam replies, shrugging and feigning modesty. "I'll go check it out. Wanna be a doll an get me some of that SoCo they've got goin' on in the kitchen?"
"Sure, hot stuff," the brunette replies, winking and walking off to the other room. As she leaves, Sam takes the opportunity to examine her rear end.
"Solid," the blonde mutters to herself before she half stumbles into the living room of the house. She spots two guys on the other end of the room, sitting on the couch with acoustic guitars playing and the tune seems familiar.
After getting a little closer, Sam recognizes the song as 'A Toast to Future Kids' by Emarosa by the way the black haired guitarist was vaguely humming the melody. Just when they were building up to the second chorus, Sam jumped in and added the lines that went with the chords.
"Say you love, say you'll love me either way," she belts and they dive into the chorus. The patrons of the room all began to applaud and more people poured into the room to see what the commotion was all about.
"Is that Sam Puckett?" people murmured. "I haven't heard her sing in so long,"
"She's a beast," someone whispered. "Unstoppable," and as the trio played through the song and ended, an eruption of clapping, hooting and whistling came about.
Somewhere during the commotion, Freddie wandered in and couldn't hold the grin off of his face. "She's so..." he whispered under his breath and tilted his beer up to his mouth. "She looks happy,"
"Eat your heart out, Jonny Craig!" Sam exclaims and on her face there is a genuine grin; the first in a long while.
"Here's your drink," Tori says, handing Sam a red plastic cup of Southern Comfort as the blonde flicked her cigarette but into an abandoned drink cup. Sam nodded gratefully and took the offering. "I'm recording all of this for you," she says, smiling and holding up her phone.
"Thanks doll," she says shortly, before turning to the musicians. "Hey, I'm Sam," she says, holding her hand out to them and taking a seat on the arm of the couch.
The brown haired guitarist shakes her hand and grins. "We know who you are. We remember you from Destroyer," he says. "I'm Eric,"
The other guitarist flips his hair out of his face. "I'm Steven," he offers. "We just quit our old band Pentarim with Aaron Klas,"
"You guys wanna try playing one of my songs?" she asks, taking a gulp of her drink and settling herself more comfortably on the arm of the couch.
"Hell yeah, you're a genius. Let's jam," Steven says,
"Alright, try this out - it's simple, it just goes A minor, C, and G in the beginning, and then the chorus is C, G, A minor, F, kay?" The two guitarists strum their instruments lightly and nod. "Cool. Everyone, I'm Sam, if you don't know me already, and I call this one 'Reusable,'" she tells the crowd of people watching them. "One, two, one-two-three-four,"
"How have you been?" I ask, cautious and sure. "How have you been holding up?"
"I've been okay," she lies. "I drink, and that makes some of the pain go away. It doesn't work like it used to, though" she comments.
"Sam, I -"
"Don't," she cuts me off with her soft voice. "I know by now that you don't want me anymore, I don't wanna hear you say it; I don't want a speech about why you left me, or why I wasn't good enough. I've heard enough from the people around me, and I'm sure they've been calling you, too," she says, and I'm genuinely taken aback by her tone, but even more by her familiar slur.
"Are you drunk?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. "Sam, it's 3PM in Seattle," I say, and I don't mean for it to come out so bitingly, but it does and that evokes a defensive response from the blonde.
"I really, don't give a shit," she says and she says it to me convincingly enough to where I actually think she believes she's fine.
"You can't do that to yourself," I say, and she laughs cruelly in my ears. Freddie wasn't lying, her walls were up very high.
"Babe, I can do whatever I want. This knight isn't answering to a bratty princess anymore," she says and I recoil slightly at her insult. "I hope you fall in love with someone and they do this to you, because I feel like my heart is broken, as well as in flames with burning need, no matter what I do."
"That's flattering, but -"
"Don't patronize me!" Sam bellows into the phone and I hear the sound of a bottle shattering against what may have been the wall before brief cursing is heard and the call disconnects. Frantically I try to redial the phone, but she doesn't pick up. I keep trying on and off for the next hour, and she still doesn't answer. I continue to call and text her as I get ready for bed that night, and finally before I drift to sleep, I get a text message from the blonde. Through the distorted letters and misspelled words, I derive this:
You don't know what to feel, so you resolve to not.
I'm a musician, can you tell? :P I hope you guys found this worth the intolerable wait haha, because you may or may not be in for another one. Also, Nevel has basically turned into Meryl Streep, tiny nose-bridge glasses, and all haha. Much love,
Destroyer.