A/N: This is part 2 of 4, and it's in Sam's point of view. Warnings include: sexual reference (no actual sex scenes, though), teenage alcohol use, some cussing, and violence.
The OMC in this is the guy Carly is talking to. I didn't really create a guy, it's just an anonymous character, but whatever. And before you say Sam is OOC because of the cussing or whatever, I'm just going to say that I can imagine her to have quite a mouth on her when she's 18 and very angry... just saying.
And to those reviewers who said things like, "wth Spencer, you could control your actions, you have a choice!" in part 1 - when you're that close to getting sex and your hormones are all raging inside of you, sometimes it's harder than it seems to push that person off of you, and it can be a lot easier to do something you're gonna regret. And that's a fact, trust me.
If you read, let me know what you think!

But It Wasn't Just Jealousy
Part 2

The party was pretty lame. Me and Carly got there around 8 and we waited around, chilling out and talking to some of our friends, expecting it to get a little busier. There were maybe 10 people there, not including us, and a whole keg, plus a few bottles of vodka and some bottles of other random drinks. It had the potential to be an awesome party, but for some reason, basically no one showed up. We waited until 11:30, and there were only about 5 more people than there had originally been. The music was up and a few of the kids had gone to the back porch to smoke a joint or something, but other than that, it was dull. I decided to stop wasting my time. Carly was talking to a guy from school that she seemed to be interested in, so I figured she'd want to stay here for a while longer. I'd been drinking, and so far, I'd gotten 3 or 4 beers down, 2 shots of vodka, and a bottle of some clear drink that tasted fruity but still had that sting of alcohol in it. So, to say the least, I was feeling tipsy. I'd been way more drunk plenty of times before this, so this was on the more minor scale. However, I was bumping into a few more things than usual, and I didn't feel so uptight or awkward around the people that were at the party that I didn't know.

I knew this party was lame, though, and I was getting awfully lonely. All I could think about was Spencer, and how much I wished he were there with me. I finally decided to go back to Carly's whether she wanted to go with me or not.

I found her in the kitchen, leaning against a counter and chatting up that guy she liked, a cup of what I knew to be nothing more than water in her hand. She kept giggling at his every little joke, and he smiled, seeming pleased with himself. I walked up to them and interrupted, my half empty can of beer still in hand.

"Hey, Carls," I said. "I think I'm gonna head back to your place. This party is pretty lame, and I'm tired."

She looked over at me, nodding. "Okay. Do you want me to give you a ride?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I'll get a cab or something… Can I borrow five bucks?"

She smiled, giving a small laugh at my familiar question. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled, five-dollar bill. "Sure. Here ya go."

I took it from her and shoved it in my pocket. "Cool. So I'll see you back there whenever you leave here?"

She nodded. "Yeah, probably in an hour or so. Be careful, okay?"

I rolled my eyes, but smiled. Then, noticing the can in my hand for the first time in about 5 minutes, I brought it to my lips and tipped my head back, chugging down the rest of the bitter tasting beverage. Its taste didn't bother me anymore, though. I had at least reached that stage of tipsy.

When I brought the can back down and crushed it in my hand, I licked my lips, then noticed the wide-eyed look of astonishment on the guy's face as he stared at me.

"What?" I snapped, giving him an angry look. "Never seen a girl that can drink before?"

He put up his hands in surrender, shaking his head. "No, no, I was just… surprised, is all."

Carly giggled, and he chuckled, looking over at her. I raised an eyebrow, then turned around and tossed the empty can into the trash a few feet behind me.

"'Kay, well, see ya when ya get home," I told Carly, and turned around and went back into the living room.

I went to the hiding spot between the back of the couch and the wall where I'd put my jacket for safe-keeping. I grabbed it up and slipped it on, zipping it up to my neck. I then reached into the pocket and pulled out a pack of gum, putting two pieces in my mouth and beginning to chew them. I walked to the front door and opened it, a chilly burst of air hitting my face. It surprised me from the warmth I was used to inside, but it didn't affect me like it usually would without alcohol in my system. I shut the door behind me and left the front porch, walking down the dark street of the fancy neighborhood. The houses all looked the same, just different colors, and all the lawns were perfectly maintained and square. I tried to stay walking straight, but it was a little more challenging than I'd expected.

Damn, I'm horny, I thought to myself. Alcohol tended to do that to me.

I walked the five blocks it took to get to a main street in the city, where cars and people were still bustling about at midnight. I felt like I could walk the rest of the way back to Bushwell, but I decided that would take too long. So, I walked about halfway down a block on the sidewalk before stopping and walking out to the curb. I looked both ways, then held out my hand, trying to hail a cab.

Within just a few minutes, a cab pulled up beside me, and I got in. "Bushwell Plaza," I slurred to the driver.

He sped off, and I watched out the window as the bright lights, dark buildings, and shady people of Seattle all became passing blurs. I chewed quietly on my gum until the flavor was mostly gone. I was feeling tired, and I knew I'd be ready to crash as soon as I got back to Carly's. I hoped Spencer wouldn't be in bed already, because I really wanted to fall asleep with him. That was my new favorite part of spending the night at the Shay loft.

The car ride felt like it took forever, and the cab driver seemed to take every turn sharply. I kept sliding across the leather seat, trying to hold on and stay steady. I was beginning to feel nauseous, and that was not a good sign after I'd had alcohol and no solid food.

But finally, he pulled over and came to a slow stop at the curb in front of the tall Bushwell Plaza apartment building. I steadied myself, waiting a moment for my vision to stop spinning, before opening the door. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the five dollars Carly had given me, plus the ten dollars I'd already had and handed them to the driver. "Keep the change."

"Gee, thanks," he said sarcastically, taking it from my hand. I glanced at the meter and saw that it read $14.73. I scoffed.

Climbing out of the cab and standing up on the sidewalk was quite a task. But once I mastered it, I slammed the door shut behind me and the driver immediately sped off, leaving me wobbly. I regained my balance again, then walked towards the front doors. I looked up to where I knew the window to the loft was and saw that it was dark. I was disappointed, but hoped Spencer was just watching a movie or something, even though he usually didn't do that with the lights off. Maybe I could wake him up?

I entered the glass doors to the lobby of Bushwell and got a burst of warm air in my face. It stung against my red cheeks. The cab had been only slightly warmer than the outside temperature. I blinked and saw Lewbert sitting in his chair at the doorman's desk, leaning back with his eyes closed and mouth open, snoring loudly. I cringed at the sight of him. Then, out of habit, I pulled the chewed-up and flavorless blob of gum from my mouth and carefully stuck it to the top of his head, making sure it flattened out and stuck to as much hair as possible. Pleased, I smiled to myself, stepping back as he jerked and then went back to snoring obnoxiously loud.

I didn't even think about the elevator by the time I was heading up the staircase. I felt like walking in my tipsy state, for some reason. That's one way you can tell I'm inebriated: I'm actually inclined to do more physical activity than is necessary. Plus, I told myself it was better because I didn't want to scare or wake up Spencer with the loud rattling of the elevator.

When I reached the hallway, it was dimmed, so I held my hand out to steady myself against the wall as I walked down, then around the corner, finally reaching the Shay's apartment door. I glanced over, seeing Freddie's apartment door. I could hear a TV from inside, and I chuckled to myself, still finding it amusing that poor little Fredward couldn't leave the house because Mommy didn't like the idea of him being at a teenage party. Then again, I guess it would be kind of cool if he could go with us once in a while…

I stood in front of the large door and reached into my pocket, pulling out the key I had to the Shay loft. (I practically lived there, so why not?) Soft sounds of a TV came through the door, and I guessed Spencer was passed out on the couch. I focused on the lock, carefully slipping the key inside and turning it, trying not to act like a total retard with the key. When I heard the click of the lock, I pulled the key out and grabbed the knob, turning it and pushing the door open. The apartment was completely dark except for a very dim glow I saw coming from the direction of the TV. I reached to my right and slid my hand across the wall, finding the light switch and flipping it up. The loft immediately lit up, bringing every silhouette out of darkness. I pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped in, then froze.

I thought I'd heard more than a TV when I was standing out in the hallway.

Sure enough, right before my own shaky vision, was Spencer… and some hussy. On the couch. Naked. Pressed together. Sweaty. And their faces looked about as shocked as mine as they stared up at me, frozen in their position – Spencer on top of the girl, her hand on the back of his neck, and both of their mouths hanging open in surprise. His face was flushed, and so was hers, and they had just become paler at the sight of me. I just stood in the doorway like a dumbass and stared, still in too much shock to comprehend much.

I sobered up pretty fast.

After what seemed like minutes and minutes of stiff tension hanging between us, but was actually only seconds, I found my voice. "What. The. Fuck."

"Sam… I-I… She…"

I narrowed my eyes at a flabbergasted Spencer, who couldn't form a comprehensive sentence to save his life. He kept stuttering, trying to find an excuse as to why he was missing all of his clothes and lying on top of this model-beautiful girl I'd never seen before. I swear, my heart stopped for those moments that he couldn't even find words to say to me.

"Okay, Sam… this isn't what it looks like… I can explain," he finally stammered, giving the same old clichéd lines guys always gave when they were caught whoring around on their women.

"Then… what is it?" I choked out, trying to keep from crying. I couldn't cry, not now.

He jumped up, grabbing up his boxers from the floor and sliding them on in one swift motion. He looked back up at me and began approaching me. "I… She came onto me. I don't know… We were watching a movie, and then she started getting closer, and I couldn't push her away, and when I tried, she just came back… and then my clothes were off, and her clothes were off, and she was right there on me, and…"

"And WHAT?" I demanded, anger building up, my voice finally firm. "She tripped and landed on your dick?!"

He stepped closer to me, but I stepped back and put my hand on the doorframe, trying to stay standing up. I felt like I was going to pass out at any moment. This was too much to take at once.

He stopped, wincing. I knew my face was fearful of him when he got closer to me, and he hated seeing that. I wasn't trying to look scared, I just didn't want him touching me – not after being all over that whore.

He glanced back at the girl on the couch, who was sitting up now and covering herself with her hands, shock and questions on her face. I glanced at her, too, but then looked back at Spencer, my eyes still narrowed.

"Well?" I questioned.

I could see him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He stammered, "I… I'm sorry. I honestly don't know what happened…"

"UGH!" I squealed in frustration, throwing my hands up. "What do you mean you 'don't know'? How can you not know how you ended up banging some whore on your fucking couch?!"

"Um, I'm not a whore…" the girl spoke up timidly from the couch.

My eyes shot to her and glared her down. I pointed with a threatening finger. "I don't wanna hear a fucking word from you, unless you want your ass beat!"

She quickly shut her mouth and looked away, trying to avoid my glare. Maybe I didn't look tough, but I could throw that girl out the window before she even knew I had my hands on her, and I think she knew that.

I looked back to Spencer, whose eyes were pleading. "Please, Sam, just… I swear, it was an accident – it was a mistake. I didn't mean to. Please."

I shut my eyes and gritted my teeth, my fists clenching at my sides. I hadn't been this pissed off since I'd seen my dad hit my mom back in grade school. I hadn't wanted to beat the living hell out of someone this badly since then either. Spencer knew how my temper was, and he knew not to test me or push me any farther. But he'd never done something like this to me, either… and I never thought he would.

I guess I was wrong.

"Whatever," I finally muttered through gritted teeth, opening my eyes and staring at the ceiling. My fingernails were digging into my palms, almost breaking the skin, and my knuckles were completely white now.

"What – "

"WHATEVER!" I cried before Spencer could ask any more questions. "You wanna be with this slut, fine. Fucking be with her! I don't need you, Spencer!"

I looked back to his face to see the shocked and hurt look on it. I knew saying that would get to him, because he'd always felt like he wasn't needed, and I'd always been the person to convince him otherwise. A low blow, I know, but at this point, I didn't care.

"But… Sam…"

I glared at him, then grabbed at the necklace hanging from my neck – the one he'd gotten me – and ripped it off, throwing it to the ground. Then I spun around and marched out the door, wanting to get far away before I could connect my fist with that brunette's face. I was determined to keep myself from getting into another fight. It would be the third one this month, and I was trying to be a less violent person. So much for that, though…

Spencer chased after me and reached out, grabbing my arm and spinning me around to face him again. "Sam, don't leave. Please, we can talk about this, I swear – "

I shook his hand off of my arm and glared at him. "Talk about what? How great the sex was? Fuck you, Spencer."

He just stared at me, dumbfounded. I could see the tiny pools building up in the corners of his eyes.

I turned around again and rushed around the corner, blinded by my anger. My subconscious led me down the hall and down the stairs to the lobby, where I went straight for the doors and left the building as quickly as I could. The cold air hit my face, but I didn't even notice. I yanked my hood up over my blonde hair and tucked it into the hood, then jammed my hands into the front pockets of my jacket and kept furiously walking down the sidewalk, not even looking back. I was strong enough to get through this; I didn't need him. I'd been hurt enough in my lifetime, I wasn't going to take it anymore. Not from him.

I wasn't sure of where I was going, but when I realized what direction I was walking in, I kept it up. I decided where I was going to go: back to the party. At the pace I was walking, I would make it there in half the time it took to drive there. And I knew what I was going to do: I was gonna finish off their supply of alcohol and forget everything. I was gonna pass out and wake up with a headache, and then I was gonna go home and ignore all of Spencer's phone calls and not leave my house for about three days straight.

No, actually, that didn't sound like a very good plan at all. Better yet… I was gonna get back at him.

Because this wasn't just about jealousy. Oh, no… This was about so much more now. Not the fact that I loved him, or that I couldn't even stand to see all the girls that were constantly hitting on him… Nor the fact that my lungs felt tighter and tighter the more that I thought about the image of him and that girl on the couch. This wasn't about how I was an insanely jealous person with more anger problems than most convicts. No… I could go on. I was going to make him regret ever doing this to me.

This wasn't just about jealousy… It was about heartache and suffocation and revenge.

to be continued…