Did you...you know...like it?
Carly's question rang through Sam's mind, even after Spencer's banjo plucking had come and gone. It echoed like a bell as they tipped backwards, as she was shoved into his shoulder. Her heart quickened. The feeling crawled uncomfortably beneath her skin like caterpillars, she squirmed a little bit. She wanted out. She wanted it gone. She wanted to jump up, run to her house, the park, anywhere, let her feet pound against the pavement and punch out the knot solidifying in her chest. But, she was stuck. Stuck to this feeling, and literally stuck to Freddie. Chizz.
She tried to deny, like she had done the past year, but Carly's question and the way that Freddie locked eyes with her opened a dam that could not be closed again. Suddenly she was whisked back to the night that they shared a bed in that hotel. The warmth of his arm around her, the coldness of their rapid separation, and the feelings that were hidden deep beneath her embarrassment and denial.
Chizz. I like the dork.
Chizz on a bucket.
I like Freddie. I LIKE Freddie. I like FREDDIE.
This changes everything.
No, she thought with a sudden clarity. Nothing has changed.
So what if I like him?
So what?
I don't have to change. I can just treat him like normal. Just because I like his eyes doesn't mean that I can't still punch his stupid face.
The prospect of still beating on her favorite punching bag brought a small smile to her face.
Until it goes away, I'll just have to deal.
He won't know...he can't know... she thought, and her struggle against the duct tape suddenly became halfhearted.
"Accepting your prison, Sam?" Carly asked, craning her neck over Freddie to look at Sam. Sam looked up at the ceiling again, and sighed exasperatedly.
"I don't want to fight it anymore," she admitted, slumping back against the ground.
And she was speaking the absolute truth.