Wassup readers? So I know its been a while, and I'm sorry about that, but here is chapter 7.
I just want to shout out to MyNameIsProngs and greeneyedbaby (: thanks you guys! If you haven't read their Fics, you should. They're amazing.
Anyways, I am not bald, gay or awesome, and I therefore don't own glee. I hope you enjoy this chapter (:
Chapter 7
"Sing, sing, sing!" everyone is cheering me for an encore.
I open my mouth, and suddenly everyone is singing Barbra Streisand. Rachel is at the front with not two, but three eyebrows. One above her nose, one on her eyelid, and one... on her chin.
And that's when 100 McKinley students decide to give me a 10 o'clock slushy facial.
I sit up sharp, realising with a sigh of relief that it was only a dream. Then I have to slump back down due to the throbbing pain in my head. I sit up again slowly, but have to clamp a hand over my mouth and crawl to the bathroom. However, Blaine has already beaten me to it; he's lying in the bathtub fully clothed with a flannel over his face.
After delightfully throwing up twice into the toilet, I moan:
"Jeez, what did they give me last night?"
"I don't know," is the muffled groan that I get in response, "I don't remember an awful lot of it myself,"
I heave a few more times, and then the bathroom door opens.
Janie is standing there, her face like stone.
I inwardly sigh, bracing myself.
"I can't believe it!" Oh here we go... "I expected better of you two! After the long speech you gave us last night about not being typical teenagers I'm extremely disappointed. You're not even aloud to be drinking at your age! I should've known better. I've heard all about these out-of-control teen parties. Your father and I trusted both of you. A little alcohol is fine, but look at the state of you both! Absolute mess! You're lucky your father had to leave early because he's absolutely furious. I'm going out, but you'll need to go and get your car. Thank God you had enough sense to not get in that car and drive-"
"Then how did I get home?" I frown, my mind completely blanked.
"One of your so called Glee Club friends," she says the words with revulsion.
"There are about 12-"
"A tall blonde boy with a big mouth,"
Sam.
Oh dear Lord.
My Father has seen Sam and his big mouth.
I can't help but smile. I can just imagine Sam standing on the doorstep, holding me up, and trying to explain to my parents: "Yeah, she's totally wrecked, but this isn't what it looks like,"
I'm smiling, until the memories suddenly decide to come back to me in a rush. Oh my Jeez. Oh...
The jolt in my stomach makes me sick again. Me, Sam, and purple bed sheets...
Flashback.
Rachel Berry's house party.
11:05 p.m.
"Sam! Sammy, stop it!" I giggle hysterically, grabbing at the hands which are sliding all over me.
"Make me. Wait; those are not my hands," I hear Sam's voice from somewhere which is not next to me.
I get out of the tangle of bed sheets (which is not as easy as it sounds, especially when you've been on the drink) and see Genie.
Then Puck falls on top of her, just as I see Sam appear next to me from underneath the sheets. And then it's like we're not even there anymore.
"Jeez Puckerman, you're gonna do some serious damage with that thing," Genie slurs, looking right down at Puck's boxers. Then I can't help but look, and seeing his hard on, which is huge, by the way.
"Damn straight I am," Puck grins, tossing her across the bed like a rag doll. She finds this highly amusing and just giggles as he lays himself on top of her, and pushing his lips onto hers as she wraps her legs around him.
I look at Sam. I look at Sam's jeans. There is indeed a massive bulge in them. His jaw is wide open, which makes his mouth look even bigger, and being a tiny bit tipsy I find this extremely comical. I glance back at the raunchy couple who are just about dry humping on the bed. I wonder if I should drop a hint to Genie that she is about to be used in several different ways which may possibly be illegal. But I also know that if I get in the way of Puck attempting to break her in half (which she'll enjoy no doubt) there will be hell to pay. And I would die.
So I choose life, and grab Sam's hand and pull him out onto the hallway. Unfortunately, Rachel's walls are quite thin, meaning you don't need a glass to hear what's going happening on the other side. Therefore I can quite clearly hear Puck banging Genie's brains out. There's a perfectly good bed, why use a wall?
I just collapse against Sam in a fit of giggles, and he keeps pressing a his finger to my lips and trying to tell me to 'Shh!' in between hysteria, and saying 'they're making love and we don't want to put them off! He might shoot his load a bit too quickly if we make too much noise!' which is absurd because the walls are still vibrating from the music downstairs. I also nearly pee myself at the fact that Sam said 'shoot his load'. I need to teach him some less hilarious sexual terms. Then I get images of having sex with someone (which to my disappointment isn't Sam) and him shouting 'I'm gonna shoot my load!' and then me being shot backwards at immense speed.
And that's when the moans begin, bringing on another round of drunken giggles. I don't think she is aware of her surroundings. I mean...having sex in someone else's house? Especially Rachel Berry's house. It's all innocent and squeaky clean, just like her. And now Puck and Genie have come in and de-innocentized it. On her bed.
Jeez. Either she too drunk to realise or she solely doesn't care.
Eventually Genie's orgies get quieter and Sam gazes at me. I gaze back. He pushes me up against the wall, going down to my eyelevel to kiss me for a few seconds, before taking both of my wrists and pinning them on the wall above my head. He's moving closer the whole way, letting go of my hands and sliding his own down my back, tracing my waist and hips. He drops his head, and begins kissing and nipping at my neck, which I'll admit does feel insanely nice. My lips are tingling and I even let myself breathe heavy in sync with him, and drop a few low notes. I let my hands run through his hair and over his shoulders, gliding down the muscles in his back. I'm pulling him by his front belt loops to bring him closer when I feel the friction of his jeans rubbing against my hip. With him attached to my neck I back into the door next to me, fumble with the door handle, and finally lead him into what's presumably a guest room. All I know is that it's delightfully Genie and Puck free, and there's a bed. We fall into a heap onto the mattress while I undo a few buttons on his shirt.
Present.
12:57 p.m.
That's all I remember. Why is that all I remember? Oh God, I did not give Sam what he wanted did I? I didn't give him exactly what I said I wouldn't?
"You didn't happen to hear me and Sam having sex upstairs at all did you?" I question, out loud, hoping that someone would be able to give me an answer. That answer would preferably be along the lines of: 'No, you're not Fliss anymore! He tried to get into your pants and you said no like the responsible, lovely Annie that you are'.
"I don't know. I don't think so. I only remember asking Sam if he conditioned his gorgeous golden locks," Blaine mumbles. So basically he might as well not have said anything.
"I hope not. Get yourselves cleaned up. Don't go out. I'll be back at 6," Janie, who I forgot was there, storms out, slamming the door and making my head pound.
"Screw her. I'm going to get the car. Right after-" then I throw up again.
Genie's p.o.v
I wake up and look at my alarm clock. I've got a banging headache and the numbers are blurred. What the freaking hell in fat Mary's name happened last night? All I remember is a lot of 'pucking' and a hell of a lot more alcohol. I guess that's my giving up drink plan down the toilet…along with some puke.
My eyes finally focus; 1:37 p.m. Ugh. I reach for my phone, which has a hurtful no messages. I never have no messages. According to Annie I'm a phone addict, which by the way, is so not true. Did I text anyone last night? No. Exactly. What would she know anyways? I've only known her, like, a couple of days – bitch. Okay I'm joking; she's actually pretty fly for the new kid. To be honest, I think we'll end up being best friends. She's my kind of bean: down to earth (most of the time), not afraid to laugh at herself, takes charge with the boys, and her step-brother is God damn smoking. Gay or not, I would. Many times. Hard.
However, I don't need a smokin' hot gay step-brother, because I have the Puckster. I swear everyone did the dirt last night. Except probably Rachel. The sad virgin was passed out most of the night, light weight. I really can't stand that girl. I mean, it's not her fault, and it's out of habit and what not, but she just opens her mouth at all the wrong times. I swear she said I was an 'attention seeking diva' last night. Yes me; a freaking Diva. Just No. But that could be my hangover talking. I don't know which is my left and right at the minute. I can't move too much either, in fear of upsetting the burger muncher (or stomach as normal geeks tend to call it), so I've settled for the bath, which I am laying in. I can think of more comfortable places, but it's right next to the toilet, and my phone is in reaching distance. I might give Annie a call. Maybe she could enlighten me on last night's events. Then again maybe not, she didn't seem very sober to me.
And typically, the girl takes forever to pick up that brick of a cell phone…
"Hello?" she groans. I'm guessing she won't be able to enlighten me on last night's occurences…
"Hello, I'm calling from Pornhub," I joke, in a very excited voice. This should be fun.
"What? I don't-"
"I have amazing news! We traced some of the video's back to an Annie Fredricks,"
"How the hell did you hear about that? Who is this?" she sounds panicky.
"You won employee of the month on PornHub! Someone's been reading the Slag Bible,"
"Hi Genie…" she sighs, not seeing the funny side of my clearly hiarious antics.
"S'up sugartits? So, you and Sammy boy, eh?" I wink. To myself. Why? She can't see me, and I can't see myself either. I'm a douche sometimes.
This seems to get her attention though. I don't blame her. He is one hot tomalie.
"I don't know!" is the moan I get back.
"Oh, her and Sam got it on!" I hear Blaine's voice in the background.
"I hate you," she says bluntly to her brother.
"I don't hate you Blaine, I love you!" I shout down the phone.
There's a lot of phone noise which hurts my brain, and then Blaine is on the other end saying in his campest voice ever: "Oh stop it, you're just saying that; Stop!" and I just about piss myself, which hurts my stomach.
Then Annie manages to get her cell back.
"I remember up until your orgasms were giving Sam the boner of his life, and then it all got a bit hot and heavy in the guest room. But I don't remember anything after that! It's like someone has cut my memory with scissors or something. I guess I'll just have to talk to him on Monday," she sighs, truly concerned by this whole sexual fandango.
"You worry too much,"
"I know but I can't help it! What if I let that gorgeous hunky piece of junk enter Aladin's cave without giving the password! I will-"
"Okay, first of all that would never happen because the Lion thing would be real pissed off, and then Sam would die," I interrupt. I haven't watched Aladin in years. Mostly because I got angry that the Genie was ugly, and my name was Genie, and then I yelled at my parents.
"The point I'm trying to make is that I will have given him the thing that I promised him I wouldn't!"
"And you being deflowered by that gorgeous hunky piece of junk would be a bad thing how exactly?" I kick my legs over the side of the bath, not really listening to what I'm saying, and then suddenly my brain kicks in and mentally digests what's being said.
"Wait," I interrupt her explantion, something about missing the point, "You're a virgin?"
"Uhh…yes,"
"Pft," I snort, "Sucks for you,"
"Wait so…Puck…last night wasn't-"
"My first? Hell no. Don't seem so shocked," I laugh at the tone in her voice. I'm a cheerio. I didn't even wait until I was 16. Screw that, I went right on in there. I think his name was Cade or something. He was on the Football team, and a senior. We didn't talk too much, but his body could slice diamonds and his face wasn't too bad to look at either. It wasn't that great. He didn't shower my bed with rose petals or anything. We'd just won the Final and decided to celebrate behind the bleachers.
"But- but you're all sweet and shy and innocent and stuff," she sounded like someone had just ran over her cat, or she'd just realised that the fat guy in the red suit kissing her Mom was not Santa.
"It's a face Annie. And it's how you survive high school. So you better design one sharp, slap it on, and never let anyone take it off,"
Jeez. I just amazed myself with those words of wisdom. Maybe I drink excessivly more often…
Annie's p.o.v
2:00 p.m.
After the intriguing conversation with Genie I got cleaned up, had a shower, and took some aspirin for the headache. Not sure if I was supposed to do that but what the hell?
I get dressed in shorts, a floaty coral top, grab my sunglasses, and head out. I have to walk to Rachel's, my head still kind of spinning, but I'm fine. It is Sunday right...?
2:25 p.m.
There are no more additions to Rachel's driveway, so I'm guessing that her Dad's aren't back yet, and some people must've been too drunk to drive so they stayed over.
I can't just get in the car and drive off. My keys will be on the side, with my bag and iPod.
I knock on the front door and it swings open.
"Rachel?"
No reply. I don't like the look of this...
What if they're all dead? Savagely mutated and I'm the one to find them? Oh, what if-
"Hell no. Get your ass over here,"
"Mercedes, please. I just need to see if she's breathing,"
I let out a massive sigh of relief, and walk towards the voices of Kurt and Mercedes.
They're both sitting on the bigger sofa, with a laptop in front of them.
Britany is on the floor; modestly covered up by someone's scarf. She's snoring lightly. Rachel is sprawled across the other sofa.
"Hey," I greet them awkwardly.
"Hey," they both say.
Kurt looks at me as I take in the party scene again.
"Artie is asleep on the kitchen table. I found Puck naked on Rachel's bed this morning and kicked him out," he explains, and I vaguely remember Puck and Genie's sexcapades.
"Ooh, Annie, you need to see this," Mercedes erupts into laughter.
Oh dear Lord.
"What? What is it?" I ask consciously.
Kurt ushers me over to squeeze in between him and Mercedes. They're on Facebook, and currently on an album called 'Last Friday Night', despite it being on a Saturday.
"As in...The song by Katy Perry?"
"Mmhm, there's a picture for every line in the song," Kurt points to the screen.
'There's a stranger in my bed' a picture of a shocked Kurt and a rather confused Blaine in one of the beds. I laugh and nudge him.
'There's a pounding in my head' a picture of Finn with his head in his hands.
We go through a few more until it gets to the really embarrassing ones.
'Yeah we danced on table tops' me, Genie, and Britany in our underwear on Rachel's coffee table.
'And we took to many shots' Britney, Genie, Puck, Sam, Rachel, Finn, Mercedes and I downing vodka shots.
'I think we kissed but I forgot' there's a picture of Sam and I on the sofa making out during '7 minutes in Heaven'. Even though it was more like 10.
"Oh Jeez," I rub my eyes, "Now everyone's going to know," Not something I intended to happen.
"That's not all they'll know," Mercedes gets up a picture of Me, Sam and Brit doing a three-way kiss.
"Who was takingall of these?" I question, mortified that my drunken Saturday night is all over Facebook.
"They're just from people's phones and camera's," Kurt shrugs it off and I look at him suspiciously.
"I don't remember anyone with a camera," I mumble into Kurt's shoulder.
Then Rachel pipes up; "I don't remember anything,"
"I'm hardly surprised. Completely wasted half the night and passed out the other doesn't do much for one's memory," I point out.
"Hey Berry, you wanna know what you did last night?" Mercedes seems to be full of the giggles today.
Rachel is up like a shot and then is quite literally sitting on top of me. I peer over her shoulder and watch the screen, which is showing a video of our spin the bottle game. I can tell that Mercedes had filmed it from the position the film is in. There's Rachel and Blaine's kiss. Jeez. I didn't see it from that angle!
"You've un-gayed him!" my jaw hangs agape.
"Don't be silly," Kurt laughs a little uneasily, "You can't just 'un-gay' someone,"
"But can you make someone gay?" Mercedes asks, nodding towards the screen.
It's mine and Quinn's kiss. Watching gives me the weirdest feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"Guys," I sigh, "I'm not a lesbian," at least...I don't think so.
"Okay, but...bi-curious?"
"Why would you think that?" I demand.
"You have the hottest, most popular Beiberlicious Quarter-Back obviously wrapped around your little finger. He's all over you like ants on candy and you're pushing him away! You're a single cheerio, and you could be on top, and you're not doing anything about it. It just doesn't make sense," Mercedes shakes her head.
"Wow," I stare at my shoes, feeling my eyes welling up. I can't even finish the sentence. What I want to say is: 'wow, what a load of judgemental assholes you all are' but I can't bring myself to do it.
Instead, I get up, grabbing my things off the side and barely stop to say "See you at school" before getting out as fast as possible.
Glee; somewhere you can go for a sense of family; respect; no judgement. Just friendship, acceptance, and the music. A team. And that was working out fine; but there's always a fucking crack in the pavement. Hell, I don't need Glee. I'm a Cheerio for crying out loud! But with a sigh I realise that I do need Glee. I just don't get them. Either way I go, I'll be in the wrong: Don't get with Sam; I'm blatantly a lesbian. Get with Sam and quit Glee; become the girl I left behind. And I can't do that again. Fliss; the slut, the bitch, the gossip, the terrible friend and daughter. Yeah, the list goes on. Would you want a reputation like that? I need to find the balance! I can never find the God damn balance.
I do need Glee. It's basically the only thing keeping me sane. It mostly accepts me for who I am. It doesn't matter where I'm from, or where I'm at. How I dress. We all have the same thing in common; we all love music. 'We're all misfits...' I think, blinking back the tears.
I shouldn't be a misfit, I should be normal. That's why I moved, to try and live a normal life. But none of my life was ever normal. I was never anything more than damaged – a misfit. And I hate one person above all the rest for doing that to me: Jake. He did this. He made me like this, and getting a new zip code was never going to change that. I try and blink away the tears, desperate for some reassurance. But I never told anyone, and so there was never anyone to talk it through with. Then again, I'm pretty sure I didn't tell people for a reason. Why would anyone want to know that? So that left me, myself and I to cope with it all by ourselves. I laugh bitterly. Cope? Did I ever do that? Probably not.
And what about this whole Quinn thing? Jeez, where does that leave me? Suddenly, I'm not entirely sure I want to know...
I let the tears flow down my cheeks as I drive along. I don't want to go home. Tear stains = questions. Questions = giving answers which I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable giving yet. I mean, where are you supposed to go to talk about it? I know that people say 'Go and talk to your parents!', and your parents say 'You can always talk to us about anything!' but that's not really true, is it? I mean, for one, can you imagine that conversation?
"Oh hey Dad, so I'm really worried because I think I might be a lesbian. See, it all started on Saturday when I got drunk at Rachel's house party and we played spin the bottle and I had to kiss Quinn and I actually quite enjoyed it. Then we almost kissed and it was really awkward and then I got really drunk and I think I might've hooked up with Sam but I don't remember. So, what's your advice on that particular subject?"
I can hardly see him saying "Oh yeah, back in my day something exactly like that happened to me!"
Then there's Blaine, who's always so lovely and open-minded about everything. But somehow it wouldn't feel right going and talking to him about it. I don't think he was ever confused. I think he just knew. Or possibly not, as of the whole Rachel Berry fandango. So he's still befuddled, and doesn't need my sexually confused problems on top of that.
I consider going to Quinn's, but then I remember what brought me to this in the first place, and figure that Quinn's is probably not the best idea. I would go to Genie's, but I haven't a clue where she lives. Plus she'd probably try and find the answer via her mobile (she's a phone addict). Then again, she's also one of those people who I feel I've known forever, which I'm grateful for.
That's when the idea hit's me.
I can't believe I didn't think of him before!
2:45 p.m.
Standing on Puck's 'Welcome' mat. Well, it's in Jewish, so it could be saying 'Piss off and leave us alone' , but from what I know about Welcome mat's, they do tend to say Welcome, and therefore I knock
A woman in her 40's opens the door. She looks very Jewish. And very angry. But no surprises there; her son is the infamous Noah Puckerman. Despite this she ushers me in and smiles.
"Are you after my son?" Jeez, I wonder how many times she's asked that question.
"Yes please. I just need a word with him," I tell her politely.
. I wonder how many of the girls who have turned up on 's doorstep used that as their excuse. I wonder how many of them kindly showed themselves to his room, and then had sex with him. My guess is probably most of them. .
"Okay dear," she smiles at me again, patting my shoulder, and then she turns in the direction of the stairs, and shouts "NOAH!" and explosions go off in my head.
We wait in silence for a minute and then barely hear Puck's voice when he answers: "What?" in a grumpy and tired voice. I'm not surprised.
"You have a lady friend on her way up!"
I slip out of my pumps, and start up the stairway I don't want Puck to think his Mom was referring to Genie, and then me to go in and find him laying there naked or anything. Not only would that be sensationally awkward, but I've seen and heard quite enough Puckledrew (Puck and Andrews, Genie and Puck's last names together) action for, well, ever, thanks very much.
I find Puck's room easily because on the door it has 'Welcome to Noah's Ark' in baby blocks. Cute or what?
I knock, and wait for him to tell me to come in, then step around the door cautiously. I have to say that I'm expecting a mess of boxers and last week's washing to be strewn all over the floor and a thousand cut outs of naked models plastered across his walls, but to my surprise it's really neat. He has a big double bed, with blue sheets which look like bubble wrap, and a television fixed to the wall, complete with x-box and ps3.
"That has to be the coolest bed spread I've ever seen in my entire life," I say, startling him because he's glued to the basketball.
He smiles, patting the space next to him. When I sit down, I admit that a little part of me dies when it doesn't pop.
"I got it when I was 9. I thought it was proper bubble wrap. Mom said I looked like a kicked puppy when I found out it didn't pop,"
I laugh. "You're such a dork,"
"Sorry, I'm a dork? Have you not met Sam Evans? The dude speaks the blue language," Puck refers to Avatar, raising an eyebrow.
"Wow, lame," but secretly I think that it's awesome.
"Anyway, what summons you to my boudoir? I'm guessing it has something to do with these," he rubs my cheeks where the tears have fallen.
I nearly reach up to wipe my cheeks, but what's the point? I just let out a massive breath and fall backwards onto the pillows.
"I'm hurt. And very confused,"
"Confused sex, I like it," he grins down at me.
"Not why I'm here Puck. In fact, I feel like I've basically slept with you after what I saw and heard last night. That feeling of accomplishment is enough to not really have too,"
He pouts, disappointed, not phased in the slightest that I know of his sexual antics. Then again, this is Noah-whore-till-I-die Puckerman. I'm sure many people know of his sexual antics.
"Okay, so if not for confused sex, why are you here?"
As I'm about to reply his eyes go wide and he says: "Don't say to talk,"
I scowl. "I am here to talk as a matter of fact. And you're going to listen until your ears bleed if necessary, because that's just the sort of person you are,"
"No, Annie. Surely Quinn or Kurt, or your brother – hell, I'll bet even Finessa has a better chance of helping you than I do. I'm an asshole, remember?"
"Yes, you are an asshole. But you're going to drop the badass stage boy act and help your friend. Right now she needs comfort,"
He seems to respond to this, and lies next to me, but not before childishly saying: "Comfort sex,"
Then he sighs and demands: "Spill it,"
"My head hurts," I cover my face.
"Yes Annie, that's called a hangover. I'm not surprised. You've seen the pictures right? And those video's," he's wearing that grin which means he's thinking dirty and I'm ready to put money on saying that he's seen the video's more than once.
"Which brings me to my next point..." I breathe in and out, then carry on whilst staring at Puck's bobbly ceiling, "All of that stuff...those pictures and videos. The kissing; that's semi normal for a drunken teenager right? I can blame it on the alcohol?" I ask, trying to keep the anxiousness out of my voice.
"Considering you were totally hammered, and started asking me if you could braid my Mohawk then yes, I would say you could blame it the alcohol," he smirks.
"Okay, and another thing: Do you think it's weird that I haven't fallen at Sam's feet like everyone else?" I turn my head to study his response.
"Well, first of all; you know him on like, a personal level, and also in the – 'you gave me a massive hicky' way, so really it all depends on how you find him as a person. Most of the girls..." blah, blah, don't know him, just what he looks like, blah, I zone out. A hicky? I have a massive hicky? How do I not know this?
"Puck, Puck, stop," I interrupt Puck's speech which is making him sound increasing like Wise Woman of the Forest, "Hold up there, where do I have a massive hicky?"
He laughs, gets off the bed, dragging me through his bathroom door so as I'm standing in front of his mirror, and pulling my hair back from my neck.
Oh dear Lord.
"Shit! Sam!" I lean forward and inspect the pink/purple bruise on the side of my neck in Puck's bathroom mirror. "Are they supposed to be that big?"
"Have you seen the size of his mouth?"
"Fair point. But how the hell am I expected to hide that?"
"You don't. You wear your hicky loud and proud to say 'I got some this weekend and it was good'," he shrugs, leaving me staring.
Oh, Sam.
I swear to God, that boy is Steven Tyler and Mick Jagger's gay love child. Actually that's mean, because Sam is wayyyyyyyyyy hotter than Steven Tyler and Mick Jagger ever have a hope of being. So let's go for Mick Jagger and Angelina Jolie's love child. Anhow, it's al about the lips.
"So, back to my therapy; what do you think of him?" Puck asks when I sit back on his bed, still a little upset that it doesn't pop.
"I don't know. I mean jeez he is gorgeous, lips and all. And now I've seen the real him -"
"The real him?" Puck frowns.
"Yeah. He hides behind this huge egotistical mask which isn't anything like him, and it really gets to me! You know, the stereotypical assoholic jock that so many people favour. But the real Sam is so much better. He's all cute and nervous and sweet. I get that horrible feeling that he's only going to be like that when it's just me and him. He needs to keep his reputation, and I get that," I glance at Puck, and his eyebrows are raised, silently contradicting me.
"Okay, you're right; I'm lying. I don't get it. I don't understand why you have to be an asshole to have a social status, or why when you're a jock you have to treat your girlfriend like total crap. Their only goal is to get laid as many times as possible by that girl, before dumping her the next week and moving onto the next whore with boobs and a pulse. And as much as it pains me to say it, I like the guy. I like him, I do. But I want the real Sam. The one where we'll go down the hallways hand in hand and he'll walk me to class, and kiss me by my locker..." I'm getting lost in my own fantasies, and reluctantly come back to reality to finish my 'New Shirt' speech, "I don't want to be his new shirt," I say firmly, "The one that he wears everyday for a week, and shows around because it's designer and new. The one that he hangs up because he's proud of it, and hell, he even irons it himself. And then another one's out for sale and it's better than the one he's already got. It's a different colour, or it's softer, or maybe he just prefers the pattern. So he buys it, throwing the old one to the bottom of the pile, all crumpled, without a care in the world, because after all, it's just a shirt, and there are plenty more where that came from,"
Puck's quiet for a minute, mentally digesting what she's saying. Did she really just compare herself to a shirt? He internally shrugs. He does know what she's talking about. You know – with him being different. When he first started Glee he was kinda cool, and awesome at Black Op's. He spoke Avatar language and did funny impressions. Plus he had that huge mouth that Puck could make fun of. Now he's super cool, and kind of a womaniser and Puck can't help thinking that he's inflicted his friend with his amazingly awesome badass jock ways. He's way more badass so Puck doesn't take the micky out of his mouth anymore in case he bites his head off, but the guy has grown a back bone and Puck likes that about him. But it all started after he dated Santana. She was constantly insulting the poor guy, until he was just a shell. Awesome to hang out with, but still not quite...Sam Evans. He is thinking hard. He does want to make her feel better because she's his friend, but he doesn't really know how too. Talking isn't really his forte, and he and Genie haven't gotten to that stage yet. It's hard to talk with his mouth attached to hers, and Puck's fine with that. So Puck does what Puck does best and comes out with...
"The guy does buy really awesome shirts,"
I roll my eyes. Puck could never/should never be a therapist .
"I don't care if they're $100 a piece," I pause, pursing my lips, and then I say something that I regret as soon as it slips out of my mouth, "I don't want to be his most expensive, or newest shirt. Just his favourite one,"
He looks at me with that annoying shit-faced grin, which means that he now has dirt on me, then turns serious, and questions:
"Then why aren't you telling him that?"
And it's just as I open my mouth to answer, that the inevitable happens.
I hear footsteps, and Puck's mom's voice shouts up "Puck, your friend Sam is here!"
We look at each other, eyes wide.
'The bathroom! Quick!' he mouths, pointing at the white door.
I tiptoe into the bathroom, praying that Puck's Mom said nothing about me being here.
I peep out of the crack where I've left the door open a little bit, and watch Sam sprawl himself across the space on Puck's bed where I was sat not a minute ago.
He's wearing sunglasses, and a blue and white checked shirt.
"What's up Puckerman?"
"The Basketball,"
"Aw man, is this yesterday's game? I recorded it, but I haven't been able to watch it yet. I've been in bed all day. No, actually, that's a lie," he laughs, "I barfed so many times there wasn't even any point in being in my bedroom, so I've just lived in the bathroom,"
"Dude, don't even say the word barf,"
They both laugh, and concentrate on the game for a bit. Oh wow, guys are so dull. Is this really what they do? Then Puck pipes up again.
"So what went down last night?" This could get interesting…
Sam smirks. "I don't kiss and tell,"
"It's all over Facebook," is Puck's response. It doesn't faze Sam one bit.
"I know. I don't remember any cameras," (glad I'm not the only one).
"You were kind of eye fucking Annie. All night. And then you glued yourself to her hip,"
"Really? I don't remember," he says casually, taking off his shades and inspecting them.
My mouth drops in embarrassment. Of course he doesn't remember. He was drunk. And there I was thinking that he was making out with me, and telling me I looked pretty because he meant it. Now I can just sit here and bask in my idiocy.
"Yeah, I'm sure. That's definitely not the face of someone who doesn't remember. I'm pretty sure that you remember disappearing upstairs with her at about 11. I didn't see you after that. I'm not stupid Evans. You like her,"
"I don't know man, I'm not sure,"
"Really? You've already dated 2 of the hottest girls in school; why stop now?"
Sam shrugs. "I'm not stopping. Just maybe...keeping an open mind. You know; checking out the scenery,"
The same words he'd used in the locker room. And just like that he's gone back to being the guy that he was back then. Any change of opinion on him was slashed. So I was just another regret. Another little Cheerio dolly to add to his collection.
"I get what you're saying. But she is hot,"
"Oh, yeah, don't get me wrong; she is smoking. And the party was fun. But have you ever heard of the saying 'Blame it on the Alcohol?"
"Evans, I coined that term,"
"Exactly. I don't want her to get any ideas. Not just yet," he puts his hands behind his head, turning his attention once again to the TV.
Any ideas? Is he serious? The words make me feel sick to my stomach.
So, he was leading me on, just to see what happened. But he doesn't want anything serious. Anything that involves commitment. 'Let's take it slow,' I think back, embarrassed. Take what slow? Our 'relationship'? When did he ever say anything about that? Oh my God, I'm so stupid! He's the hot Quarter-back! I'm a nobody. I'm in Glee. I'm a new Cheerio. I'm so stuck up to think that because I'm new that everyone will want me. I feel my face burning up. Ugh, I imagined it all. He was just playing me along, and having a good laugh. This right here proves it all. He doesn't want me to become all clingy, and think that we're a couple just because we made out a couple of times while drunk at a Rachel Berry party. Yep; all of that definitely shouts commitment.
I remember something about him wanting to kiss me for a while, but that was a kiss. That wasn't him saying that he actually liked me. I'm sure he wants to kiss lots of people that he doesn't fancy. I for sure wouldn't mind kissing Finn, or Puck, but I don't like them in that way. UGH. As depressed people addicted to Facebook say: FML (Fuck my life). I made it all up in my head. What did I really expect? As I've pointed out; he's the Quarter-back. He looks like he's just waltzed out of a model shoot for teen vogue. His smile makes you melt. His body gives you the tingles. He has the female student body lining up to give him anything he wants, and here I am, thinking that I'm special. Thinking he chose me. Well, I guess I'm just stupid.
"That's a nice shirt Sam,"
"Thanks," Sam plucks at the material, "It's new,"
Puck looks straight up at me, and I almost throw up. But then Sam would hear it, and come in and see me puking in Puck's bathroom, and that would be not so hot.
3:30 p.m.
Sam finally leaves.
I now know what it's like to have sex with Genie. Ooh, and what Santana's air–bags feel like. On the whole: not really anything that I particularly needed to know. They also compared their Quinn kissing, but I've already had that experience. Jeez, what am I thinking? I can't fancy Quinn! She's my friend. Just my friend because she's a girl and I am also a girl and therefore the alcohol is to blame for everything. No, I don't fancy Quinn. That's stupid.
While I was in there though, I designed my mask, for definite.
I'll be the Cheerleader that no one messes with. The total opposite of how I really am. I haven't been myself while I'm here. Not really. Sometimes at home, and with Blaine, and that little bit with Sam when I was drunk. And I'm normal with Artie and Kurt. There are just certain people who I can be myself around. I start wondering who myself really is. I haven't been Annabel Felicity Fredricks in a long time. Not since what happened with Jake. It's so frustrating that one awful and unforgivable act of someone, can change a person's life. There's no choice. It's just not fair! I want my old self back! I was polite, and sweet, and nice. I would blush when people complimented me, and I was innocent. Shy even. I was normal. And he stole that from me. And now I can't get it back. I want it back so badly. Maybe I would be liked, and respected more. Maybe I would be a little smarter. Maybe I would do better in class.
There are certain people who bring back little traits of that old Annabel.
I've been Annabel, I've been Fliss, and now I'm Annie. And Annie is going to rock like boulders. I'm going to do it right. I'm finally going to get something right. But it'll take time, and I'm going to use it wisely.
I'll be all nice and sweet when he's least expecting it, and then go back to being teasing and sarcastic.
Two can play at this game, Sam Evans.
I've made up my mind; he will be mine. I'm going to be the girl that he wants to commit too. I'll keep him going until he's begging for it. It's the only way to teach a guy like him a lesson. Wow, I feel like one of those chicks from 'John Tucker Must Die'. Amazing film. And Puck totally pulls off the Jesse Metcalfe look.
"See you tomorrow,"
"Later man," Sam closes the door just as I emerge from the bathroom.
I put my hand on my hip. "I want'z on those froggy lips,"
Puck looks up at me from his bed. "You know, if I wanted Santana Lopez in my room I would seriously just call her,"
I laugh, falling into the Sam shape space. Oh my Jeez, it even smells like him.
"Puckerman, I have a plan," I announce, and he raises one eyebrow, signalling that he wants in.
Sam Evans p.o.v
5 weeks ago.
"This morning I woke up and decided to swallow the sun,"
The sassy Latina just looks at me.
"That's my James Earl Jones impression," I clarify.
"Okay first of all, that is offensive. He shot Martin Luther King,"
She doesn't sound very happy, so I break out the Star Wars. "Obi wan never told you what happened to your father-"
"Okay, you know what, I'm just gonna cut to the chase," Santana presses her fingertips to her temple, momentarily closing her eyes before she continues, "Despite the fact that your mouth to face ratio is like, way off, you still somehow manage to be cute," the corner of my mouth turns up at this. I'm still not used to having so much attention from girls. Especially not ones which look like Santana. "But make no mistake; every time you open your humongous mouth to do an impression or moisten an enormous stamp for a lazy giant, you take one step closer to everyone seeing that you are actually a dork," I feel my face drop until she plays these cards. "And that's where I come in," she straightens her back. "I hereby offer my services as a mistress," she slides closer, a demanding tone now taking on her voice, "I want'z on them froggy lips, and I want'z on 'em now,"
"But I'm dating Quinn," I point out, knowing what's coming next.
"And this just in; she cheated on you,"
"No she didn't," I deny, shaking my head. Quinn loves me. And besides, I know the real story.
"Look, I know you're as dumb as a bag of wet hair, but you know in your heart she's lying. That gumball story was insane!"
I avoid her eye contact because I'm getting this uncomfortable feeling in my stomach.
"You're choosing to believe it so you can still be with her," she now draws back, recapturing my attention. "But consider my offer. Not only am I giving you full visitation rights to the set of rambunctious twins that live on my ribcage," I let my eyes drop to the questioned 'twins' for a second, before meeting her eyes again, "you get to show that pastry bag Finn that he can't mess with Sam Evans. And not just because you can unlock your humongous jaw and swallow him whole like a python, but because you have some buzz at this school," she shrugs, "Think about it," then gets up, leaving me staring at the table.
Today.
Sunday 5th May
I'm laying on my bed, tossing and catching my football very carefully because it's already hit me in the face. Twice. Thinking back to that day in the Library with Santana, makes me feel awful all over again. I felt like crap. There she was, pointing out all of my flaws, and then she expected me to go out with her? I mean, I did, but that's not the point. The point is how she did it.
By making me feel vulnerable, and because she was hot, I totally fell for it.
"By making you feel deformed and stupid, you automatically assume that no one is going to want you, and therefore she instantly has the upper hand by simply being in the right place at the right time." My older sister Shelby had explained to me, "You're worried about being lonely and rejected. She's there," she'd shrugged.
Shelby knows girls like Santana inside out, because she's one herself.
Yesterday, when I went over Puck's, he got my head all confused. He was telling me that we (me and Annie) were all over each other all night. Of course, my school side had to say: "Really? I don't remember," But of course I do. Yep, that's right, I have one of those masks. It's the only way a guy like me can survive high school. When Santana was kindly pointing out that I'm a dork with the biggest mouth in the world, I decided to change my ways. I knew there wasn't a lot I could do about my lips, but the dork bit could go. Well, at school it could. Home is different, but at school I could be the guy that people didn't make fun of. Wouldn't want to make fun of, because he's popular, and cool. Ugh, I hate being that guy. Seems self obsessed. That's so not me, but the slushies stopped, and the girls all look at me. A lot. And I kinda like that.
Up until then I was just Sam Evans. And that was good. People seemed to like Sam Evans. He had cool hair, and awesome guitar skills, and did really dorky but secretly outstanding impressions. I mean sure, there was the odd comment, 'Lady Lips' and 'Trouty Mouth'. The usual. I was used to it. But I was the rising star at McKinley. Quarter-Back + Hot cheerleader = the top. And that's when things started to go downhill. Quinn cheated on me with Finn, which meant that me and Finn weren't friends anymore. But I'd been stupid enough to believe her ridiculous cover story. Santana was right; it was insane. But I'd totally almost choked on a gumball once and Quinn was my girlfriend. Trust is a major thing in any relationship, and I trusted her. That was my mistake.
So right then and there, at that table where Santana left me, I puffed my cheeks out, let out a big breath and decided that I had to change. My real personality is all soft like play dough, and easily crushed. I need to be stronger. So instead, I turn like Puck; the stereotypical asshole jock. This was working. It went perfectly with dating Santana. But then I discovered that she was a closeted lesbian, who only had eyes for the fashioneista Britany. The dating thing had worked to boost our popularity, but we broke up kinda swiftly after that. I don't blame her; I mean, Britany is pretty hot. And one hell of a kisser. I felt quite proud of myself because I'd dated a lesbian. I mean, we didn't get past third base, and she was never one for romance, but still.
My mask was doing its job. And then came along Annie Fredricks. And it turned out that you couldn't please everybody. She saw only the mask. The stereotypical asshole as she puts it. And she didn't believe it, but it's the only part she's seen. Then at the party she slipped up, and I took that opportunity to dive in. When we were in the '7 minutes in Heaven' I was being all nice to her. I told her that she looked pretty, and that I'd wanted to kiss her since I met her. I was me. And she liked it. She liked me. I didn't even feel weird taking my mask off in front of her. I took it as a good sign when she kissed me. And damn she made me work for it, but I got there. I knew she was drunk, and that must've been the only reason that she did what she did, but it still felt amazing. I think the reason that I let my guard down is because I knew that she wouldn't remember. I wasn't that drunk. A little tipsy maybe, but not nearly enough to forget what happened. I lied to Puck when I said I couldn't remember. I remember it all...
Flashback.
Rachel Berry's house party.
11:24 p.m.
I begin to suck at the pressure point of her neck, and she lets out a moan, while pulling me closer by the belt loops of my jeans. I almost freeze when I feel my pants getting tighter, and it rubs against her hip (seeing as she's shorter than me by almost a head). But it doesn't faze her at all. In fact, she fumbles with the door handle behind us for a minute, before pulling me through, and closing the door. I finally unattach myself from her pulse point, admiring my work – there's already a sizeable red/pink mark forming on her neck. She slides her hands underneath my shirt, and traces down the lines of my body. I grin, tilting her chin up so as my lips can cover hers again. She tastes so good. It's addictive. And then, she does something which makes my breath hitch in my throat.
She unbuttons my jeans, all the while keeping her lips moving around mine, and her hand slithers under my boxers, gripping me softly. I groan into her mouth, and feel her smile as she moves her hand up and down. And she carries on, first slow, and getting faster the more I moan, until I do unravel, only a little bit. But she catches it, saving my jeans, boxers, and Rachel's bedding. She licks it off her hand, and my mouth drops. She grins cheekily.
"What?"
"You," I stutter, surprised. I pull her mouth back to mine, as we fall back onto the mattress.
I take off her belt, and unbutton her jeans, so as I can see the top of her little panties. They're lacy, and baby blue, with little bows on them. I pull them a little bit with my teeth, and she giggles. I plant kisses on her stomach, and progress upwards, putting my hands on the sides of her top and pulling it up as I go. She runs her fingers through my hair, and I can tell where this is going.
"Hey, hey," I smile, leaning on my side next to her.
"Please?" she says, giving me the puppy eyes, and playing with my collar.
Every instinct is telling me to give in, but I shake my head.
"You'll be too drunk to even remember this. I don't want it to happen like that," I explain, stroking the side of her face.
"Ohh!" she crumples up her nose, and puts her hands over her face.
I laugh, doing up her jeans, and sliding her belt back on, before doing the same to myself.
We lay there for a while; I don't know how long, but just until things stop spinning, and I'm fit enough to drive. I pick her up bridal style, and just tell Kurt that I'm taking her home. He says that he'll drop Blaine home at some point before the morning.
On the way home she starts mumbling something about Harry Potter, and someone called Ken, and French Fries. I laugh, concentrating on the road. It's fairly quiet.
When I get to the Fredricks door, I put Annie down, with her arm around my shoulder, and me holding her up by the waist. Her Mom answers. She's hot. And she doesn't look happy.
"Up the stairs, second on your left," she tells me stiffly, as she looks tired, and not capable of carrying a teenager up the stairs. "And no funny business," she also warns, and I hurry to insure her that that's just not my intention.
I carry a limp Annie to her room. I like her room; it smells nice, which might be weird but I don't care. When I put her down onto her sheets she flops like a fish. She's not an attractive sleeper: her mouth hangs open a little, but it makes me laugh.
I peel off her jeans (which is hard because they're super tight), and it's when I'm lifting her top off over her head that she stirs. I fold up the clothes and put them on a chair, and then look up at her draws and wardrobe. There are 6 draws.
"Second one...pyjamas," the girl manages to mumble.
I open the second draw and sure enough I find some loose fitting shorts, and a baggy Bench t-shirt.
"Sammy?" she croaks.
I look up from what I'm doing, "Yeah?"
"Is this real life?" the Blonde slurs.
I chuckle quietly and whisper back "Yes Annie, this is real life," then continue bringing the shorts up round her thighs.
"I don't want you to see my...chesty...business,"
I hold my hands up above my head. "It's fully covered,"
"But you're a boy Sam. You can't see it because...that would be morally wrong. And also bad,"
"No, no, I know. I'm not looking. I promise," I hurry to reassure her.
"Good. So when you take it off don't look!"
When I take it off? I'm planning on taking it off? Obviously. Still, I guess sleeping in that tight lacy bra would be uncomfortable. I certainly wouldn't want to sleep in it.
I walk round to the other side of the bed so as I'm behind her, and clamber up onto the purple sheets. With one hand, I lift her body, and with the other I undo the clasp on her bra and slide it off. Not being able to resist, I quickly check the size: 34C.
I let my cheeks puff out. Bigger than Quinn's.
Still, I promised her I wouldn't look, so I don't. I keep my eyes on her face the whole time i'm gently pulling the top over her head.
When I'm done, I kiss her forehead but she grabs my shirt.
"You didn't look?" she yawns, opening both eyes and staring at me expectantly.
"I didn't look," I confirm.
"Good boy," she ruffles my hair.
I laugh, "I'll see you at school,"
But she has other ideas. "You forgot.." she murmurs, waving her hand at me, and I go back over.
Then she presses her lips to mine.
I smile, and she smiles, then flops, and falls straight asleep.
Present.
I'll bet she didn't remember any of that in the morning.
I sigh, pulling out of the memory, and getting up.
"What's good for a hangover?" I ask no one in particular when I get downstairs.
Dad's playing golf, so that leaves me with Mom, Shelby and her friend. Stacy is at this fun camp with her friend, and Stevie is at the park with one of his friends.
"You shouldn't have been drinking in the first place," Shelby says,
"Don't start,"
"Samuel, Shelby, no fighting," Mom demands.
"Then tell her to mind her own freaking business," I roll my eyes, take some aspirin out of the cupboard and head back up to my room.
Back to Annie situation; I want to have her wanting me. Minus the alcohol. I mean, Saturday was obviously just the alcohol. Not for me, but for her. And everyone has to think that I have control.
Pfft, it meant nothing. Just another girl to add to my list. Just gossip to throw around the locker room.
I bite my lip because I can't do that. I'd be lying if I said that it didn't mean anything. I know that at school I'm an asshole, but there's only so much you can do before you are an actual dickhead. That's not me. There's only so far I can go. Being nice would be the easy route, but this way is more challenging. I'm not all bright bulbs in the brains department, so I do whatever I can to keep people minds off that.
It's hard being dyslexic. People hear about it, but I don't think a lot of them actually know what it is.
It's crap, that's what it is. I'd love to be normal.
I feel my eyes starting to damp with tears, which is stupid because boys don't cry. Especially not jocks. So I put Avatar into my DVD player and settle back, hoping that all my problems will just let me alone for a few hours sp as I can enjoy some time being me.
I'd love to know what you think about Sam's and Genie's p.o.v ;) Just fucking review it.
Until next time!