Three Months Later
I thought I had died, they had told me. I forced my mind to shut down with all of the pain and trauma. I wasn't really dead. But I wanted to be so badly. I still want to die. I had missed everything. I had missed the Girls Choice Dance, the rest of school, everything. I lost my virginity, three months of my life, my blood, my sanity, everything, because of Griffin. I was still in the mental hospital for examination.
Apparently I had been awake for a week now and in the mental hospital because I had lost it when I had woken up. I had thrown things and people, curled up into a ball and cried, and tried to swallow a bottle of pills. But I was coming back to my senses now, they had said. I was finally getting parts of my life back. And the best part was that I had needed no medicine to cure me, only a picture of my beloved.
They said when I saw the picture of him I regained my mental health. His picture brought back memories and I was getting better, slowly. They said my first words were, "Where is he?"
He wasn't there of course. He hasn't visited me here. No one has. And that just makes me want to tear my hair out and scream. But if I do that, I'll be in here for a very long time. The doctors were discussing if they should let me out or not, since I'm slowly recovering. They told me they're deciding.
As for Griffin, I just can't remember that night. All I know was that it was horrible, torturous, and it practically drove me insane. The police told me all of the details a few days ago. Well, they told me what they knew.
I had been missing for three days when they finally found my limp, unconscious body. Freddie had alerted the cops immediately, but wanted to get revenge. The cops met up with him and saw the baseball bat, and then they realized that he was trying to be a vigilante and told him that they he could not search for me. Freddie protested and turned in his bat, but he was furious and silent for the whole drive to the first forest they were looking for.
They had searched all of Seattle until they spotted my body on the ground, in the middle of a thick forest. All of my things were still there except for my t-shirt. When I asked the police why it was missing, they told me that psychopaths keep trophies of their victims. I shuddered. They said when Freddie saw my body he ran to it and checked for a pulse. When he realized that my heart was still beating, he cradled me into his arms and kissed my grimy forehead murmuring words and songs to me.
I was in a coma for a while after that. Griffin had escaped, but they were searching everywhere for him. I hoped that maybe he had fallen into a river and drowned, but the police told me that he was probably hiding out in the forest or something. That made me worried. What if he would come back? I almost felt that being in a mental hospital would be better for me. At least it was safer.
That still didn't stop the anger I had against Freddie. He didn't try to visit me at all. I had been in the mental hospital, awake, and he hadn't come to see me. Not one phone call, one card, nothing. Not even a message. My mom hadn't come either, but that wasn't a big surprise. She probably didn't even know that I had been in the mental house.
I heard the door in my room open and a fat nurse came in holding an envelope addressed to me. My spirits lifted. Freddie had sent me a letter! He wanted to talk to me! I felt like flying. I trembled with excitement as the nurse handed the letter to me.
"T-thanks," I said happily.
The fat nurse rolled her eyes. "Go crazy," she told me unenthusiastically. "Oh wait, you already are."
Even her sarcasm couldn't dampen my spirits. The nurse left the room again and I looked at the return address. My heart sank and shriveled into a little ball. It was a letter alright. It was from my mother. I wondered what the hag could possibly want as I tore the letter open and read it. There, scrawled in clumsy hand writing, read,
Girl,
I got the damn medical bills. They're more expensive than hell. Get your ass into supermarket and start earning cash as cahsier or something. I ain't paying for no goddamn trouble you got your ass in. You better heal fast, slut, and stay away from my damn house. You said you got a boyfriend, right? Go live with him, you half-ass slacker.
-Your mama.
P.S. The stamps cost me two goddamn dollars. Send me the dough in the mail.
I flew into a rage and crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it against the wall. I hated that my mother. She was a stupid, horrible, nasty woman. I longed to be in Freddie's arms. Tears dripped down my face. Suddenly, my cell door opened again and another nurse and a doctor came in.
"Samantha Puckett," the bald doctor said. "We need to have a word with you."
Hesitantly, I followed the two out of my room. I was sane and they knew it.
She was still there. I knew it. I wanted to see her so badly. I wanted to grab her and make her feel loved. I wanted to spend my days with her at the park in the rain, where we would kiss and hug. I wanted Samantha Puckett. I wanted her to be in arms and I wanted to tell her that I loved her with all my heart and that life without her was hell. I should know. I lived through it for three months. But I just couldn't visit her in the hospital. I was scared. I was scared to see her weak, cold, and mentally unstable. It would drive me insane to see her hurl a pair of scissors at me, scream profanities at me, and while I told her I loved her, she would spit in my face.
I loved Sam. But I wanted to keep the image I still had in my head. I wanted to remember the smiling, blonde-headed demon with her sparkling blue eyes. I wanted to remember her punching me in the gut. I wanted to remember our first kiss on the fire escape. Call me a selfish bastard, but I didn't want to see Sam with her hair in knots, her eyes demented and furious, and her once-trimmed nails turned into long claws.
I sat in my room in my mom's apartment, debating on whether I should call and see what was happening. My cell phone was on my bed, and I ran my finger through my hair. If only I could talk to Carly. Before were stopped speaking to each other, she could always talk to us. I wanted to go to talk to her right now. It was possible that she was angry about iCarly, but I didn't care. I needed to talk to her again, even though I hated her guts.
It took me ten minutes to get the courage to knock on her door. It was opened immediately by a teary-eyed Spencer. I assumed her had heard about Sam. Spencer turned away and Carly took his place. It also looked like she had been crying.
"Do you need help?" she said, hiccupping with sobs. "P-poor Sam, is she hurt?"
"Why do you care?" I snapped furiously. "You hated her. You never even visited her in the hospital!"
Carly looked offended. Then her face changed. "I know tragedies make everyone crazy," she said soothingly. "But come up into my room with me. I want to talk."
I stiffened. "No, I don't think I need you anymore. I thought I did, but I didn't."
Carly grabbed my hand and dragged me into her apartment. Spencer was in the shower, I could hear it. Her eyes looked frenzied and desperate. She let go of my and closed the door quickly. I started to panic. What the hell? Carly flew towards me and started with a full-frontal make-out session. I could feel her lips moving against mine. My teenage hormones started to kick in. Damn it.
I was kissing her back too, but a nagging though ran through my mind. What about Sam?
"I need you," Carly whispered raggedly. I responded by throwing my mouth back against hers passionately.
We fell to the couch, running our hands all over each other. It felt so good. I heard a knock but I ignored it. Whoever it was could wait. Then the door opened, and I rolled off of Carly and saw Sam, dressed in a pair of jeans and a blue blouse, staring at me with hurt and shock all over her face.
I wanted to tell her that it was an accident, but I couldn't get the words out of my mouth. Sam's face was red.
"I thought I loved you!" she screamed.
