iAm Not Weak

Carly Shay was heartsick. The heart, like any other muscle in the human body, is susceptible to infection and injury – and without even laying eyes on her, her father had injured her.

Her lids began to flutter, the dark chocolate eyes beneath screwed up, fighting for clarity. There had to be something wrong. The bright mass in front of her face divided. Gingerly, she reached up, recognition beginning to dawn. Her eyes still had yet to focus.

"Pretty…. Pretty… Blurry… Girls…." she muttered, sleepily drunken.

Her vision was now crowded and no less hazy. Then she heard it – the voice that made everything okay.

"There she is…. There's my little Cupcake…" Sam Puckett cooed. "It's about time. You've been asleep for nearly seven hours. Are you feeling better?"

Carly had no idea. Did she just say seven hours?

"I had… the strangest dream." She tried to swallow, her mouth dry.

Sam immediately leaned in, a glass of water in hand. Carly sipped, looking from left to right, her vision finally restored.

"You were there…" Sam. "…and you were there…" Melanie. "…and you were there…" Spencer.

Her big brother spoke next, his voice soft and even, reminiscent of their mother's.

"Hey Kiddo…"

She loved them all, she truly did, but this was all her fault; she had done this to herself. It wasn't as though she'd gotten run down by a speeding taco truck.

She sat halfway up, attempting to speak, before Sam shushed her.

"Carls, we know you don't want people to worry, but that's what we do…" Sam paused. "You matter, so we worry. That's the way it is…"

Carly remembered, but she was confused nonetheless.

"Okay…" She would just go along to get along. "But… but I did this to myself, basically. I got myself so worked up…. He made me so upset… and I basically made myself sick over it."

She felt so stupid. How could she have let That Man get to her? Maybe he was right about her after all these years. Maybe she was weak. She flushed bright pink.

"Won't happen again, Cupcake, I promise…" Sam held her close and helped her to her feet. Melanie was there for moral support, of course – Sam's big sister – if only by a minute. Spencer was, frankly, Spencer.

It was strange for her to have these feelings. Her feelings for Sam, she knew, had always been there, even below the surface. These felt completely natural. What felt strange for her was for her to, in a manner of speaking, be mourning a death – the death of the father she thought she knew – while he was still breathing. Her body felt such conflict that it had turned inward upon itself, making her so distraught as to be physically ill, while at the very same time, she, emotionally, felt nothing whatsoever.

Steven Shay, the man she thought she knew and loved, she realized, had died all those years ago, when he had first crawled inside a bottle to escape his own demons. That was then. This was now. Now, Carly Shay had oh so much more to live for. She was bright, articulate, blessed with wit and charm. Most of all, however, what was most precious to her couldn't be quantified in any real way, although she would trade her soul for it, if ever it were lost to her. Most precious to her in the entire world was the heat welling up in her chest at this very moment. The salty sweetness filling her lungs. Precious beyond measure was but one thing – her own exquisite sin – Sam Puckett.

She no longer felt ill. Her body and her mind had reached a peace accord in the demilitarized zone where her heart resided. It was mutually beneficial that both parties cease aggression against the other, in the best interests of Carly Shay.

She was back up to speed, yet Sam insisted on babying her. She didn't need it, but she knew that Sam was doing it solely for her. To Sam, Carly would always be her vulnerable little Cupcake. She would always be her princess, locked away in a tower, with a dragon to slay. In that moment, she realized that her father and the love of her life were, in fact, the same. Colonel Steven Shay, resident Air Force bigot, and Samantha Puckett, ham lover, were mirrors of the other. They both saw her as some idealized version of herself, everything they wished for her to be. They were, respectively, the Dark and the Light in her universe. They were diametrically opposed to each other. It was how it would always be, but, for Carly, at least, it was immaterial. It no longer mattered. The line in the sand had been drawn. Sabers had been rattled, voices raised, and battles fought. It was all over. In the Battle of Carly Shay, she had shown that she was anything but weak. She was soft and tender. She was fragile and bright. It was all irrelevant now. Choices had been made. The Light had won the day and she was home, right where she always belonged.