AHHH I updated fast!!! I'm so excited...you guys are probably like 'authors are EXPECTED to update fast, you dummy' lol. That's okay. Thanks for the reviews last chapter! Lol glad this has been taken so well--new genre and everything. But I actually like this chapter a lot more than the last one; hope you guys do, too!
To Rae Girl: Lol, short for lunatic? Haha I love that, I cracked up. Actually, that would help a lot for the beginning of my story :) Cool, thanks!
Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly.
"Did he take advantage of you?" asked the therapist.
"I already told you, I don't remember."
"It's something you would know, you don't have to remember."
"Can you stop bothering me?"
"I'm not trying to bother you, Samantha, I'm trying to help you." This was way out of the college graduate's league. Maybe after a few years of experience she could handle girls like these, but she had been expecting a frightened, helpless, little creature, not this. "You don't need to mask anything behind a tough exterior. I'm here so that you can talk to me and then not worry about anybody else judging you."
"Then you've got a pretty useless job, don't ya?"
"Samantha, please..."
"Seriously, lady, you're kind of nice and I'm not feeling to great, so I'll spell it out for you. Leave or you're gonna need a therapist."
Carly barged into the hospital room unannounced. "Hey, Sammers. How're you feeling?"
Sam rolled her eyes. The last week, Carly had come in every day about a hundred times cheerier than usual, as if that would erase what happened.
"Oh, I'm sorry...am I interrupting...something?"
She also refused to say 'therapy.'
"Nope. The nub was just leaving. Did you bring me any chicken? I've been living off hospital food and it sucks."
"Ms. Shay, can you give us a moment?"
"Can you give us a moment?"
"Samantha, I really need for you to open up."
"I can get Carly to open up the door for you."
"Maybe you should come back later," Carly suggested. "Sam doesn't talk much when she's eating, and if she does, it usually sounds like 'augh mmph fmmf gmhuh.'"
The therapist nodded and left without a backward glance. Carly took her seat and straightened up Sam's nightstand, which was a mess of wrappers and empty paper cups. She handed Sam the chicken and searched for something to say.
"Do you know when I get out of this joint?"
"No idea."
"Eh. I don't really care that much, as long as I get my five square meals a day. This is the only place they let you sleep for three days straight. Usually my mom yells at me to get my lazy butt out of bed after like twelve hours."
"What do you do in bed for twelve hours?"
"Same thing I did for my coma. Become completely and totally unconscious and dream up ways to torture Freddie."
"Sounds fun."
"It was."
Sam stretched and then winced, forgetting yet again that moving was out of the question. Carly hurt for her friend. She couldn't wrap her mind around Sam being weak. It just wasn't possible.
"Listen, Sam. I know this is a difficult subject for you but can't you tell me what happened?"
"Why does it matter? What's done is done. Who cares?"
"We do. We want to help you."
"I wish people would stop saying that. I don't need help."
"You do, Sam. Whether you think you do or not. You can't keep this to yourself forever."
"Whatever. Augh mmph fmmf gmhuh."
"Sam, what are you doing in school?!"
"Wasting time. Why?" The blonde was on crutches, and every step was a battle against pain, but she was there.
"You should be at the hospital!" cried Carly.
"Yeah right. I was dying of boredom; hospitals can't cure that. I just kicked the doctor around a little and he signed the release papers."
"Sam, your ribs are broken."
"So? Hey, can you carry my books to math?"
"Sam! Hey!" Gibby greeted. "I didn't know you were out of the hospital!"
Sam glanced at Carly. "You want me to prove I don't belong in that asylum anymore?" She pretended to try and hug Gibby and somehow, even with the crutches, managed to give him a Texas Wedgie. "Hey to you too, Gibson."
"Sam?"
Freddie appeared, his arm around Wendy's waist. He looked confused for a second, and then his expression twisted. "What're you doing here? You'll hurt yourself more trying to walk around--get back in bed!"
"Seriously, Sam," agreed Wendy. "You need to rest for another several weeks at least. I can call my mom to give you a ride home, if you want."
"Don't worry your pretty little face about it," Sam mocked. "Freddie hates it if his girlfriends have frown wrinkles."
Freddie let go of his girlfriend's waist and scowled. She could insult him all she wanted, but Wendy was off limits. "Shut it, Sam, your injury doesn't give you the right to insult Wen--anyone."
Wendy knew a fight brewing when she saw one. She tugged Freddie's arm. "Let's go to class. We've got math too, Sam, you want us to grab your bag for you?"
"Just leave. I don't want your spit all over it when you start making out."
"Sam..." Carly warned, but her friend paid her no heed. Wendy took all the fun out of bullying--she insisted on being nice no matter what. To everyone. Even Freddie. No wonder he was dating her.
Mr. Howard droned on and on. His class was worse than being stuck in bed all day with no human contact (hospital staff had ceased to be counted as human beings to her the minute they started to talk about how good the Soup of the Day had been). Sam never did anything productive in there to begin with, but at least she'd be shooting spitballs at the back of Freddie's head. Now he was busy cuddling with Wendy over a math problem and she was too tired and nauseous to do anything about it.
"Miss Puckett, can you tell us the answer to problem five?"
"I don't know, why don't you look up your butt for it?" Sam replied promptly. Most of the class laughed; Freddie sent her a disapproving glare and Wendy darling motioned for him to let it go.
"Three weeks of detention after you're off those things," Mr. Howard retorted after the class stopped chuckling. This was a regular scene in geometry. Most people had given her weird looks once she'd returned, as if unable to believe something could hurt Sam Puckett. But normalcy had begun to settle over Ridgeway--almost.
Sam wasn't sure when she dozed off. Usually, it didn't matter. She went to sleep in all of her classes. But today she actually caught something Mr. Howard was saying before she drifted into dreamland...
"Make sure you write out the first seven digits of pi when using it in the equations! Not two, not four, but seven! Take this down: the first seven digits of pi--"
Pi...
Die...
Die...
Beady, shiny eyes staring at her while she choked and choked, sweaty hands squeezing her throat, she was being pummeled over and over and it hurt so much...
DIE...
DIE...
She screamed. Actually screamed. It wasn't long or drawn out or dramatic or anything, but it was loud enough to get the attention of every single member of the class.
"Miss Puckett, is there a problem?"
Sam didn't listen to him. She needed to breathe. She needed out. She just got up and ran, refusing to acknowledge the torture her ribs doled. The door smashed open with the force of her tackle, and she was far, far from the classroom before she stopped, heaving, with tears streaming down her face. She had no business running; she felt like she'd been broken all over again.
Vaguely, Sam heard someone calling her name. It was a male voice--was it the voice? She couldn't run into that man again--he'd really kill her this time. He grabbed her, but she twisted away, crying out in pain. He tried to hold her still, but she wouldn't let him--not again, not ever, ever again--
"Sam! It's me, it's Freddie! I won't hurt you, I promise, stop--"
Finally, the voice penetrated. Sam froze in confusion.
"Freddie?"
"Yeah."
She couldn't even see--no, her eyes were closed. If she opened them her ribs would burst out of her chest. She couldn't do that. But she felt someone stroking her hair, caressing her cheek, murmuring calming words...
"You can trust me. It's me, remember? I won't hurt you. I can't hurt you."
He can't hurt me.
Freddie started in surprise when Sam's forehead crashed onto his shoulder. Her shoulders were shaking, but she refused to cry. She'd never cry in front of him. But it was difficult not to.
Almost inaudibly, she whimpered, "It hurts."
"I know." Freddie held her gently, but he knew it wouldn't ease her pain. She couldn't be here. She needed medical care. "I'm going to call nine-one-one, okay? We'll get you to the hospital."
"No."
What am I doing? This isn't me. I'm not weak enough to come running to this nub for help, and I won't be until I'm dead.
Sam shoved him away, but he didn't move an inch. She chose to ignore the symptoms of her deterioration. "Leave me alone. I can handle it."
"Sam, you're not strong enough to be walking around by yourself--"
Wrong thing to say.
She may not have been able to bruise him right there, but the fire in her eyes was enough to make him shudder. "I'm strong enough to do anything. And don't you forget it."
Because if he didn't believe it, how would she?
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