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iSurrender To Our Tragedy by D R O W N-I N-S E Q U I N S
TV » iCarly
Rated: T
Language: English
Genre: Angst & Romance
Characters: Sam P., Freddie B.,
Words: 4,968
Published on FanFiction: Aug 26, 2009
***
Hide and seek
You don't care a bit, no, you don't care a bit
They fall into the Hollywood (high school) lifestyle effortlessly.
Because really Hollywood and High School are practically the same thing only the high school girls and boys are a little more naïve (a little less jaded) and she thinks that she'd fall into Hollywood even easier.
Carly trips into the glamour of it all. She's like the shining star of their little slice of paradise and she's immersed into the glitter and the shining lights. She keeps her alcohol at the tip of her fingers but barely at the tip of her mouth because she's got a reputation to maintain (America's Little Sweetheart) and she's always taking just enough to make her eyes twinkle but never enough to make her tip off the edge into the insanity that stirs below her.
Sam prefers the gritty side of it all. It's just like it's always been, with Carly spinning in the bright lights and Sam slipping off to the shadows. She likes the raw, real, part of the party life. She comes through back doors and leaves through windows. And she's usually clutching an empty bottle and an emptier wallet. Happiness doesn't come cheap these days and she's willing to do anything to fly high.
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you
Hate me in ways
Yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you
She knows she's falling.
Breaking, shattering, crumbling. She's well aware that these were never part of her plans but then again she never really was a planner (she never was a much of really anything) and she's a little afraid to realize how broken she really is. But as the alcohol strips her defenses, she shreds her worries and steps out of them like dirty clothes. She doesn't want to feel anymore (not when feeling means this searing pain) and pretty soon she needs something stronger to kill this ache.
She likes the thumping base and the sweaty bodies grinding in unison to it. It reminds her of the beautiful part of sex (the fusion of souls and needs and wants) and there's no trace of the darker side (her side) and it's nice to pretend that there's something like love in such an unforgiving place. But that's not what she's here for (she's here to forget) so she pushes past the crowded bodies into the darker parts (the back rooms and basements) of the pretty people scene.
It consumes her and rules her and she lets it (because it frees her from things like responsibility, which let's admit it, she's never really been a fan of anyways) until it's all she is. She sinks into a dirty mattress (she can feel the grime seeping into her skin) but she knows pretty soon it's not going to matter (pretty soon this will all be slipping away) so she does what she does best, she charms.
"Hey," it's one word but her voice is low and inviting in way she knows the boys enjoy. One of them lifts his head and his eyes roam her body (and she pretends the goose bumps are from the cold because being scared would make her weak and she doesn't think she's strong enough to handle that) he smiles and just like that she's in. Some of the guys and girls are doing pretty white lines from a shiny mirror but she simply watches and waits for them to come up with every party favorite (because she likes her drugs to slow down time until everything is alright again, not make it pass in a blur of colors) and eventually she finds herself sucking greedily out of a pipe.
She coughs then giggles as she watches the smoke escape her pretty painted lips and after a couple of rounds her head is foggy and the world is starting to bend again. Her problems melt away as she melts into the floor. The lines seem to soften and blur and she's never felt so heavy and light at the same time. She knows she's babbling and her mouth feels as though there is something fuzzy growing out of it and it's so very dry. She slurps down the Icee somebody hands her greedily yet cautiously (because this actually means something to her) and she's laughing laughing laughing (she's okay okay okay) and her world seems to tip upside down and upright all at the same time.
She likes to spend her time here. Nothing else really matters here. It is what it is and she can feel the truth escape her and set fire to everything it touches (everything she touches) and she wants to burn down to the ground because she thinks that may be the only way she's entirely sure she's real (she's still alive, she's still alive, isn't she?) and she lets it take over because it saves her from herself (and it kills her and she loves it, she needs it) and so she stays in this limbo of being entirely too aware and oblivion.
She's not very surprised that he's the one that finds her (because he's always saving her, isn't he?) and he's shaking his head and mumbling "Oh, Sam." under his breath and she wants to shake him and scream. Because he shouldn't be here (because he shouldn't be near her) she watches as she clings onto him as she drowns and she knows that he's her safety preserver (and she knows that in the end she'll watch him sink) but for now he's keeping them both afloat.
She hates that time has stolen from him so greedily. Taken away the sparkle from his eyes and stripped him from his naïve thoughts and hopeful beliefs. She wishes she could save him from the truth of the world but she knows he's not the type to run away from reality. She thinks she'd say sorry but she makes it a habit to not show weakness, no matter how many times he's picked up her broken pieces unknowingly.
He's dragging her away from her self destruction (from her home) and as he delicately (isn't he aware by now that she's not a fucking china doll?) folds her back into the backseat of his car, she notices that Carly is nowhere to be found. She asks him about it.
"Carly's not the one who needs me." and she wants to laugh and scream because she could have told him that all along (she had told him that all along) and now it's too late. She laughs because everything is still okay (she is still okay okay okay) and she'd probably laugh at just about anything.
And she sees him take in a big breath and she wants to tell him that it's his fault (she's not his fucking china doll and he just doesn't get it) but she needs to save him (from his very own nature, from herself, from them) but she's suddenly so tired so instead she lets her eyes close and she just lets herself feel (she can feel the tires hitting the pavement and she can feel the lightening and she's burning) and she lets herself get lost because it's the only way she's really safe.
A long night spent with your most obvious weaknesses
You start shaking at the thought
You are everything I want
'Cause you are everything I'm not
It's like he wants to hurt himself.
It's not her fault (can't be her fault) because it's in her nature to self destruct. It's just one of those things she does, like dancing and breathing (it's all so very natural for her) but he's supposed to be the rational one. The level headed one. He's not supposed to fall for her games (she's always maybe sort of loved him for this) but he does.
He's saving her again and she's alone (she can feel herself flying away) and she needs somebody to let her know she's still here (she's still real) and as he begins to tuck her into her bed she grabs onto his shirt and whimpers. And even though her eyes can't really focus, she catches a glimpse into his. And they're a little desperate, a little broken (and if they were blue instead of brown it'd be like looking into a mirror) and she needs him even more.
She tugs his collar down towards herself and she can feel his warm breath on her cool skin. Then his lips are all over hers and they're frantic and searching and they're desperate. She can feel harsh truth from his fingertips and this is nothing about want, this is pure need. Their clothes shed away but their lies remain and she fights the tears back from her eyes (there is nothing beautiful about desperation) and she's a little surprised how rough his fingertips are. They dig into her skin and he brands her with his bruise.
They're careless and unforgiving and it's not about being whole (it's about breaking) and she knows that he's not the Freddie Benson she once knew. He's a little less hopeful, a little more bitter. She feels a little part of herself shatter (if he's been broken then there's no hope for the rest of them) and she knows what it means to surrender.
He collapses on top of her and the sweat is like a constant reminder of her sins (she robs him of his innocence every single damn time) and she lets herself lose herself to the exhaustion (to the sweet lullaby of going somewhere where she can forget) of living, of breathing.
Bright sunlight flitters through her window and tear her back awake. Her bed is as cold as her fingertips and by the way she can feel herself shiver through her veins, she knows he's gone even before her eyes flutter open. She is tucked in and in an oversized T-shirt because he's forever the gentleman and he's still her best friend (he still feels the need to protect her) but it's all just empty gestures to her and she curls into herself. A tear slips down her cheek (and she pretends that she doesn't care) and she wipes it away quickly, she should be used to the cold by now.
I just wanna break you down so badly
While I trip over everything you say
I just wanna break you down so badly
In the worst way
She really hates the rain.
She hates it because it's cliché and tragic and it's a lie meant to give people false hope. Everybody always says that rain cleans away the earth and gives you a fresh start, new beginnings and all that bullshit. Because whoever spews this poetic view of rain obviously has never really held hands with it and seen rain for what it truly is.
She watches as the water pounds into her skin, leaving little angry red welts. She lets it drive painfully into her skin. It grabs the dirt and washes it into everything once pure and clean. It lets it seep into places it's never meant to be and it brings all the grime it contacts with it. It taints everything it touches. That's not the part that she minds.
She can handle the cliché, she can handle the tragedy, she can handle the way it taints everything once untouched but she can't handle the lie (she's built of lies but somehow they kill her every damn time) because false hope somehow seems like the biggest sin of all.
Hates how the hope builds somebody up so high that they feel untouchable, invincible, until the lies come crashing down at your feet and the reality is staring you harshly in your face and you realize that you've never really had anything at all (she's never had to suffer through this, her suspicious nature wraps her around her like a blanket) but he has. And she watches as the innocence slips off his skin and in his place is this bitter, bitter boy (and she thinks she much rather have suffered in his place because she doesn't think he's strong enough for this) who touches her with heated fingertips and violent lips.
She's killing him and he's killing her and she keeps waiting for him to realize what he's doing and slip through her fingertips like he always has but he stays anyways. She taints him and breaks him (she's his rain) and he tries to save her but he doesn't know how much she wants (needs) him so really he's the one pulling the trigger. She self destructs more frequently and more violently but it seems to tug him in deeper and deeper until she's drowning him with her (and what a sadistically blissful death it will be) and saving her means losing her.
He's not aware of it yet but she knows (because she's smarter than they'll ever really be able to really understand) that she'll be the destruction of him. She breaks him and builds him and they don't know love from hate anymore (if they ever really did) they blend the lines just like her (pretty little) drugs blur the edges. They dip from highs to lows so fast that she thinks she's getting whiplash and she never knows whether her screams are from the pleasure or the pain but in the end it's all the same, isn't it?
She likes how she breaks him because it makes her feel a little more (secure) normal. It's simple in its draw and yet it sucks her in like the all the deadly addictions (hope, love, want) and she doesn't think she can let him go anymore. She never looks him in the eye (his beautiful brown eyes) as their body burn and she knows (because she's always seen through him) that he hates it, hates her for it (and she's glad because she doesn't think she'd know what to do if he loved her) and sometimes he doesn't take it.
Sometimes he'll grab her chin and force her eyes in his direction but then she just lets them slide down (she can see him behind her eyelids but there's some things, most things, better off not knowing) and she likes the growl of anger because it reminds him of what this is and who they are.
She tears him apart bit by bit because that's just who she is (and that's just what she does) even though it breaks her a little more each time. They're connected in a way (always have been) because they're a lot more alike (they'll pretend to the brink of insanity that they're fine just fine because neither knows how to be less than perfectly strong/stable) than either of them will ever care to admit. If they could show the same loyalty and devotion to each other as they do to the game she thinks that maybe they could be happy (but she's not meant to be happy) but then she remembers who they are and pushes that thought away.
She thinks that maybe Carly knows. She keeps giving her these looks. Looks begging her to quit (but she's never done what she's told, now has she and besides she's never known when to stop either) because Carly knows them and she knows that this will only lead to pain. Her hand is shaking and her mouth and quivering and she thinks that maybe she'll stop (but then she remembers how he once looked at Carly and how nobody has ever looked at her like that and she thinks she wants something, anything, that Carly Shay doesn't have) but the promises of one last time are never very honest. And she hates how Carly gives her these looks like she's in over her head.
So she proves to her that this is not one of Carly's twisted fairytale romances (this is something a little more raw and real and messy) and she does this the only way she knows how, she reveals the truth (the bitter, harsh, unforgiving truth) and really it's not her fault that he breaks so easily.
She's paying her debts (she needs to pay for her pretty little delusions somehow and he doesn't provide the money for these kinds of needs) in a janitor's closet. Her back is against a metal shelf and it cuts into her skin as he breaks her body with his own (and the pain feels right because this is all wrong) and he doesn't stop as the closet opens and light flitters in.
She looks beyond the wrong face to see his. He stands there for a moment (he's letting it sink in and she watches as piece by piece is torn away) and for a moment she's tempted to take his pain away (but that's never been their game) and she chokes down a sob as his brown eyes meet hers. She's never hurt him quite like this before (they've never loved each other quite like this before) but she needs to prove it to (herself, him) Carly that she's not in over her head.
So she rips her gaze away and lets her nails dig into the sweaty skin of another boy (and she pretends that she wants this) the light fades away and she knows he's gone. She doesn't let herself cry (doesn't let herself feel) and she forces her lips onto his warm ones. She's rough and brutal and he's just as controlling as she is. She can taste blood (and the metallic bitterness tastes so absolutely right that she starts to shake) he finally (finally) finishes and he zips his jeans and he's out the door (leaving her like the dirty whore she is) and closes the door tightly behind him.
She lets herself sink to the floor but the metal shelves catch her skin and she can feel it rip (it seems like a trail of blood follows her everywhere she goes) but it feels more like a release than the sex did. She lets her blond hair cover her eyes and shield her from the world (from what she's become) and she wishes that she could say sorry all over again but she refuses to be that weak.
She refuses to give him false home and pretty delusions and fairy tale lies. She refuses to do what's easy (and it's ironic because taking the easy way out is exactly the kind of girl she is) but this time she just can't. He's been her friend longer than her lover and she refuses to be his rain (no matter how much she wants the lie) she refuses to be the one that gives away everything just to take it all away.
I want to hold you close
Soft breath, beating heart
As I whisper in your ear
I want to fucking tear you apart
Sometimes she thinks that she'll let him go but she never really can.
It'll be when they're all sitting there, maybe watching TV, or just goofing around, and she'll look over at him and he'll look so damn happy (and the pain and sorrow that fills his eyes as he hovers over her is gone) and she wants to keep him that way. She wants to free him from herself and when he looks so innocent (like all those years ago) she thinks that there's still time to save him from herself.
But then she'll try to let him go and it never happens the way it's supposed to (because she needs him and she's always been a selfish selfish selfish girl) and she can't do it. So she clings onto him and waits for him to leave because he's the logical one and he should know she's bad for him.
Sometimes, sometimes she thinks he may be catching on. He'll take longer getting dressed and he'll watch her flick her cigarette ashes into his face and he'll give her this look (and it makes her gut turn and her stomach upheaval and her head spins and she doesn't think she's ever hated his eyes as much as she does when he looks at her like that) but then he'll kiss her forehead (and she'll push him away because he should know better than to get attached) but she watches his taillights until their shining little dots in the black of night, turning away from her (she can't even follow her own rules) and she lets the cigarette burn.
It's Carly, naturally, who confronts her. "You know this is going to end badly, don't you?" her voice is soft and accusing at the same time. And for the first time in a really long time, she looks into Carly Shay's eyes. They're a little bit more jaded but most of her sorrows come from watching her friends break, not from shattering herself, and she just doesn't understand. So Sam simply nods. "Then why won't you stop?" And it's really the only time she's ever heard Carly beg.
"Why doesn't he?" she throws it back in her face but she really does want (need) to know. She waits for the answer but Carly's eyes flash to angry and she watches as the brunette girl clenches her fist. She wonders if she's finally seen what's always been right in front of her and if she's going to steal the away the only thing in her life that she (genuinely) wants.
"Because," her voice is like venom and for a moment she's shocked (because it seems that everything good around her is tainted) "because he can't. Don't you get it? He loves you! He freaking loves you and it's all just a game to you, it's always a game to you." Carly is looking into her eyes now, searching for answers she refuses to just give away and her stomach is dropping (because he can't love her, this is all wrong, wrong, wrong) and she thinks that maybe it isn't worth it anymore.
"I'm sorry," she replies and she's surprised how cold her voice is (because she never knew she was this bitter) and she looks away because she can't do this anymore. She hears Carly choke back a sob but she refuses to look up (she refuses to watch another person break right in front of her) and she picks at the bottom of her jean skirt. She watches as the thread unravels and is tangled in her fingers and she's not surprised (because she tears things apart oh so easily) and she can't stop because this is her addiction.
Carly suddenly has her head in her lap and it smells like vanilla. "I wanted so much more for you, Sam," she chokes out and she can feel her tears dampening her skin, "I wish you would just let somebody save you." And then she cries and cries and cries. She strokes the brunette's hair until she falls asleep and neither ever mentions it again. But neither of them forgets either.
Part of her hates Carly for telling her because now it just makes it that much harder to pretend. He's always been a little too gentle with her (and she hates to admit it but it was nice to finally be treated like something breakable than a toy meant to be thrown away) and he's always whispered to her (but she blocks out the words because remembering will just make it harder in the end) and he's always looked at her with those eyes.
She doesn't stop (because she's never known when to stop) and she thinks it's maybe the cruelest most selfish thing she's ever done. His fingers still bruise and mark her as his own but his lips are soft and gently and caress her in a way she didn't know possible. And she knows that if she doesn't stop him soon (stop him from protecting her) that he's going to break (because her saving grace comes from others destruction) and she thinks that it'll be the only thing she's ever really done for him.
The sun is setting and the room is burning red (it's the color of them, so angry and passionate and raw) and she thinks it's a fitting last scene. Her head is floating around and he doesn't bother with the pretences anymore (she knows she shouldn't care but she thinks she'd lose a tiny part of herself if he really did think she was a whore like all the others) she makes it last longer. Her touch is softer than she's ever allowed herself (the regret and despair hangs thickly in the air and just like that she knows he knows) and she can't close her eyes.
His gaze is steady and it's the first time she's really looked at him like this (and it's more intimate than anything else they could ever do) his touch is as gentle as her own and his fingertips leave a trail of goose bumps and she thinks that his cool touch will forever be tattooed on her skin (he won't leave her anymore) and she wishes that she could freeze this moment and never leave.
They go leisurely (because this is the bitter end and the ship always sinks slowly) and she can see the hate behind the love and she wants him to cling to that (she wants it to be easy for him) but just this once she lets herself revel in his adoration (it's so foreign and lovely and she wishes that she'd never let herself be exposed to it, she may as well have tied a noose around her neck) his eyes are memorizing her and she drinks him in.
Eventually the stars fade away in the dead of night (and there's nothing but him and her and this is when she truly dies) he kisses her forehead (and she lets him) and her hands are gripping his arms (she thinks she just may float away) she can smell him and she never wants to leave. They stay like this because this is goodbye (this is what pain is) and she can't stand to tear herself away.
The sun begins to rise and she knows that it's time for him to go. She hands (shoves) his boxers towards him and she turns her head away (she can't watch him go) but his hands cover hers. "It doesn't have to be like this, Sam," his voice is urgent and she knows that he's been rehearsing this, he believes this (because there's still some of the naïve little boy she knew all those years ago) and she knows now that there is no turning back.
"Yes it does, Freddie." Her voice is strong and clear and she watches him break before her very eyes (but this is nothing, nothing, like the pain she'll cause him if he stays) and she wants to cry for him but this is no time for weakness.
"I love you," he whispers it so desperately and she wishes that he didn't say that (anything but that) because it just makes it so much harder. She wishes he'd run, run away like how he once would but he stands her ground. She steels herself against what she's about to do. She has to break him to save him but he never really got that, so she throws the words back into his face.
"It was just sex, Freddie." She lights her cigarette casually as she says this (she can't let him see her shaking hands) and he's searching her eyes (and he was the only one to ever really be able to read her) but he finally grabs his shirt and walks out the door. She closes her eyes (because she can't watch him go) but when she hears the door slam she turns to the window.
He didn't try to kiss her forehead but she pushed him away all the same. She watches his taillights until they're little dots turning the corner (because she can't ever follow her own rules) and she lets the cigarette burn. She thinks that the only person she hates more than him (for making her do this) is herself (for doing this) and she wants to cry but she takes a long drag instead.
Sam fell into the Hollywood scene so easily and she thinks that she's going to be okay (because she still has basements and windows and drugs and boys) and she pushes back the searing pain and focuses on the fact that she's free of him (that he's free of her) and she can sink in peace now.
Because she doesn't regret it. Not even for a moment. Because she's doomed. She's doomed to sink and fail and she's doomed to taint everything she touches. She'll never be a Carly Shay and it's a little too late for saving and she knew he'd kill himself trying. And Sam couldn't do that to him (and she thinks for the first time in forever, she's surrendering).
"I love you too Freddie."
Ashes Ashes
We All Fall Down
***
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