March
She's beautiful.
She's beautiful and she's cruel without even meaning to be and she's got such a strong hold on my heart and I wish she didn't, but she does.
I don't know when I went from having a tiny little crush on her to being absolutely obsessed with her, but it happened. It happened and I wish she would give me a chance but it's so hard to get to her. I wish I could get under her skin and get into her head and see what she's thinking about and figure out just why she won't look at me the way she's supposed to in all of my stupid lust-filled dreams.
I wonder if she knows and she's scared and she doesn't want this but she doesn't want me to leave her and that's why she's acting the way she is. Maybe she really doesn't know because I'm the only one that it's obvious to.
I don't know how many cans there are around me, and I can't hold my mind still for long enough to count just how many there are, because numbers and letters and words all hurt my head right now. It's bad enough normally, let alone when standing's way too much to ask of me.
I do know that I'm drunk out of my mind and it's not fun like it's supposed to be because I'm by myself and I'm not partying like I should be and I'm just scared and stranded here because I can't walk and it's raining.
She's probably not even avoiding me. I'm just too sensitive. Yeah, that's it. I'm sensitive and I pick up the tiniest, stupidest little things and I break my heart into tiny little pieces over them because I think it's the whole world crumbling before my eyes.
Clouds drift over my head and they're not the friendly white ones that blow gently over perfect blue summer skies. They're angry and black and I think it just dropped 20 degrees. It's dark and all the leaves are caught in the wind and everything's got this weird green tint to it.
I'm by the steps in the back of the middle school, sprawled across one of the black wire picnic tables, all my empty cans of beer laying in piles around me. It's cold and the snow's all melted and there's already leaves and it actually feels a lot like summer (but maybe that's just because I'm used to it being 2 degrees all the time and it's 60) and I'm guessing that's why we're getting summer-like thunderstorms as well.
"Carly.. I'm sorry.." I talk to myself sometimes. I talk to myself and try to remake all the shitty situations that went horribly wrong, as though talking to ghosts and stupid memories that I hold onto like gold will make everything okay again. That having the courage to talk to an imaginary idealized lover will make it any easier to talk to a living, breathing person. That maybe if I spew out enough stupid words, something poetic and meaningful will come out and I can spit it out again sometime and maybe somebody will finally take me seriously when they're supposed to.
The wind tastes like spring fields and the way summer nights feel, and she makes me think of all the nights I spent in the hills by the railroad, with nothing but the glow of city lights and the oversized moon for light and the sound of train cars rolling along for company.
Honestly, yeah, I am a bit of a loner. And yeah, I am a bit of a stupid hopeless romantic, even if you'll never see me act like it when anybody's watching me.
I don't want to lay here and die waiting for some stupid girl, but knowing me, I'll let myself. I'll lay here with my mouth hanging open and I'll let myself fill up with raindrops and I'll just stay, my wrists bent and my hands hanging in the air off the edge of this stupid table.
And Carly, I'm sorry. And Carly, I love you, and Carly, do you hate me?
I've never been drunk like this before, but it already feels like I've done this every day for weeks.
It's exhausting. It's comforting.
It's raining.
Fucking christ.
--
April
Softly murmured words in the middle of the night filled with good intentions and we're tangled up in each other and we reek of fear and hearts so far gone they'd break before we could see they were even in harm's way. It's dark but we don't need the light and she's scared and I'm scared and we're scared. She's under me and she's all over me and I couldn't get away even if I wanted to.
Words won't do any good and they're useless and they'll sit in the air before they fall and shatter and she's staring up at me and I can see her even when it's as dark as it is, and I'm wondering if maybe she can see me too.
There's crickets outside and they're so goddamn loud and they're making almost much noise as my heart in my throat and I'm wonder if she's scared too.
But of course she's not scared--Carly's never scared of anything, let alone love. Carly would never be afraid of being in love and she would never be afraid of me and she's never going to be scared of anything because she's always the strong one.
She reminds me of a cluttered little house in the middle of a thunderstorm. She reminds me of mountains of books and dusty wood floors and unpainted walls and thunder cracks rattling loose window panes and she tastes like mints and toothpaste and starbursts.
How did we even get here?
Her hands are in my hair and my heart's beating way too fast for it's own good but I honestly couldn't care less about what's good for my heart right now. It's not even my heart anymore.
She's never scared but she's scared now and I can feel her trembling softly under me.
We're so much closer than we've ever been and her tongue's in my mouth and I've always wished that I could be like her and for the first time I'm happy to be myself and I'm happy to be Sam Puckett.
How did we get here?
--
May
We're both sprawled across some wooden picnic table by the road in some park by the river and she's got the sunflower I picked for her gently grasped between her thumb and her index finger and she has to most adorable hands. They're not soft like they're going to break if I hold them too hard, but they're not manly and disgusting either. They're graceful but strong and they're not really big but they're bigger than mine. There's not scars or random freckles or gross looking hair like mine.
I love her hands. I have a thing for hands and they can make or break what I think about a person, and I love hers. They're absolutely perfect.
I wonder if she knows just how obsessed with her I am. I'm shy and I've never really been good at this whole relationship thing so it's not like I shower her in affection, even though I wish I could, but I do all these tiny stupid little things that I wouldn't normally do for anybody so maybe she gets it.
She's known me for about a billion years, after all. I think she knows.
I hope she knows.
She should know. I never pick flowers for anything, even myself. And I never remember anybody's favorite flower and I never normally care about flowers at all.
She loves sunflowers. She told me that once, nine months ago, but I haven't been able to get it out of my head since then. They've been her favorites since she was three years old and one of her first memories is of a garden filled with towering bright yellow flowers. Her favorite childhood dress (still hanging in the back of her closest) was a blue one, covered in sunflowers, and she told me, laughing and embarrassed, that she'd always turn on the radio above the fridge and spin around in circles, and that was why she never got dizzy anymore if somebody ever spun her around.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
She's quiet for a moment, and I'm thinking that maybe this was one of those times where you're not supposed to say anything, and I was stupid enough to say something, since I do have a tendency to do that (what? You thought I got ISS every other week for nothing?) but she's got her fingers over my hand and I can feel them moving just the tiniest little bit over it.
"I love you." Her voice is soft and weak and it shook just the tiniest little bit on the last word and she's chewing on her lip, trying not to look at me, as though she's scared that she's actually going to make me mad.
I'm chewing my lip too, and I'm wondering which one of us started doing that first, because we've both been doing it ever since we met each other but I can never remember doing that before I'd met her. (not that anything before Carly is worth remembering.)
Okay, maybe it's a little tiny bit hard to say something like that.
--
June
"Sam.."
Her breathing's hard and she's talking into my shoulder, my lips on her neck and my hand's shoved into her boyshorts, her body trailed with little minihickies. She's pressed up against the door and she's got her hands in my hair while she chokes on a moan.
She has a perfect body. She has the most fucking perfect body and I'm the one who gets to feel it pressed up against me and I'm the one who gets to fuck her senseless.
We're in her room at her house and nobody's home but we're not sure how long it's going to be until Spencer comes home, and obviously we didn't quite get around to locking the door, so why not just pin her against it?
I've got both her hands above her head and against the wood door, a hand wrapped tight around her wrists and jesus christ, this is so fucking hot.
And it's stupid that we're doing this because I haven't even told her that I love her but that's how teenagers work, and we're teenagers and honestly, we're not different from any other teenagers. I do love her, and I do want to tell her and I know she's told me she loves me but I don't know.
I'm scared. I'm always the one who's scared.
She's breathing harder and my teeth are on her collarbone, two fingers thrusting inside her.
She's so perfect. She's the sweetest girl in the whole world and she's an angel and I still can't believe thats she's mine. She's all mine. She's funny and she's nice and she's always been able to cheer me up, always, and she can actually tell when I'm sad and she doesn't mind my obsession with ham and she even said that she thought it was cute once.
I'm not even going to try and explain why I love Carly Shay.
It's one of those things that just is.
Her shirt's over her head and her bra's at her ankles and her nipple's in my mouth.
She's shaking and she's moving her hips against my hand and my thumb's on her clit and I can feel her breaking down already, hand around my neck and tangled up in my hair.
"Carly..?"
She looks down at me and she's sweating and her hair's messed up and her face's red and she's still breathing hard.
"I love you too."
--
July
"I can't believe you're going on vacation. For two weeks." She's mumbling through my hair, while I skip rocks across the water, the sun dipping behind the mountains on the other side of the river. It's July and it's hot but it's not ridiculously hot and it's actually really, really nice.
We're at the park and we're sitting on one of those wood benches facing the river and the sun's setting and there's just the tiniest little breeze and everything's green and in bloom and it's so fucking perfect.
"I'm sorry.." I'm mumbling, leaning my head against hers.
I don't want to go. I really don't, but I can't exactly get out of it, and mom wouldn't let Carly come even though I said she'd chip in for the house and she'd pay for her own plane ticket and she'd even pay for some of our food.
"It's only for a couple of weeks.. I'll be back before you know it!" I'm saying, trying to sound hopeful, but I know that two weeks is an eternity to her and it's even longer to me and I don't want to be away from her, ever.
"I know.." She's mumbling, and she's pulling my head around and she's kissing me and then she's got her head back in my shoulder and I can tell by the tiny jerk that her body made that she's crying. She's not hysterical but I know if I looked at her her eyes would be all watery and she'd be biting her lip and I wish I could take her with me.
"Hey.. I love you, okay? And I'll take tons of pictures and.. and I'll buy you everything I can, alright..? And.. and when I come back, we'll go to that concert you really wanted to go to and I'll stay at your house for a week." I'm saying quickly, stumbling over my words and just hoping that something I say will make her smile.
"I love you too.."
Her hair smells like strawberries and her skin's soft and smooth and I don't want to let her go and she looks so cute right now.
"I'm sorry." I'm saying again and I've never been very good at making anybody feel better, let alone her. Let alone the people I care about, but at least I try and I wish that it was enough and sometimes it is, but this isn't one of those times.
The thing I regret more than anything else is that I slept with Jessica at that stupid party. She tries to tell me that it doesn't matter and all that matters is that she has me now but I know that it does because she was a virgin and she wanted me to be too and she thinks that she doesn't mean as much to me as I mean to her.
I guess I know what she means, but I wish she would get that I love her. I love her so much and I don't want to love anybody else because she's perfect.
"I wish I could go in your suitcase or something,"
"Yeah.. but then I wouldn't have any clothes.."
"Clothes aren't necessary."
She's grinning at me and I wish she wouldn't try so hard to convince me that she's okay and she's kissing me again and she's not pulling away this time.
--
August
"I can't believe school's starting again." I'm mumbling hopelessly, leaning against her shoulder. I can't believe it. Summer went by too fast. I just finished buying school supplies and we're going shopping tomorrow to get new clothes.
"Hey, last year didn't turn out nearly as bad as you thought it would, right?"
"That means this year's going to be that much worse." I'm groaning, falling into her lap and holding my hands over my face.
"Sweetie, don't worry. I promise it won't suck too much."
"Sweetie?" That's new.
"Shut up, I'm trying to comfort you."
"Then why do I still have a shirt?" I'm so romantic, I know.
"..Shut up."
--
This was weak. I hate the ending. D:
I hate my lack of writing ability. I hate everything.
DDDDDDD:
Somebody shoot me now and burn this.