Now, I just want everyone to know that usually I don't like self-harming Freddie. I don't believe that if you just ripped him off the show right now, he would have that pathology.

However, I can see that if a set of circumstances were to occur, it would be one of the things he turned to.

So, Aquarius Princess presents….

Tragedy's Master


Sam sighed as she opened and closed her phone.

No new messages.

She told him that if he needed anything, he could call her.

No new messages.

It was tedious.

No new messages.

Yet if he ever called or texted, she wanted to know the exact second.

No new messages.

Sam sighed before she placed her phone on the end table. She didn't know why she cared. After all, the subject of her concern was a nub, a geek, a weakling. It was her enemy. Her frenemy. Whatever he was.

The point being that he was not worth her time. What he did was none of her business.

Yet…

No one deserves to be down that low.

Sam remembered walking in on the dweeb.

The bathroom door wasn't locked. If he didn't want anyone to find out, he should have locked it.

But he didn't expect anyone to come over.

Don't argue with me.


She was concerned. She wanted to know what was going on.

As soon as she went into his apartment, she smelt blood.

Her primal instinct was to look for Freddie. Her heart began to pound. Her mind began to race. All she could think about was "is Freddie okay? is Freddie okay?"

She didn't even think about it. She just followed the smell of blood to the bathroom. The door was shut, but it wasn't unlocked. She opened the door.

The knife clattered to the title floor.

He had pulled his sleeve down, but she already saw it.

His scarred arm and the fresh cut on it. It was small, no bigger than half an inch.

Blood was seeping out. It smeared on his skin and his sleeve as he covered the wound.

Freddie started to stammer. Sam imagined that he was trying to rack his brain for an excuse.

There had to be a plausible explanation for what she saw.

She had drawn her own conclusions. She snapped at him and asked him if he thought his mother would want him to do this.

Sam was not stupid. She knew that he was upset over her death. She thought that he was over it now. It had been almost six months since the accident.

But the Freddie she knew was sensitive. He felt deeper than she ever could. He could take a lot physically (you had to if you were Sam's friend), but when it came to emotions, it was like someone was stabbing him in the heart.

Freddie had said nothing,

Sam just scoffed as she opened the medicine cabinet and searched around for bandages and disinfectant. Of course since it was the Benson apartment, there was hundreds of boxes and bottles of medicine. Sam grabbed a box of bandages and the disinfectant.

Seeing this, Freddie had pulled his sleeve up. As Sam began to clean the wound, she looked over his arm to see what else was on it.

Cuts, cuts, and cuts. Some were small, some were big. Some were jagged, some were straight. Some were in Xs, some were in crosses. Some looked fresh, some looked old.

As she put the bandage over his latest cut, she said his name, quietly.

He looked at her and his eyes were full of humiliation.

She asked why.

He shook his head. He didn't look like he wanted to tell her. Sam couldn't blame him. She knew that if she was in his position, she wouldn't tell anyone. It was a matter of dignity.

She then noticed something else. It was his right hand. His knuckles looked like they had been scraped, healed over, and scraped again. She wondered how it happened, but she had another thing on her mind.

She asked where Carly was. She figured that she would be here. Carly and Freddie had been living together ever since the accident.

Freddie shrugged, showing no indication that he knew where his girlfriend was.

Sam frowned at this. She wondered if Carly knew about this. She hoped not. Because if she knew and did nothing about it, that would be completely out of her character.

The blond then told him that if he stopped or at least held back a little bit, she would not tell anyone.

Freddie had a look in his eyes that told her that he was going to do the precise opposite, but be more careful about hiding the cuts.

Knowing it was a lost cause, Sam had told him to call her if he needed anyone to talk to.

She then picked up the knife on the floor. She looked at it and saw that it only had one blood stain on it. He must have others.

Hoping that he would use his brain for something other than school, Sam had thrown the knife away.


And now here she was, laying on her bed, waiting for the call. She knew that he wouldn't talk to her.

He would go to his precious Carly with his problems. She would make him feel all warm and fuzzy. She would give him what Sam couldn't give him.

Sam felt her stomach clench at that thought.

Thinking that she was hungry, Sam got off her bed and went downstairs. It was late in the evening, around nine o'clock. Her mother was in the living room, drinking herself to sleep.

Contrary to popular belief, Sam's mother was not an abusive, lazy good-for-nothing. Mrs. Puckett could be a caring mother between the hours of two o'clock and five o'clock. The rest of the time, the woman was either drunk or passed out. She had been this way since her husband had died in Iraq. That was over ten years ago. So, she had been slowly drinking herself to death for nearly a decade. Sam and Melanie, knowing no other form of parenting, thought this was normal so they went on with their lives. They took after their father. They were independent and strong.

Sam made sure she kept quiet as she opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a box of fried chicken. She closed the door and went back upstairs to her room.

As she sat down on her bed and went to turn on her TV, she heard her phone beep. She looked over and saw that she had a new message. Thinking it was from Freddie, Sam immediately dropped the box of chicken and the remote. She opened the phone and read the text. She sighed, seeing it was from Carly instead.

Hey, Sam, there's a party at Wendy's. Want to come?

Sam sighed as she texted back.

No, I think I'm just going to hang out at home with fried chicken and Nickelodeon.

Carly quickly replied.

OK. I'll just see you at school Monday.

Sam remembered Freddie and sighed as she texted back.

Maybe you should go home. I think Freddie has something to tell you.

It took a few minutes before Carly texted her.

Don't be silly. I just talked to him. He sounded fine to me. Later.

Sam frowned at this as she texted as fast as she could.

No, I think there's something that you really need to ask him about. You need to go home now.

Carly texted back.

Sam, just because you don't have a man that doesn't mean you can stick your nose into other people's relationships. Now, I'll see you later. Bye.

Sam frowned at this. Carly had never been that snippy with her.

"What the hell did I get myself into?" Sam asked herself as she munched on her chicken and watched Big Time Rush.

It had been almost six months that Carly and Freddie had been together. It made Sam want to puke every second, but if they made each other happy, then it was their business.

It all started out of the most tragic accidents.

Mrs. Benson and Spencer were driving Carly and Freddie to this school dance to meet their dates, Shane and Shannon. It was Spencer's car, but Mrs. Benson wanted to come along as well to see that Freddie got there okay.

Sam didn't know the whole story. All she knew was that Spencer had turned around at the wrong time and didn't see the drunk driver that hit his car head first.

The entire front of his small car was smashed. The EMTs said it was a miracle that Carly and Freddie were alive.

Since they were sixteen, they were able to convince the courts to let them live by themselves.

Sam never really understood why Carly moved into Freddie's apartment. Maybe it was because she was scared and needed someone.

Whatever the reason, they were joined at the hip from then until now. But Sam was noticing changes that started three months ago.

Freddie had become quieter. He no longer snapped back at Sam when she made a comment. He began wearing darker clothes. And he began to get smaller and smaller as the weeks went by.

Needless to say, Sam was concerned.

"But why is the question…" Sam thought to herself as she tore off the skin of her chicken.