love/hate/hate


note: first time writing Sam perspective. does it suck? most likely. constructive criticism will be taken and applied gladly.


It's just a simple glance. No more than a quick movement of the eyes, but when she sees it her heart feels buried alive, raw, screaming.

Just a simple glance, from him to her; or is it from her to him? Their eyes seemed to meet in exactly the middle of the moment, as if they were puppets or robots. As if they shared a brain.


The pain was duller now. Samantha (how she hated the name) Puckett shook her wavy locks, clearing her mind. It was her very own mind, and she would think about things she wanted to think about, thank-you-very-much, like steak and plaid pants and that ridiculously hot singer of that new band everybody liked; not things like the suddenly obvious inevitability of her two best friends falling for each other.

She would deny any lingering feelings for the n...Freddie (even in her mind, she had to use his name, and more tenderly than she'd like) faster than a heartbeat, but she would probably be lying. Sure, they were better friends than before now; spending that much time glued to someone's lips tended to improve your opinion of them. But did she miss his dorky laugh, constant tech talk, showers of compliments...?

Well, she might miss the compliments, but Carly (her name sounded nice, but in the current situation Sam would rather think of her best friend as simply "she", "she" that Freddie still/now/forever loves) could keep the laugh and the tech talk. Her eyes lit up now in a disgusting way when he'd say things, anything, really—and Sam knew she had never had it that bad, and hoped she never would.

Maybe she'd always known they would happen, maybe she'd always known that while he might be hers for a little while it could never last. There was nothing new in the way they looked at each other just now. Maybe that glance was as old as they were.


Sometimes, in late-night insomniac thoughts, she was haunted by the thought of him looking at Carly that way, when they were holding hands, talking together, kissing. She liked to close her eyes when she kissed, as cliché as she thought it; what if he had kept his eyes trained on Carly, giving her that gentle puppy-dog look?

Worse, what if he had closed his eyes, but had pictured dark, smooth hair under his pleasantly warm hands? A daintier nose to sometimes brush his by accident? A more slender figure pressed against his, and vibrant eyes he could expect to see when his eyes blinked open once more?


In the daylight, these thoughts seemed ridiculous. The first anybody would use to describe Freddie had to be good. He was a good guy, a good person. He didn't date girls to gaze lovingly at their best friends, even girls who had teased and bullied him since before...before anything, really.

Maybe he'd honestly thought his feelings for Carly, perfect Carly (now, now, she must try not to be bitter)—maybe he'd really thought them gone. Maybe he still thought that.

But Sam Puckett freaking knew Freddie Benson, and that look he'd never given her. He had looked at her warmly, coldly. She had seen attraction, contempt, friendship, concern, humor, and compassion in his eyes.

This glance, which lasted for a thousand lifetimes, held none of these.


How long had it been, now, that Carly's cheeks became a bit rosier when he stood near? that her eyes became softer when he was turned away? that (this question was the most important) Sam had known, not just suspected, but known one hundred percent that Carly loved him with a capital L?

They were best friends. How could she not have noticed until now? A stone sunk in her empty stomach. Doubts about Freddie had been dispelled. Carly, perfect Carly, had never done anything to hinder Sam and Freddie.

But had Sam, blissfully imperfect Sam, come between Carly and Freddie?

She hadn't known how she felt about him when Carly and Freddie were smashed together in the hallways, she just knew that they had to stop, and she was genuinely concerned. Yet some part of her, ignored, had screamed.

If she hadn't told Freddie all that bullcrap about bacon, Carly's real feelings would have come through.

If Carly's feelings had been true, they would still be together. Still be CarlyandFreddie, oh yeah, and afterthought Sam-the-delinquent.


That day, as the glance occurred again and again and again, first in the studio and then in her mind as she sat on her bed with blank eyes, pale cheeks, shallow breathing...

Sam hated herself.