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iCarly: iCan’t Do This – Chapter 4
iCarly: iCan’t Do This – Chapter 4: In Two
I walk around Seattle until it gets dark, until the air starts to get chilly and make me shiver. I feel like a tenderised steak. And a jerk. Carly was just trying to help me, but I couldn’t tell her that it was her causing the problem. And it wasn’t really her I know, it was me… the way I felt about her. But I couldn’t help it. Why couldn’t she have been like everyone else… afraid of me, disdainful of me? Why did she have to keep thinking there was something special in me? Why did she have to make me feel like I was worth something? It only made it harder when I realised I wasn’t – when I did stupid shit like this. I kicked at an empty can on the sidewalk, sending it skittering over the pavement.
I shoved my hands deep in the pockets of my hoodie, my body aching. Why couldn’t I just be normal? Why couldn’t I stop doing these things? These things that hurt Carly, and hurt me. Why did I have to push everyone away?
I stop, realising I’m outside my building. I head up wearily, trudging up the flights of stairs. I pause when I reach my door. I always have to psyche myself up before I go in, because every time I enter, something bad happens. And I’m so tired of all this bullshit. I just wanna go to sleep and forget.
I open the door, slipping inside. Mom’s passed out on the couch, empty bottles surrounding her. The smell of beer hits me and I feel my bruised stomach turn. She’s fucking disgusting. And it makes me sick that I’m just like her. I can’t deal with the problems in my life either. I just wish I wasn’t one of her problems. I wish she said my name the way she says Melanie’s.
I sigh, starting to pick up some of the bottles. “Well, if it isn’t little Sammie.”
Fuck. It’s Mom’s slime-bag boyfriend of the week, Steve. Every time he looks at me I feel like I need a shower, like his eyes are cockroaches crawling over me. I drop the bottles and head for my room. He’s there standing in the hall, like some big, sweaty, drunk bear.
“Can you move? Or are you too drunk?” I say sweetly. “Pfft. Why am I even asking?” I say, rolling my eyes and trying to inch past him. He puts his hand out clumsily, pushing me into the wall.
“You little slut. You don’t fucking talk to me like that.” His eyes are unfocused and bleary and I slap his hand off, feeling disgusted.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” I spit, sneering at him.
He slaps me hard, the back of his hand hitting my cheek. My head jerks sharply, my vision reeling. I stamp hard on his foot and make a break for it, wincing as my abdomen screams at me. He manages to grab hold of my arm and slam me into the wall. I sob at the impact, a wave of pain sweeping over me and I struggle to suck in a breath. He hits me again, and I taste blood.
Everything’s swimming and blurry, and all I can focus on is the agony coming from my abdomen. And then my face is pressed up against the wall, the torn wallpaper scratching my face. And his hand is fumbling at the front of my shorts, tugging them open, pressing hard against my bruised stomach. I try to focus my eyes, shaking my head.
I feel a spike of panic and he f0rces my shorts down, cold air hitting my legs. I jerk my elbow back, feeling it sink deep into something soft and fleshy and he grunts. I push back off the wall and try to run, wondering why the fuck I had to keep picking fights when I couldn’t win. Steve grabs my hair and throws me into the wall again, jarring my arm and shoulder. He punches me hard in the stomach and I double up, my vision going white and tears stinging my eyes.
He pushes me against the wall again, and I sob as he straightens me up, stretching out my stomach muscles. My breath is coming in little gasps that tear at me, and I feel dizzy and faint, my limbs shivering. He kicks my feet apart, yanking my boxer shorts down, and I struggle weakly, trying to focus. I hear him fumbling with his belt behind me, his hand levered on the back of my neck and my brain’s screaming at me to run but my body isn’t listening. And then he’s pushing himself inside me, thrusting in hard with a grunt.
And I scream, muffled by the wall and blood in my mouth. It feels like I’m being split in two and I sob, feeling something hot trickling down my leg. He’s pushing my pelvis into the wall with every thrust, tearing me a little more each time. Hot tears spill out of my eyes, and I feel like he’s fucking me in the heart, tearing it in two. I bite down hard on my tongue as he pulls out, more of the hot liquid spilling down my leg.
“Fucking slut got blood on me.” I hear him spit and walk away, and I make a dash for my room, barely able to walk. I deadbolt the door and collapse against it, sobbing. I feel broken. I feel like he broke something inside me, something I needed to live. I clean up the blood from between my legs as best I can and curl up on my bed, shivering and aching. I can’t stop shaking, and my eyes keep darting to the door, waiting for him to come back. I push myself up, gasping at the throb of pain that runs through me.
I have to get out of here. I can’t stay here. I climb out my window, shimmying down the fire escape with difficulty. There’s only one place I could ever go. And I’m running on autopilot, but I keep telling myself everything will be better when I get there.
It has to be.
It… just… has… to… be.
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