Keeping the Beat
Sam was never that good at keeping rhythm, but she finds herself tapping out a steady beat almost everywhere she goes. Tapping her foot, or the pencil in her hand, or drumming her fingers on any surface available.
She doesn't even really notice that she's doing it until Harrison points it out. Even after he does, though, she can't quite figure out what the rhythm is, or why she can't seem to stop.
She doesn't realize until that afternoon, that is, when she makes her daily stop by the hospital.
She's tapping out the beat of Brooke's heart; she's been listening to the heart monitor for long enough that the rhythm is now stuck deep in her head.
So she sits, and she waits, and she taps along to the beeping sound, killing time until the moment when Brooke will finally wake up.
As she sorts through the laundry, she reflects on what led up to this moment. Red paint. Fur. Brooke dropping her camera in the chaos. Nicole verbally abusing a sergeant. Lily going limp as she's being led away.
But what happened yesterday is what really surprised her.
Sam had gotten cornered in the shower room by three women who give new meaning to Amazon. Sam soon regretted running her mouth in the cafeteria. Next thing she knows Brooke is in front of her saying in classic McQueen style "Back off. She's mine." Maybe prison won't be so bad after all.
"Let me tell you a story," Sam began, meeting Brooke's eyes. She rambled on about the time when she seven years old and her father took her fishing. He'd always loved to fish, which still surprised Sam, and she wasn't very good at it. But he was patient and kind with her, something she tried to carry on with the many causes she picked up as she grew older.
"You're more like him than you think," Brooke said when the story ended, wanting to say more. She took one of the brunette's hands in her own and said nothing more.
Sam sighed, carrying about six different shopping bags between her two hands. Brooke walked a bit ahead of her, window shopping here and there, and going on and on about some dress she just had to get on Rodeo Drive. They'd hit some of the outlets off the main drag, but by the time they made it to the cream of the crop, Sam thought she was going to die of shame. She'd never, in all her time living on the outskirts of LA, been to Rodeo Drive. And if it wasn't for Brooke McQueen, she never would've been there.
Sam wasn't one to make a decision lightly. Not a decision quite like this. Although she could be rash, she recognized the need to be well-informed before she took the dive and told Brooke just how she really felt. Sam did what any good journalist would do, she'd look at the facts of the situation. It became a pros and cons list of telling Brooke she liked her as more than just a soon-to-be stepsister. If the pros outweighed the cons, she'd tell Brooke, but so far, the cons most certaintly towered over the pros. At least for the moment.
Brooke's heart hurt. It wasn't something a doctor could cure, but her father could see it. There was a sadness in her eyes, pain lurking behind hazel. He'd try to broach the subject, tried to get his daughter to eat daily, but she slowly slipped away from him and everyone else who showed concern. Her heart was breaking, pained, all because the woman she loved laid in a coma and nobody knew when she'd wake up. If Sam didn't wake up soon, she was sure she'd waste away from a broken heart. A broken heart brought on far too late.
"Are you ready to jump?" she asked quietly.
"We don't really have a choice, do we?" The blonde crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe and watching Sam with interest.
"Well, look, we really don't have a choice," Sam repeated slowly, standing and facing the blonde head on, "We're in this together, now we can either go out on top, or we can lose out on whatever it is happening between us."
"And what is happening between us, Sam?" Brooke questioned in all seriousness.
"Does it matter?" Sam responded, taking the blonde's hand in her own and kissing it softly.
Friday Night Lights
Sam hid behind a baseball cap, pulled low to hide her profile. She was high in the stands but not high enough to miss the action. She kept her eyes trained on the blonde, watching her bob and weave through the cheers with the Glamazons. Brooke still hadn't picked up it, neither had Jane, who thought she spent her Friday nights at the library. It was a new Friday night tradition, sitting in the stands under the hot lights and participating in the football ritual. Except, she wasn't in it for the team, she was in it for Brooke McQueen.
I Wanna Hold Your Hand
Brooked noticed the second Sam's demenaor changed. It went from straight-laced, kick your ass to panic, terror-stricken. They were taking off from LAX, heading on vacation to the midwest for some family bonding time, as Jane had put it. But Sam didn't tell Brooke she was afraid of flying, it took the brunette's hand gripping her own like a voice for that realization to really sink in.
"It'll be okay, Sam," Brooke whispered, letting the other girl take her fear out on her hand.
"Will it?" Sam replied, eyes focused ahead, responding about much more than her fear of flying.
If they would've been looking in the same direction, they would've realized they were looking at the same thing: Family. Brooke and Sam kept spying their now married parents, beaming with pride after the Kennedy High School graduation ceremony. They, of course, were celebrating with their respective groups of friends but hadn't congratulated each other, yet. It was getting there, as crowds began to leave and tears sprung to eyes. They knew it was the end, both going to colleges on opposite ends of the country, but they still wondered idly if it was the beginning of something new, too.
"You're not cold, are you?" Sam asked, pulling Brooke closer involuntarily. Brooke leaned into her, finding shelter under the small blanket.
"I'm good," Brooke replied quietly, "Now."
They'd gone to the cliffs overlooking the ocean to stargaze, away from the city lights and noise. Of course, they chosen a chilly night, despite the weather report saying it'd be humid. So, Sam did what she could to keep the blonde from shivering, and that meant wrapping the blanket around her and pulling her close. Not that Brooke was complaining.
"I'm glad," Sam whispered, mentally kicking herself for admitting that out loud.
"Isn't this supposed to be the other way around, Brooke?" Sam asked, shying away. Brooke held her ground, hand firmly planted on the brunette's upper back, comforting her in any way she could. But then Sam pulled away slightly, and Brooke followed her movements, not budging.
"What do you mean?" Brooke asked tentatively. Sam met her eyes again, her own eyes wet from tears.
"I'm the strong one, aren't I supposed to not fall apart?" she sighed, shaking her head.
"You forget I'm a cheerleader," Brooke smiled, patting Sam's back. "I'm always going to be here to cheer you on."
Brooke thought Nicole had it bad when she busted her knee. It wasn't until she broke her arm in three places did she realized just how bad it could be. The cast ached, she wasn't used to it; it was foreign, obstructing her ability to do just about anything. However, she wasn't the only one aching. Sam ached to help her, to hold her, to do whatever she could. It was ironic, Brooke often though during recovery that she thought of Nicole. After all, she was the reason she survived with just a broken arm instead of a dead body.
Sam's breath hitched. Brooke's nimble fingers trailed up the inside of the brunette's thigh, inching dangerously close. They were at the movies, to Sam's left was Lily while on Brooke's right was Carmen. Only a jacket hid the minstrations Brooke's fingers began to twirl into Sam. She tried not to squirm, to keep quiet and it took biting her bottom lip, bruising it in the process to keep from losing it right then and there. Brooke continued focusing on the screen, a sheen of sweat overcoming Sam's brow as she came and Lily asked for a sip of her drink.
Making a Mess
"Could you be any more clumsy?" Brooke barely managed to get out. She could hardly breathe she was laughing so hard.
"Could you not just stand there and help me?" Sam threw her arms out, sending milk flying out through the kitchen. She'd dropped the carton onto the counter, it slipped from her hands and covered not only her but most of the surrounding area.
"I think not," Brooke continued laughing, shaking her head and slapping her leg in the process. She doubled over, trying to breathe.
"Seriously, Brooke? Please, help?" Sam practically pleaded, frustrated that she was that clumsy.
Counting Down the Days
Twelve. That's how many bottles she counted each and every day. It didn't matter that Sam wasn't conscious most of the time she took them, but Brooke counted nevertheless day in and day out. Once she finished counting and the nurse left, she wondered how much longer it would be until she wouldn't have to take the pills anymore. Of course, she also knew that it would be a lifetime before her pain and suffering ended. You don't just walk away from being hit by a car, especially one driven by Nicole Julian. Why did you do it, Sam? Why?
"Say that again," Sam comanded.
"I said I wanted five kids, three girls and two boys," Brooke replied curiously, slowly as if speaking to someone much younger than the brunette in front of her.
"Five?" Sam couldn't wrap her head around it. She naturally assumed the other girl wouldn't want a big family, especially after all the mishaps their own families had mingling together.
"Yes, Sam," Brooke crossed her arms, "Five. A big family."
'So do I,' Sam thought, 'But five..." Sam's mind began to wander, leaving Brooke to wonder herself just what was going on in the girl's mind.
This I Swear
Sam had a way with words. Always had, always would. So, why couldn't she come up with something simple as wedding vows, she had no clue. Then again, it could be due to the fact that the love she had for Brooke transcended the written word. But that was too clichéd for her to admit. So, there she was, furiously scribbling away on a yellow legal pad the words that would cement her feelings in stone for all her family and friends to take in at the ceremony later that afternoon. She just hoped she'd come up with something good.
"What did you say?"
"I said we should get married," Brooke repeated, shrugging her shoulders and leaning against the doorframe. "We're finally acting like family; we might as well make it official."
"That's just sick," Sam laughed, shaking her head. "As if there isn't enough marriage going around our family right about now."
"Yeah, you're right," Brooke sighed, deflated. She wanted to tell Sam she'd thought about it, for real, the last time she went shopping with Jane for wedding dresses. But she knew it wasn't the right time or place. She doubted it ever would be the right time.
Age Old Debate
"Digital," Sam muttered, biting her lip.
"Analog," Brooke snapped, crossing her arms.
They stood their ground, staring one another down. It was the battle of the ages, once again. If they kept count, they might've been at 101, but it was probably somewhere much higher. At some point they stopped, but now they were arguing about what type of clock was better. If they were being logical, they would've realized this was stupid.
"Why analog?" Sam asked decisively.
"Why digital?" Brooke rose an eyebrow.
It was clear: They were getting nowhere. And what were they up to now? Who knows?
Sam didn't want to believe it. If she wasn't seeing it with her own eyes, she wouldn't believe it. Heck, even if Harrison told her it was the gospel truth, she'd still be an unbeliever. It took her own eyes, watching Brooke changing baby MacKenzie's diapers, to believe the blonde was capable of actually caring for someone more deeply than herself. But now she had to believe, because it was right there in front of her and there was no denying as Brooke finished up that it was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. For once, she was breathless.
Sam McPherson didn't buy flowers. Not for herself, not for her mom and certainly not for Brooke McQueen. But there she stood, rooted to the floor of the floral shop a few blocks from Kennedy looking at orchids, roses and tulips. Then, she saw them: Lilies. 'Lilies mean I dare you to love me,' she recalled from her late night viewing of Imagine Me and You. She didn't think Brooke would know what they meant, but she would, and it would be enough for now. So, she bought the lilies, and she left them on the blonde's bed that afternoon.
It calmed Brooke. It really did. Even though there was little left in life to stay calm about. Just 72 hours ago, Nicole tried to kill the blonde. Instead, she missed, thanks to Sam who pushed Brooke out of the way. Nicole's car connected with Sam's body, sending it to the ground with a sickening thud. Now, all Brooke had left of Sam was the steady heartbeat she listened to night after night. Mike, Jane, and her group of friends - what was left of them - tried to get her to sleep at home, but she wouldn't leave Sam. Ever again.
Sam wasn't one to complain about something as superficial as sand, but here she was in the kitchen doing just that.
"I can't believe how much sand gets everywhere," Sam whined. "I mean, seriously? Does it just take up residence in all the places it shouldn't be to begin with?"
"Something like that," Brooke chuckled. "Why don't you just take a shower?"
"I already did!" Sam said frustrated, "But I'm still finding it!"
'I'll help clean you up,' Brooke mused, smiling as thoughts ran through her mind that included a naked Sam and a good use of their shared shower.
"Sam! Stop it!" Brooke batted away the brunette's hand, fiercely invading her personal space. She wiggled around in place, trying not to itch but finding her hands doing just that once again. "Seriously, Sam! Stop it!" Brooke grabbed her hands, stilling them against her own stomach and watched as Sam's breath became shallow.
"What are you doing?" Sam barely managed to get out above a whisper.
"Something I should've done a long time ago," Brooke responded in the same tone without thinking. They just stood there, in a stalemate, but Sam stopped itching her chickenpox which was Brooke's primary intent.
Sam didn't understand why Brooke only came to the beach to tan. She never went in the water; she never bought an icee on the boardwalk. Instead, she just laid on a beach towel and let the sun wash over the exposed parts of her body. Sam spied glances of her as she came out of the water with her boogie board, while she read her paperback book under the umbrella and as she came back from the boardwalk with an icee. But it seemed Brooke never noticed, even when offered the other icee the brunette brought back from her.
Out of the Shower
Sam couldn't move at all. She was pretty sure someone could push her right now, and she wouldn't budge. An earthquake could've hit Greater Los Angeles, and she'd be rooted to place as the house collapsed around her. There, standing in the doorway to her room, was Brooke McQueen wrapped up in what had to be the smallest, whitest bath towel the world had ever scene. She shouldn't be staring, shouldn't be wondering what was underneath that towel, but there she was, Sam McPherson, staring at her stepsister to be like she was a Playboy playmate stuck in a pose.
Do You Salsa?
"It's not that hard, McPherson!" Brooke rolled her eyes, planting her hands on her hips.
"So speak the one with a sense of rhythm," Sam retorted, her hand on her knees and her insides threatening to come up her throat. She was sweating profusely and looked up to see Brooke staring. "What?"
"You're not even moving!" Brooke replied annoyingly. "Who thought teaching salsa could be this difficult?"
"Maybe if you stood behind me, guided me..." Sam suddenly blurted out without thinking. Her eyes darting away, her back straightening as they both now stood in a stalemate on the dance floor.
Gym Class Was Never This Physical
This," Brooke's breath hitched, "This is your breast bone."
"That's not very technical," Sam's eyes were glued on Brooke's hand. It was resting between her breasts, fingernails grazing her skin ever so lightly. Sam was sure Brooke wasn't even aware she was doing it. She wasn't about to meet her hazel eyes to find out.
"It's not," Brooke agreed, nodding slightly. A blush overcame her cheeks, and she couldn't think straight. She was close, this close to Sam, and all she could do is sputter out anatomical terms left and right except now she was at a loss for words.
Sam can only cook one thing: French toast. No matter what she attempts to cook, it always falls apart. Brooke watches from the table, smiling. Sam's made breakfast the last three days, each morning following a night of making love. It's a new beginning, or something like that, but somehow Brooke's fallen into the familiar rhythm of this weekend. She's not thinking of the future, just of the now, because neither of them knew what would happen once their parents returned home from vacation. Right now, at this very moment, all she could focus on was Sam's attempt at breakfast.
Never Going to Get It
It was a matter of physics, Sam thought, shaking her head. The way Brooke was able to glide and somersault through her cheerleading routines. The brunette was supposed to be at the newspaper office working on the latest issue, but as usual, she found herself sneaking a peak during Brooke's practice instead. Sam didn't get it. She didn't understand how some people, like the blonde, could do the things they do given the limitations of the scientific world around them. But she was content watching Brooke do the things she did, even if she didn't know what that meant yet.
It was only natural for Brooke to first notice Sam in their early English class. It was freshmen year, and while they weren't friends, Brooke often looked back on that day when she first noticed the brunette. Sam was arguing the rhetoric in Romeo and Juliet with their teacher; she was so passionate about her points, so fiery in her rebuttals that it just took Brooke's breath away. She'd never seen someone argue so fiercely before, and it was ironic that the one thing they had in common was that type of passion when they fought amongst one another nowadays.
'Biology couldn't be this hard,' Sam thought. 'I mean, really. How could I not get this?' The brunette looked up from her solitary table in the Kennedy High library to find the very blonde reason sitting at a table across the way. Covertly, she chewed on the end of her ballpoint pen letting her eyes linger over the baby blue cashmere shirt Brooke was wearing. Those eyes settled a little too long in one place, Brooke felt someone watching her and looked up to find Sam back to her studying. 'Two can play this game,' the blonde smirked, turning away.
The Periodic Table Has Nothing On This
Brooke and Sam could've launched a world war with the barbs they threw left and right, day in and day out. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out; it just took a high school chemistry teacher. One day, during a test, Brooke and Sam managed to get into it somehow; during her tirade, it just clicked, and Glass grimaced on the inside without showing she understood. She wondered from that point on just how long it would take to figure it out themselves, until then, she braced herself for some more fire fights along the rocky road.
That's One Way
"Happy New Year, Sam," Brooke grinned, pulling back as fireworks lit up the Santa Monica skyline. Sam's face was grim, and Brooke instantly regretted leaning down for the kiss as the clock struck midnight. "Sam?"
"Brooke-" Sam touched her lips gingerly, confusion flying through her system. She desperately wanted to explain herself, but she just couldn't find the words. "Brooke... I... I don't know-"
"-It's okay, Sam," Brooke smiled, taking it in stride. "It's a new year."
"That's one way to look at it," Sam sighed deciding the enjoy the fireworks instead of dealing with the feelings fluttering through her.
First Star Seen Tonight
Sam would never admit it, but she always wished on falling stars. She'd see them streak across the sky, briefly closing her eyes to make her wish. She'd done it so often in her past that even now as a teenager it was easy to fall back into the familiar pattern when she wanted something she shouldn't have. This wish, the one tonight, was definitely the first in a long while that Sam thought she'd never see come true. She wished for Brooke, all of her, as her own; she didn't think it was too much to ask. Not anymore.
Brooke liked to do laps. Lots of them. But she only did them at home, in the privacy of the Palace's large, heated pool. Not that she wouldn't want to attract the attention of everyone at Kennedy High if she tried out for the swim team, contrary to popular belief, even Brooke McQueen needed to unwind sometimes. And how could she try unwinding with every eligible bachelor wagging their tail poolside? Lately though, the only one watching her poolside was Sam and for some reason, that excited her more than anyone else who might play peeping Tom in their neighborhood.
Sam shook her head, stilling the laughter boiling up inside. She held her hand over her mouth. Brooke was in her room, blasting Madonna's "Open Your Heart" in her underwear like she was Britney Spears in Crossroads. Brooke was singing her heart out, hairbrush clutched in her hand, oblivious to the brunette watching her. It was that moment when Sam realized just how much she cared about the blonde; no matter how embarrassing the situation, and how much Kennedy would laugh over it, she resolved to walk away and not tell a soul about Brooke and her inner dancing queen.
It was Sam's idea to go to the movies and to order popcorn. It had to be her idea to reach over, miss the popcorn carton and rest her nimble fingers on the flesh just below Brooke's skirt. Her fingers inched their way up her thigh, forcing her breath to catch in her throat and a warmth to spread between her legs. She tried to focus on the movie, but it was hard when Sam seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Brooke didn't go to the movies with Sam for things to get frisky, but she wasn't complaining.
How Many Minutes Were You Over?
"Can you run this by me again?" Mike demanded, holding the bill angrily. She'd run up nearly $600 worth of charges in under a month.
"I didn't know Sam was out of network, dad," she replied. It was the truth. Sam had been out of town for two weeks during the summer at a journalism retreat in Manhattan. Apparently, Jane and Sam used Cingular, while Brooke and her dad were on the Verizon network.
"But why were you talking to Sam so much? I knew things were okay between you two, but I didn't think you'd miss her that much."
"No way, Sam," Brooke said emphatically, raising her voice. "No way," she continued, hushed now that she keenly aware of being stared at in the elevator by everyone. "I'm not doing it. I don't care if I'm going to be away for a week." Sam had been on her case since she'd left the Palace, it was the first time they'd been apart for an extended time since getting together. Sam wanted to have sex, whether it was on the phone or in person. She just wanted to get some, she didn't care if it was phone sex or not.
"Sam," Brooke whispered, "Stop it..."
"Never," Sam smiled deviously. She kept running her bare foot up and down Brooke's calf under their lab table. Everybody was so engrossed in the pop quiz in front of them, she didn't think anybody would catch her. It was driving Brooke up the wall.
"Really, I need to concentrate." Sam continued taking her quiz, but Brooke lost all motivation to finish it.
"McSisters!" Glass slammed her hand onto the desk, startling them both, Sam's foot going slack. Everybody was staring at them now. "I think I'll take these, you're both getting big fat F's!"
Itch to Scratch
Sam stared blankly at the screen before her. She closed her notebook, her eyes shut tightly, and then opened it again quickly to be assaulted by the images that brought a blush over her cheeks. Right before her very eyes, on her computer screen, was her stepsister scantily clad in what had to be the sexiest black lingerie she'd ever seen. Not even a Victoria's Secret supermodel could top this. How did Brooke pose for these pictures scattered on her MySpace page, she wondered as a warm heat found itself between her legs, an itch she just had to scratch.
Ready For the Weekend
"We aren't going to be able to fit everything," Sam sighed.
"Sure, we will," Brooke replied smiling, lugging another suitcase into the trunk. "It'll all fit. I've done this before."
"Sure you have," Sam teased. They were going camping, it was Jane's idea, and Sam agreed only to make her mom happy. Brooke, although not thrilled, agreed to go, because Sam was going. However, the issue of what should go and what shouldn't was proving to be a problem. Brooke insisted on loading her stuff first, which left no room for the tent, or the cooking gear or Sam's things.
Brooke couldn't stop staring at her. It was so unlike her, too. But Sam brought this ferocity out of her. It was something carnal, almost primal in many ways and at the same time all new and exciting. She watched as the brunette walked back and forth, writing lines on the chalkboard before her. It was some form of sadistic punishment Glass came up with for her being a smartass in class again. Brooke wasn't complaining; she could watch Sam's form without much distraction. As usual, Sam was oblivious, too, which made it all the more enticing for the blonde.
Nothing In This World
Brooke used music to escape Sam. The blonde was always careful, listening to classic rock on her iPod so the Sam couldn't hear. While she told Nicole and Mary Cherry her favorite musicians included cheesy pop like Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears, deep down inside she relished the chance to listen to Joy Division and New Order. New Order, in particular, reminded her of Sam. If only the brunette realized the irony of listening to "Dream Attack" the day Brooke walked by her room and stopped dead in her tracks, smiling sadly. Sam never knew why Brooke looked so sad.
God this was so tedious was Sam's thought. All she wanted was to go to her and Brooke's shared stateroom and relax. But no here she stood waiving grumpily to hundreds of people she didn't know while their cruise ship pulled away from the dock with agonizing slowness.
Her feelings must have been visible because Brooke leaned in and whispered huskily into her ear. "Smile Sammy, look like you're having fun and I'll make it worth your while when we get to our room."
Sam's face lit up like Times Square and she began to waive with renewed vigor.
Jane glanced over and was glad to see Sam's foul mood had lifted and she seemed to be enjoying herself. If she'd known the real reason behind the happy glow on her daughter's face she might not have been quite so pleased. But ignorance is bliss and even if she'd suspected the truth she was very, very, very good at denial.
Sweet and Salty
Her skin tastes so sweet. She thought as she ran her tongue once more around the rock hard nipple. But she was not in the mood for sweet she wanted something salty and she knew just where to get it. She kissed and nipped her way down her lover's torso and as she reached her destination she found what she had been craving.
"Oh god... Yes... Yes... SAAAAAAAM," Brooke screamed. Smiling Sam decided she really loved mixing sweet and salty.
You learn something new everyday
You learn something new every day.
Brooke believed in the old adage, you learn something new every day. Especially when it came to Sam. Every day she learned a new way to make Sam moan or a new sensitive spot on the gorgeous brunette's body.
Take today for instance she'd learned that Sam loved being forced up against the wall of the Novak and ravished. She had also learned that Sam just could not keep quiet when she was having an orgasm.
Brooke had never dreamed learning could be so enjoyable and she intended to learn everything she could about Sam.
Temperature is a relative thing. You can be burning up and the thermostat says it's only 40 degrees, and your blood can run cold even if it's 110 degrees outside.
Brooke knew this intimately, because every time Sam touched her no matter how innocently she felt her temperature rise and, every time Sam ogled a cute guy she felt her heart freeze.
Oh God and right now feeling Sam's lips on her skin was causing her blood to boil. Yes temperature was a relative thing because she was sure she was going to burst into flame if Sam kissed her again.
But then again what a way to go.
If At First You Don't Succeed
Three tries later, Brooke and Sam sat eagerly awaiting for the matinee of Harry Potter to start. A single seat separated them, but they both shared the same desire: To be making out like they had during the other showings. But they vowed they'd actually watch the movie this time, since they'd missed out on it the last few times and were now out $60 for the trouble. Fifteen minutes later, however, they were kissing feverishly as the Dementors made their attack on Harry protecting Dudley. 'There goes another $20,' Sam thought as she caught her breath momentarily.
When the Lights Go Out
There were no words. Just actions. Quick, decisive predator-like actions. As soon as the lights went out, and Brooke was sure they weren't coming back on anytime soon, she crept into Sam's room without a peep. Before the brunette knew what hit her, the blonde's lithe body was on top of her, a single hand under the hem of her shirt, the other holding her sternum down so she couldn't even wiggle. Sam's breathing went ragged; she didn't know what to do. For once, Sam McPherson was speechless, and Brooke had her just where she wanted her all along.
Brooke was entranced. She was stuck in the dullest history class known to mankind as her teacher's voice drowned out by her mind wandering at the image before her: Sam McPherson was swirling her pen around her mouth, absentmindedly. Brooke had never seen anything more intense, or sexual, than what she was watching at that very moment. She didn't even realize her teacher was asking her to explain the Magna Carta to the class. It wasn't until Sam raised an eyebrow, pen hanging lazily between her supple lips, did Brooke turn beet red and ask what the question was again.
You never know accidents are coming. It could be spilling a glass of milk or finding yourself pinned beneath two tons of steel masquerading as a car. Since nothing came easy for Brooke and Sam, they found themselves on the sidelines as Nicole's car speeded into a fire hydrant. Dirt and loose gravel from the asphalt clung to both as they laid there, not quite sure what had just happened and what would happen next. Neither thought this would be the beginning of anything good, but as they held hands, deep down they knew it was the beginning of something.
"I can't believe of all the stupid things-"
"-Shut up, Sam," Brooke cut in. "This is just as much your fault as it is mine."
"How is this my fault?" she demanded, still trying to get the front door open. It was pouring out, and Brooke made it to her car just as the downpour began soaking her from head to toe. Sam just stared, jaw dropped.
"If you didn't need me to get your books out of my car..." Now, they were locked out, but at least Sam had something to look at until Mike came home from work.
"Sam," Brooke panted, pushing the brunette off her slightly. Sam was hovering, knees digging into the carpet on the sides of the blonde's hips. She was ready to devour her lover, from head to toe, and was working her way down the lithe body feverishly. The blonde's back was brushing against the carpet, rug burn was sure to fire. "Bed... let's... go... bed..." Brooke trailed off as Sam began kissing her neck, then her clavicle and making her way down between her breasts. Sam had no intention to stop what she was doing where she was doing it anytime soon.
'This sucks,' Brooke thought morosely, twirling her pen between her fingers. She was bored beyond belief, and there was only so long you could look out the same window at the same trees before your eyes wanted to bleed. The blonde was tired, but she knew there way no way she could spend detention napping away, not under Glass' watch. So, she did the only thing she could think of doing to kill time now that her homework was done: She thought about Sam, who sadly wasn't in detention for her to stare at instead of looking out that window.
Let Me Clean You Up
"Sam, you can stop now," Brooke growled, looking down at her lap. The brunette was clumsy, that's for sure, and now the blonde's jeans were soaked with the soda Sam had been carrying in her hands before she tripped. Brooke watched in horror as Sam tripped, the soda can landing in her lap and spilling its contents over her jeans. "Sam, really..." Brooke closed her eyes tightly, realizing just how close Sam's hand was to her center. The brunette was feverishly trying to wipe up the soda with a paper towel and was failing miserably. At least at cleaning up.
The Next Morning
Brooke and Sam laid lazily in the latter's bed, curled up in one another. A tangle of arms, legs and bodies sharing warmth under a worn comforter would greet anyone who walked into the room. They didn't care anymore, all Sam thought about when she woke up in a haze was how tired and sore she was. 'This is what exhaustion feels like after being up all night,' she thought with a lazy smile, wrapping her arms around Brooke's shoulders tighter. The blonde snuggled into Sam's body, smiling herself as she drifted back into a deep slumber after getting comfortable.
Sam caressed her thigh softly, with just enough pressure in her fingertips to bring the blonde to the edge and then back again before things crossed the line. Brooke kept her gaze trained on her father as he related another story about showing the boys up at work. She smiled, nodded and spoke at all the right places, and no one would've guessed the slow torture going on under the kitchen table. Jane served spaghetti, one of Sam's favorite meals, but it was hardly the meal she was focusing on at that night as her fingertips danced across Brooke's skin.
She Wasn't Handy
Describing Brooke McQueen came easy: Beautiful, blonde and not in the least bit handy. However, when she offered to take a look at Sam's ailing notebook, how could the brunette refuse? It gave her the chance to sit on the sidelines, observe Brooke outside her natural habit of popularity, cheerleading and the likes of Nicole Julian and Mary Cherry. She watched, memorizing the details as Brooke's fingers glided over the keyboard and attempted to fix her Internet connection. Little did the blonde know that Sam purposefully unplugged the ethernet cable just to watch her work as she wracked her brain.
You could cut it with a knife. Sam knew there should be a better metaphor, but Brooke made her brain a bit hazy, and she couldn't quite come up with anything that sound better. She was frustrated, even more so than the blonde, simply because she couldn't make a move without thinking she was a total idiot for even thinking she had a shot. She wasn't the only one who felt the tension, it was getting tedious for Brooke, pretending like she didn't care about Sam when all she wanted to do was spend every single waking moment with her.
You've Got to Be Kidding Me
Sam couldn't believe her eyes. Brooke was reading A Tale of Two Cities instead of spending a Saturday afternoon with a bottle of Evian and the July issue of Vogue. She was reading a literary classic, something that sparked discussion, something that didn't tell her what Prada said about her style. She was still lounging poolside, reading and keenly aware that the brunette was spying on her from the kitchen window above the sink. And even if she was reading something like Cosmo, she still would've been able to tell you Sam was there.
As Ashes Fall
The ashes fell lightly. All she imagined while scattering them was finding the limp body, Vicodin spilled on the bathroom rug and broken glass from the Whiskey bottle littering the tile. Those few moments of happiness shared weren't enough to bring her back after the accident. She just wanted to walk again. She should be allowed to walk once more for that act. But that wasn't what the doctor said. Even though she struggled on with physical therapy, she was never the same. Now Sam was gone and what Brooke still held in her hand was all she had left.
"It's smoky," Sam said, stating the obvious, pointing to the radiator without actually knowing what it was, "That can't be good." Brooke nodded, frustrated beyond belief, that her brand new car broke down on its first drive to Kennedy. She was so angry, she didn't even notice that Sam began calling a tow truck on her cell phone while she sat on the curb and started crying. "It's going to be okay," the brunette said, "I'll keep you company." Brooke just glared in her direction, but deep down inside, it was all she needed anymore to make her feel better.
Sam's fingers grazed her own lips. She leaned against the refrigerator as if it was the only reason she was still standing up. She tried taking a step forward, but her legs buckled beneath her, and she feared they'd give out if she tried again. Her heart was beating so fast, it threatened to pop out of her chest and spill out onto the floor. If she died this moment, they would never be able to wipe the smile off her face. 'So, this is what it's like,' she mused, grinning, 'This is what it's like after kissing Brooke McQueen.'
Sam had never seen anything more erotic than the sight before her. The way the blonde's lips curved around the strawberry before she sucked half of it into her mouth, took a gentle bite and swallowed the fruit after a few chews. Her right hand still holding the other half, her left in the bowl of strawberries poised to pop another into her mouth at moment's notice. The brunette was leaning against the kitchen counter heavily, wanting to say something - anything, really - and Brooke kept popping strawberries hoping it would be enough to force Sam to make the first move.
Most relationships begin on a good note, end on a bad one. The brunette hoped for the former from the start, but she knew not to be optimistic; the blonde, on the other hand, knew it would be the latter at the end. But she never thought it would end with a bang, two tons of steel wrapped around her lithe frame. Literally, a deer caught in the headlights. Now, all Sam could do was cry. Brooke would cry, too, but that would mean she'd still be alive to shed tears on a shoulder that now slouched beside her grave.
Hot, Hot, Hot
It's amazing how body temperature changes at the drop of a hat. All it took for Brooke somedays was seeing the white bath towel wrapped firmly around Sam's curves to make her stop dead in her tracks. If her toothbrush wasn't in her mouth and being held their by her lips, it surely would've hit the floor as her jaw went slack, and she stared unabashedly. The brunette didn't notice, she never did, and the blonde would later take solace in that fact when her teenager hormones threatened to spill out of her daydreams and into her bedroom or Sam's.
She reached for her luggage and was met by a familiar hand covering her own. She looked up briefly, saw the blonde smiling down at her, and attempted to lift the suitcase on her own out of the baggage claim to no avail. She dropped it on her foot, and cursed, but the loss of contact with Brooke's hand was the only thought in her mind. The blonde was laughing hysterically, Mike and Jane catching up to the girls in the terminal and wondering just what was going on between the two. "I was just trying to help," Brooke said.
The last time someone spied on Brooke without her knowledge, Harrison ended up helping her upstairs after Nicole left her drunk on a reclining beach chair. Sam knew this was out of the question. She couldn't be caught; a good investigative journalist was never caught. The brunette watched eagerly as Brooke dove into the pool, did a few laps and then came up for air. Sam turned away, thinking she'd combust as Brooke ran her hands through her hair and looked up just in time to see the brunette walk away from the window. Two could play at that game.
The Things You Learn From TV
It took an episode of The L Word for Sam to learn the importance of circles. She downloaded it thinking it'd be a good release, since Brooke seemed unwilling to take the next step. She wanted to know more about circles, the things her tongue could do and how she could convince Brooke that a very frequent sexual relationship was the way to go. There's only so much the teenage body can go through before it combusts. And lazy circles down south are definitely one way to go about another type of combustion as Brooke soon learned herself.
If Kennedy High were the latest men's magazine, every boy that walked into that building would want their hands on the lush teenage graces of Brooke McQueen. Well, every boy and Sam McPherson. Of course, the brunette would never admit that she, too, lusted after the pert blonde. She'd never have to buy that magazine, though, one of the only benefits she concluded from living with Brooke. After all, a magazine only shows you stills, all Sam had to do was walk into that bathroom during the blonde's morning routine and imagine what she looked like underneath that white towel.
Happy was not the adjective Brooke was looking for to describe the situation she found herself in. She thought that so many other words would due it justice, but she couldn't think of a single one that actually sounded right. 'So, happy it is, then,' she thought. This is what happy feels like. She thought of talking to Sam about it - the word smith could surely come up with something better - but decided against it. She would just make fun of the fact that Brooke never thought to open up a thesaurus to define how their relationship made her feel.
The gesture was sweet and a hospital staple. Flowers - a small bouquet of lilies - sat upon the window sill adjacent to the bed. Sunlight filled the cracks between the petals and the stem filling the room with a broken juxtaposition of shadows that danced with the breeze. Brooke would never see the flowers or shadows. Chances are by the time she woke that bunch would be long gone, but Sam vowed that just because they were gone didn't mean she wouldn't keep the room filled with others until the blonde awoke. Even if it took years to keep that promise.
It was perfect. One, very basic, concentric circle. Sam envisioned that Brooke would want something a little more Tiffanys, but she stayed true to her own heart and picked out a simple platinum band from Zales. The rest of her class would be celebrating on the stadium grass after receiving their diplomas with their family and friends, but she wanted to kick start the rest of her life by getting down on one knee and asking Brooke McQueen to be her wife. That ring now found its home on Sam's desk in her off-campus apartment waiting for graduation day.
Only one person could solicit the whole spectrum of emotion from Sam McPherson, and it was the last person on Earth the brunette would admit. Brooke McQueen made her skin crawl, she backed her up against the metaphorical point of no return, and Sam craved it like morphine. It dulled the aching loss she continued to suffer at the hands of the world around her, and it made her feel whole again. But it was only a matter of time before her armor would chip away, and she had no idea that it was the blonde's intent since day one.
Every morning, Brooke went through the same routine. She woke cheerfully, ate breakfast and brushed her teeth before hopping into the shower all before the Palace saw the light of day. Or so she thought. As she began to rinse the chamomile shampoo out of her locks, she never would see that Sam stood perched like a sentry against the door frame leading in from her room to listen. Before Brooke dug her toes into the berber rug beneath her feet, the brunette left her post shrugging with an unsaid "I love you." And so, too, went Sam's morning routine.
If Sam was still aware of only one thing before she lost consciousness at the moment of impact, it was this: Brooke's shadow hit the pavement before her lithe body broke the fall. Not that a shadow could hold weight, but it was the singular idea that made pushing the blonde out of the way of the oncoming, speeding car. Knowing Brooke was safe calmed her, even as she went headfirst into the windshield and slid to the ground; she could still see the blonde's silhouette moving away from her as she took her final breath and slipped into unconsciousness.