Work Text:
She goes first. Doesn’t remember half of what she says to the detective, and then asks if she can go to the washroom. The detective hesitates, and then nods. She'll have to be escorted to use the ones downstairs, as the ones upstairs are a crime scene. She flinches, and then nods. Out of her peripheral vision, she can see Samuel get up to go next. As she waits for the detective to find an officer to escort her, he walks over to her, grabs her arm softly, looks into her eyes and silently asks her if she’s okay. She nods, shivers as his hand trails down her arm and squeezes her hand. “Everything is going to be okay.” He whispers to her. She smiles softly, doesn’t have the heart to ask him how any of this is okay. They are all covering up a murder at eighteen years old.
Polo’s body has been moved. The police officer taking her to the bathroom tries his best to shield her from the scene, but she gets small glimpses in. She begins to feel sick with the amount of blood. Watches as people begin to sweep up evidence and take photos, because this is a crime scene. Polo was murdered. Her ex-boyfriend was murdered by her best friend. And she has to lie about it.
She grips the edge of the sink and tries to get herself to breathe. Only a few more hours and she’s out of here. Tomorrow she’s on a plane and can forget any of this happened. She can be someone else, rather than the girl who puts everyone she loves in danger. All she feels is dizzy rather than calm. On her way out she finds an unopened bottle of something someone must have dropped amidst the chaos. She opens it, takes a sniff, and then a small sip. Satisfied, she throws it in her bag.
XxXxX
She sits next to Samuel and uses him as a crutch. Keeps some part of her body touching him at all times to keep herself from floating away. Ignores Rebeka’s yearning look every time she glances over at them and tries not to feel guilty about it. She throws her purse on the floor between her feet. Every time she looks at it, it makes her skin burn. Tucks the bottle she found underneath her thigh and out of sight, and every time the detective takes notes between interrogations she takes a swing.
The first time, Samuel doesn’t notice. She doesn’t think he realizes, instead keeps a hand on her thigh, every so often tapping his fingers or squeezing her leg so it doesn’t feel like dead weight. She doesn’t blame him, no one else would be attempting to get blackout drunk as their friends are being interrogated for the murder of their classmate. But no one is her, no one is as fucked up as she is.
The second time, he pays more attention. Tries to take a glance at the label when he realizes it isn’t water. Gives her a look that she ignores. She leans her head against his shoulder because she can. Because she is leaving. Because she’s convinced herself that none of this is really happening. She can hear him sigh, but he also takes her hand and begins to rub small circles with his thumb into her palm, so she takes it as a win.
The third time she can tell he’s beginning to lose his patience. The detective has taken a small break for whatever reason, so this time she chugs. Others have begun to notice, she can feel their looks, but she doesn’t care. None of them know how she feels. Once upon a time she was supposed to marry polo. And despite everything that had happened between them, she still knew him like the back of her hand. She never even got to forgive him. Tell him that despite everything, she was still thankful for him. So fuck all their judgement. “Carla” Samuel hisses when she takes another swing. “No.” she slurs and he curses. Fuck his judgement too.
The fourth time he takes the bottle out of her hand and she smirks because he’s out of luck, it’s empty. She looks to Rebeka, hoping she’s hinting that she wants the flask in her bag next. Rebeka just laughs and shakes her head. She vaguely registers Samuel doing something in the background, asking around for something. Then Guzman is crouched between her feet, and she wants to tell him to be careful, the blood of her ex-boyfriend is still on her purse. “Carla,” he whispers. She smiles, cups his cheek with her palm. Wants to ask him if he remembers when they were kids and he would let her and Marina dress him up in their clothes, like their little doll. Back then he was shorter than all of them. Back then they still had all their innocence. “Eat some crackers.”
She frowns as he throws a packet of crackers in her lap. Shakes her head, she’s not hungry. “Carla,” Guzman says softly, again. “Eat the crackers, okay?” She wants to ask him if he realizes that half of them are dead. There’s only two of them left now out of their original four. Him, and her. She wants to ask him if Marina ever forgave her for abandoning her. She wants to ask him if he hates her for it, because maybe if she had stuck around Marina would still be here. She can’t live with herself knowing that both Polo and Marina died hating her.
He pats her leg when she nods and goes back to his spot beside Nadia. Nadia who gives her a soft smile that makes her feel like an endangered lamb. Her hands shake as she tries to rip open the package, so Samuel does it for her. Breaks the crackers up into small pieces and feeds them to her. She wants to tell him that she’s never been cared for like this before. After she’s eaten them all, he swipes his thumb along her cheek. She wonders if her eyes look as hollow and empty as his do.
XxXxX
She’s a little drunk when she gets back to his place, or traumatized, she hasn’t quite decided yet. All she knows is she watched her first love die in front of her tonight, and that provides some body numbing experience, artificial or not. “We should all leave,” she warns him as he helps her up the stairs to his apartment. “Whoever stays might be next.” He freezes on the stairs, and then continues going. He doesn’t answer her, doesn’t feed into her fears. Or maybe it’s just her, maybe she’s the problem. Maybe it’s not this place, maybe everyone around her just dies.
She stumbles, into walls, into doors. Anything to remind herself that she’s still here. That this isn’t something she’s hallucinated. She often has nightmares that she’s going to lose Samuel. That he dies and she’s responsible for his death because she loved him too hard. Because her father ruins anything she loves that doesn’t have a price tag attached to it. So maybe this is another dream. Maybe Polo isn’t actually dead. Fate has just switched the script this time. She can vaguely feel his hands on her skin, reminding her that Samuel’s still here. She hasn’t lost everything.
“Carla,” he whispers. “Carla, it’s okay.” She wants to scream at him that it’s not. None of this is okay, Polo is dead. They’re not supposed to experience this much amount of death this young. Doesn’t he get that? Doesn’t he understand that none of this is normal? She’s supposed to be online shopping for her new apartment. Or holding back Lu’s hair as she throws up because she drank too much. Not because she killed someone, but because they just graduated. They’re supposed to be celebrating, not covering up a fucking murder.
But still, she uses Samuel to steady herself. After all, she’s been doing it for the past year. Whether they both realized it or not. “I wish I had some Molly right now.” she jokes. He doesn’t laugh.
“I’m cursed.” She mumbles once they finally get inside. She’s lied to a police officer, again. She’s fleeing from her family. “I’m cursed, I’m destined to be alone.” She looks up at him, panic in her eyes and she can hear him swear under his breath.
“Carla,” he soothes, runs his hand in small circles along her back like he used to do when they would lay in his bed, sharing their hopes and dreams. Back when she still thought they had a fighting chance. “I love you.” She wants to cry, hasn’t he realized yet that the love they have for each other isn’t enough?
“I’m leaving.” she cries, beginning to grow frustrated about how he always seems to have an answer for everything, even if he’s wrong. She used to find it endearing, but back then she was enamored by all things Samuel Garcia. Now it just makes her feel crazy.
“And I would follow you to the ends of the earth if I had to. I’m not letting you go again.”
She shakes her head. Despite everything that has happened to him, he’s always had a positive outlook on life. He hasn’t yet realized that good things don’t happen for people like her. They have all the money in the world, but the tradeoff is their souls. “Samuel-”
He cuts her off. “So you can go, and I’ll stay here. And when you’re ready you can come back, or I will follow you to America, probably won’t get into the same school as you did because you’re smarter than me.” She smiles softly and shakes her head, he’s wrong. He’s always been smarter than her, but he’s humble like that. Unwilling to admit he’s good at something. That mixed in with the fact that he refuses to think she has any flaws. “And we’ll try for real this time.” He seems so convinced she almost believes him.
She wants to tell him that that’s not how this works. You don’t get unlimited chances at happiness. They already had their shot and they blew it. They won’t get another one, not in this lifetime.
XxXxX
He sets her down on his bed, curses at the sight of her shoes as he crouches down to meet her feet. “Why can’t you wear normal shoes like everyone else without these impossible straps?” He complains as he tangles his fingers between the straps going up her legs. She grins, bites her bottom lip. Wants to tell him it’s because she’s the only one who’s ever had to take them off.
He struggles, but manages to get them off. Huffs, because he’s always been a tad bit overdramatic. “I’m not even going to bother with that thing.” He tells her, tilts his head at the bracelet around her arm. This time she does laugh, and bails him out. Takes off her necklace and earrings too. Lays them on his bedside table. Feels vulnerable, forgets how much taller he is than her when she doesn’t have heels on.
He sits her back down on his bed, but this time he stands between her legs. “Jesus Carla,” he says, and she assumes he sees the numerous pins in her hair. But still, he takes them all out carefully. Takes the elastic out last, and she hisses when he lets her hair down. Her scalp hurts after having her hair that tight for hours. He runs his hands through her hair a few times, then kisses the top of her head.
“I’ll be right back. Stay here, and do not raid my liquor cabinet.” He gives her a look and she smiles. Almost tells him she’s mostly sober now, and he’s always made her feel better than any illicit substance ever could. That she had to drink and take drugs to forget the feeling of what his hands had once felt like on her skin, because even though she craved it so much, she still couldn’t have him.
He comes back quickly, arms full of stuff she had long left, thinking he would have thrown them out by now. Half of them probably expired now. “I had to tell Rebecca they were my moms, but here.” She feels stupid, because her eyes fill up with tears.
“I can’t believe you still have this stuff.” She says, as she lets out a watery laugh.
“I always knew you would come back.” He says it like it’s a joke, but she’s sure he believed it. She knows he believes what’s meant to be will be, and she knows he thinks they are one of those things. She follows him to his washroom. Tries not to feel the burn of his stare as she washes the makeup off her face. Tries to ignore the growing tension in the room as he sheds his clothes and tilts his head towards the shower.
She nods, carefully takes off her dress. Watches as he folds it and places it on the counter by the sink. Watches as he grabs her hand, and her favourite shower products and guides her into the shower.
He sets the water to scalding. She knows he hates it, but she’s never been able to shower in anything colder. And he’s never been able to deny her anything. “Okay?” She knows he’s asking her about the water temperature, but she wants to laugh at the irony of it all. He asks her when she grips his upper arms. She nods, doesn’t know how to tell him she’s doing it to remind herself that he’s still here.
Her hands shake when he hands her the shampoo bottle. “It’s okay,” he whispers to her again, and she still hasn’t decided all this time later if she loves or hates the fact that he treats her like she’s fragile, like a piece of glass he’s terrified to break.
He puts the shampoo in for her, lathers her hair and she closes her eyes. Tries to burn this moment into her memory because she doesn’t know when she’ll meet someone who takes care of her like this again. He does the same thing with the conditioner, even remembers to put her hair mask in. She waits to the side as he washes his own hair, holds onto his pinky and is grateful he doesn't say anything about having to shower with one hand.
When they’re finished he dries her first. Puts her hair up in a towel and sits her down on the toilet seat as he grabs her some clothes. She knows she has some left over from when she used to stay here. She smiles when he brings her back her own undergarments, but his t-shirt. When he’s dressing himself she sniffs it and hopes he doesn’t notice.
He takes the towel out of her hair and brushes it for her. She hates sleeping with her hair wet, but she’s too drained to care. Lets him guide her around his apartment, because despite what he might think, she would also do anything he asks. As long as it doesn’t cost her his life in the process. Doesn’t register that he’s made her a piece of toast until it’s placed in front of her. “You’ve got to eat Carla.” he tells her softly. She nods, does what he asks because if this is the one thing she can give him, she will. He lets her sit on his lap as she eats. Runs his hand through the wet strands of her hair. Kisses the back of her shoulder. Reminds her he’s still here.
“What do you need?” He asks her, and he knows he means something deeper. She knows he’s asking her how he can help take her pain away. Knows that he’s always wanted to fix whatever predicament she’s gotten herself in. And she loves him with all of her heart, but he can’t fix this.
“You.” She answers, because it’s true. The only thing she’s ever wanted, the only thing she’s ever needed, was him. But still, he calls Lu from her phone because he knows her better than she knows herself. Knows that she needs to know that Lu is okay. Asks Lu who she has, because if she needed her, Carla would go. Sometimes she thinks Samuel takes care of her so much because he knows how much she feels like she needs to take care of everyone else.
“Did you go home?” Lu asks. She has a hunch that everyone around her knows about her family situation, how toxic it is. That they’re all counting the days where Carla finds enough strength to stand up for herself.
“No.” She doesn’t give Lu more than that. She wants to keep her and Samuel in this little bubble for as long as she can.
“Good.” Lu says, and Carla smiles. “Say goodnight to Samuel for me.” She rolls her eyes, but agrees. Tells Lu that she can call her whenever she needs to. Gives her phone back to Samuel when the two of them hang up, snuggles into his chest and closes her eyes. Pretends like she can have this forever. That she isn’t really leaving tomorrow, instead she’s spending the rest of her life with him in this shitty little apartment, eating macaroni and finally being happy.
“Let’s go to bed.” he whispers into her hair. Her bubble pops.
XxXxX
When he slides into bed beside her, her first tear comes. Then she’s sobbing in his arms. Grieving the loss of two loves, because she knows as much as she wants to, she can’t keep Samuel either. He doesn’t say anything, just holds her. Lets her mourn, they both know there’s not much else he can do.
She cries until she exhausts herself out. Lets out a shaky breath and readjusts herself so her lead is laying on his chest. Calms herself down by listening to the sound of his heartbeat.
“Everything is going to be okay.” He tries to assure her, but she shakes her head. “It is Carla, I promise.” She scoffs because he’s always been so stubborn.
“You can’t promise that.” She tells him, her voice hoarse.
“I can,” he assures her again and she rolls her eyes. “Because here’s what’s going to happen,” he tells her as he looks down at her. “You’re going to call me every day until I can go there myself.”
“Samuel-” she starts but he cuts her off again.
“Hear me out okay? Just humour me by calling me the first day you get there. And because you love me and are obsessed with me,” she scoffs again and he grins. “You’re going to call me again for a year, and then I’m going to meet you down there and we’re going to do it right this time.”
“Sounds nice.” She mumbles into his t-shirt.
“Sounds real.” he corrects her, “For a year, you’re going to go discover yourself. Live a life without having everyone else’s influence playing into all of your decisions. Hopefully get some well needed therapy.” She slaps his chest. “And then you and I are going to do this thing for real, okay?”
She’s too tired to argue with him, so she nods. Lets him believe that there’s a possibility the two of them end up together even though there’s not.
XxXxX
In the morning he wants to follow her home. She knows if she let him, he would follow to the airport just to make sure she settles in okay. But she tells him that she needs to do this on her own, because if he follows her she knows she’ll never get on that plane.
So he kisses her goodbye and tells her he’s expecting a phone call tomorrow. She rolls her eyes but agrees, just to satisfy him. Thinks about him the entire ride to the airport. Has to throw her phone in her bag so she doesn’t call him while she waits to board her flight.
She feels like a zombie when she finally arrives at her new apartment. The weight of the past 48 hours feels like it’s seeping into her bones. She still hasn’t fully processed that Polo is gone, or that Lu was the one to kill him. But still, she slips off her shoes and leaves her luggage by the door. Sits down on her couch and calls him. Not that she had any doubt, but he answers. They talk for hours, and then she hangs up feeling giddy. She calls him every day for a year and a half, until he follows her just like he promised.