Title: The Adventures of Sam and Nic-Complete Defeat
Pairing: The ONLY couple I love, sweet, sexy Sam and nubile, naughty Nicole
Rating: R. Do I write anything with less a rating? Adult themes. Language. Drama.
Disclaimers: I apologize for the New York centric story (i.e. very specific locations, NYC slang and jokes), but I just had to write it this way. I do not own anything related to the world of ‘Popular’. Those other people do. This is just fantasizing on paper.
A/N: I have wanted to write a S/N story for over a year. I cannot seem to write anything on CotD so this is what I am throwing my energy to. I dedicate this to everyone I have begged to write a Sam/Nic story. Esp. you Ms. Flores. Plus, I want to prove I can write plots, not just hop to the sex parts. Heh hee. My wife, ANK, thanks for being so g*ddamn sexy and intelligent. Whew!!. Tammy Lynn Michaels for being so f*ckin’ hot!
The last thing I remember was hanging up the phone with her, our proposed date solidified. Color me giddy as the geeky-schoolgirl-turned-prom-queen movie you’ve seen so many times. I was going out with her. The sexiest, bitchiest, wittiest, blonde West of the Mississippi. Nicole Julian was going out with me, Samantha McPherson. No matter how trite it may seem to conclude that underneath all of our years of bickering in high school, was our long-buried Sapphic desires, that’s kind of what happened. We both ended up in New York, she a year after me, but it had started, it being our bizarre-dating-breaking up ritual, but it, the spark, the desire, was there. That ,however, is another story for another day. Right now, I need to figure out how I ended up in the bed with two total strangers. This seems to be happening a lot lately.
Samantha. I had long ago stopped calling her Sam. I still called her Spam on occasion, but that was usually in the throes of passion. I really promised myself that the last time we broke up would be just that. But…I can’t let go of her. I try to go into my deepest, most glamorous Joan-Crawford-School-of-Bitchiness-self, but my God, when she turns swiftly, those dark brown eyes wide like Bambi, those pouty, pouty lips quivering and that hair. Her freakin’ hair!! Swooshing around as if it has a life of its own, how can I turn her down? Plus, the sex is the most mind-blowing I have ever had. But I digress. Fuck, her stinking Columbia vocabulary continues to rub off on me. I am just a lowly NYU student, shivering in the shadow of her Ivy Tower. Ha! I’m still cooler than her, everyone knows NYU has it goin’ on. Anyway, back to sex and lips and great hair. I’ve put my fair share of work into Samantha and that kind of investment a girl just can’t give up. I gave her style for Christ sake! Style! On Samantha “Sam/Spam” McFearsome. I’m not going to let some other schmoe come snatch her up and take all the glory. No as our beloved divas-in-training once sang, “The Boy is Mine.” Well, you get what I mean. We’re older now, it’s not like in high school when it was just sex and a game and crying jags. Now it’s sex, crying jags, missing Sam, frantic calls to Brooke, Mike, Jane, Lily and Carmen. Now it’s swearing her off like I swear off buying knock-off Kate Spade bags on Broadway in Soho. She is addictive and infuriating. My Spam.
The first order of the day is to tactfully, yet with all swiftness, extract myself from this extremely embarrassing situation. The man and woman flanking me are indeed attractive, but it would trés difficile to explain I don’t remember their names, how we met, where we are, or how we got here. All I remember is talking to my ex-girlfriend and being giddy that she would speak to me, let alone agree to a date. I don’t remember who cutie-couple is, or how much we drank. From the looks of this room…a lot! Looks like we had fun. Wish I could remember. I mean, it’s not like Nic and I are actually together-together. Yet. I want to be with her, but she’s so, so strict or something. ‘Don’t drink so much Samantha’, ‘Samantha, you didn’t call me for four days, where were you?’, And why doesn’t she just call me Sam? I even call myself Samantha now because of her. Bitch. I guess I should leave this place. I hope I’m not to far from home or in some random neighborhood like Canarsie. Oh my god!! What if I’m in Jersey or Staten Island?? Please God no. No, no I would have remembered the ferry, Right? Right? Okay, just get out of here Saman—Sam!! My name is Sam, dammit. I hope Nic isn’t looking for me.
It was one of those beautiful Fall New York days that no one talks about. Autumn in New York is quite lovely. Yes the winters here are beyond unbearable and the summers are traumatizingly hot. But Fall here is so divine, that you really begin to believe every song, dream or word ever spoken about the Big Apple. The air is delightfully crisp, with fashionistas clutching their Starbucks while tossing a Burberry scarf around their necks, cell phone blaring loudly to announce importance. It’s a perfect moment when you sip your hot beverage right before answering the call; I have had many such New York moments. But color me surprised when I ran into Samantha in my neighborhood. She never comes to Brooklyn, unless it’s to see me and from the look of shock and shame on her face, I don’t think she was coming to jog in Prospect Park with me. Her clothing is…well, she looks like she’s been in a fight with 14 squeegie men. She still is gorgeous, I have no idea how she does it, but something is very off her.
“Hey Samantha! Whadday doing in Brooklyn?”
I’m smiling, but I have a cold, burning tension in my stomach. I don’t want to be paranoid, but, something’s wrong.
“Nic, baby, hey. I’m uh, yeah, Brooklyn…I was coming here for …a…stu-dy GROUP! Study group.”
Samantha McPherson is not only a terrible liar, she’s slow as hell with the lies. Plus she has no books, bags or anything that remotely resembles academic life. Instead of any caustic reply that will send us off to our umpteenth thousandth fight, I give her the look. The I –know-you-are-lying-and-it-hurts-me-so-bad-cuz-I-love-you-so-much-why-don’t-you-get-your-fucked-up-life-together look. She’s crumbled every time. This time was no exception.
I didn’t know what to do. She was giving me the look. THE LOOK! The Samanatha-you-know-I-am-thehottest-woman-alive-and-I-spend-thousands-on-therapy-trying-to-understand-my-hopeless-devotion-to-you-look. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I cannot deal with this now. How can I tell Nic I cheated on her again. Okay, not technically, but the fact that we are going on a date in, oh 10 hours, makes it quite guache to come out of a stranger’s or strangers’ house in the morning. And I’m hang over. Great, this just gets more “All My Lesbians” by the moment.
“Nic, sweetheart, love…”Time to pull out the asshole excuse number 47: Make her feel like a neurotic freak and then run like hell until you can figure out this mess.
“…I am so glad I ran into you Nicky-baby, you look yummy.” That’s right saddle up to her, not too close McPherson, you smell like ass. Not literally I hope. Damn! Good, she’s quiet, the old Spammer charm is a-workin’.
“I miss holding you Nic and touching you. No one can make me feel like you do baby. It’s fate that we ran into each other here hon.” Ohhhh, she’s sighing and I can feel her breasts heaving against me. Almost out of this on, thank you God. I’ll make it up to you and Nic later—I swear! Just s few more minutes and I’m home free.
“Nic, I was thinking…maybe you could come over to my place tonight and I could make a nice, romantic dinner. I love you baby and I want to work this out.” Ladies and Gentleman, Nicole Julian, Queen Bitch of the West, terror of Expensive Boutiques Everywhere, is so putty in my hands.
“ Samantha, please let go of me. I have something to say to you.”
Oooo-kay, I definitely wasn’t expecting that one. Please God, remember my promise. I’ll throw in all the children, not just the first-born.
She’s doing it again and I am letting her. I see the freakin’ evidence. Samantha has been fucking someone, who wasn’t me, all night and now she’s, now she’s…Argh, she’s such a bitch. She’s pulling that guy0thing where they pretend you are a lunatic and then later you start to think it’s all you. This is why I swore off butche girls! This is why I swore off Sam!! Oh I must be mad, I called her Sam. I have to think. Think what my sponor told me. I am enabling her behavior every time I go back to her. Samantha loves me, but the bottle has got her in a grip. God! She kills me when she acts like this. I know what sex smells like and I know that smell isn’t mine. I hope she didn’t have an orgy—she smells like multiple people. Fuck you Samantha! Not this time baby. I hear myself say it.
“Samantha, please let go of me. I have something to say to you.”
I don’t even register those gorgeous, deep brown eyes growing wide like golf balls—cute, adorable golf balls…damn, come back Nic. Or her gasping for air, excuses, anything to delay this. But I have to say it.
“Samantha, I have lusted you for you since I was in the ninth grade and I have probably loved you since then to, but this has to stop.”
I arrest her response with one perfectly-manicure, and yes I do say so myself, hand and continue on.
“I love you Samantha. I love you with all my heart. I have spent hours, weeks and years crying every time you cheated, every time you got drunk, every time you disappeared, every time you fucked me and then told me it wasn’t going to work out. I believed you to be the most egotistical, manipulative, selfish bitch alive. I realized I was wrong.
Oh god, here eyes have brightened, but she’s not going to like what I say one bit.
“I realized it was me who was all those things. It’ll explain. Rather than take care of myself and find some man or woman who would really love me and appreciate me, rather than continue to hurt themselves and me, I chose you. I kept choosing you even though you have not chosen me in a long time.
Again, the manicure soldier comes to the rescue.
“Don’t you dare say a word Sam! Not a word. Whatever you say will be a lie. You say you love me Sam, but I know you slept with someone else last night. You can’t open your mouth without lying to me Sam. I pause for breath and try to stop the tears, but it’s too late.
I thought if I just gave more, you would see how much we could have together, you would see how much it rips me apart when you do things like this. I thought I was the able to control you and your, your disease. Whether you believe it or not you have a problem Samantha. I , I just cannot pretend anymore that you are capable of showing me the love I know is in your heart”. I just have to this one last time. Touch her kips, feel them. God, she’s so beautiful. I lean in with my eyes closed so tightly. I don’t think she’s breathing, I don’t care .Those lips, how many nights have I sucked on them? Have they sucked on me? Promises, heartache, curses, love all whispered from the same beautiful mouth. Just once more than I’m gone. I lean back, after taking my fill of her sweet lips. I see the cobble-stoned streets of Brooklyn Heights around us, the Promenade to the left, hinting at the New York Harbor. I can see Lower Manhattan from my apartment. Jersey’s the left of that, the three beautiful bridges, hanging in suspension, kind of like us, now. This would be so romantic if it wasn’t so painful. I hope Brooke’s home. I’m going to need her cheery, sunshine voice after this one. I’m finally doing it because I love Samantha and I love me.
“Please don’t call me Samantha. Get help while you can.”
I love you.