Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly… *cough cough* Dan Schnieder *cough cough*

Previously on Every Word She Said…

"I'm—I—You—Her—leaving," he said, rushing out of the door, forgetting what he had asked for in the first place.

"That's how to get rid of him? I've been working on that for years!"

~~~°•◊•°~~~

"So Sam, you never told your story. I mean, you said that you knew from a young age, and that you were similar to Mickey, but you never really said anything else," Carly said, still flushed from getting rid of the Dork.

"Yeah, I know, I was kind of hoping that would forget about that. It's kind of tied into the… you know… cutting, but in a way, not so much. It's hard to explain in words, but I'll try. Just for you Cupcake," I wink, seeing her sadness at the lack of explanation.

"I was about 7 when Mickey left. I didn't quite understand why at that point, I got the point when I was 9 let me tell you, but I knew that he was gone. I remember going into his room and taking all his clothes. He was on the football and wrestling teams, so he had a lot of jerseys. I used to sleep in them, until my mother found out. She took most of them. I still have his quarterback jersey, the one from the last game he played, and a couple of shirts with our last name on the back from wrestling and debate. I was at that age where I needed to know things, and I needed to know them now, so I was always asking the first questions that popped into my head. Mickey had been gone for a month, and my Dad was still living with us at that point, so I went to him and asked him where Mickey was. He had looked around the room and closed over the door. He told me that Mickey was at a shelter, a safe place for him to live until he could find a place of his own to be. I still didn't get it, so I asked him why Mickey wasn't living here. He said that Mickey and my mother got in a fight about Mickey's sexuality. He explained what that word meant, but even back then I didn't know what it was," I laughed, trying to stay positive. I sat up and pulled my arms around my legs. Carly sat up with me and put her arm around me, rubbing circles into my back. This was one of my main triggers, remembering Mickey, the fight with my mother.

"He told me that Mickey wanted to marry a boy instead of a girl, and that my mother didn't agree with her, saying that he's not allowed to likes boys, only girls. I thought about it for a minute. I was 7 years old. You remember what it was like, boys noticing girls, girls noticing boys. Except, I wasn't; like Mickey. I asked my Dad what it was called if you were a girl and you wanted to marry a girl. He looked at me and smiled. He said that if you were a girl, you would be a lesbian. The way he said it, even at age seven, I knew the word described me, at least a little bit. I gave him a big hug, and bounded out of my room. I remember leaving the house and running in the back yard. If I told my mother that I was a 'lesbian' would she kick me out like Mickey? It wasn't really until I kissed Nadine that I knew for sure that I was gay. Up until then, I had tried to be normal, tried to interested in boys the way Melanie was, the way my mother wanted me to. That day when I kissed Nadine, that was the day that I truly hated my mother."

"Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"You always call her your mother. She's still your Mom…"

"She's never been my 'Mom'. Ever since I can remember, she's forced stuff on me I hate. She is a mother, because she gave birth to Mickey, Melanie, and me, but she is NOT a Mom," I get out, breathing heavily. I start to cry, something I haven't done in a long, long time. Crying is a sign of weakness, something that I don't do. I haven't done it in nearly nine years. I reach under my sleeve and start picking at my scabs through my bandage. Carly grabs my hand, and kiss the palm, putting it on her cheek, pulling me close to her.

"Carly, I need to show you."

"Show me what, Babe?"

"I need to show you what I've done."

"Sammie, you don't need to show me, I know."

I pull my hand away and wipe away my tears. She doesn't understand. I mean, we slept together, but she didn't see all of me. "Carly, you don't. And I do need to. Please, let me?"

She nodded at me solemnly, taking my hands and kissing them. I stand up and grab Carly's hands, walking to the bathroom with her trailing behind me. I flip the lights on, like I have millions of times, and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. I usher Carly in and lock the door behind her, standing in front of it.

Slowly, I peeled off my T-shirt, and the my long sleeve shirt. I had no scars on my stomach or chest. However, in the now bright light, you could see the hundreds of pale white scars that littered my biceps and arms. Carly sucked in her breath. I thought she had seen them when we were changing this morning, or even in the shower, but I guess she did see all of them. I finger the button on my blue jeans, and with shaking hands, I unbutton them and slide down the zipper, gliding the blue jeans down my hips to where they pool at my ankles. No one has ever seen these scars. The hundreds, possibly thousands that litter my thighs and calves. When I first started cutting, I didn't want to have to hide my arms, so I did my legs. I started with my hips, but then moved down to my upper thigh, my lower thigh, and the sides of my knees, my calves and even my ankles. Scars over scars, some raised and some indented in my skin, patterns all over. I look down at them. I remember putting each and every single on of them there, each instance. My fingers run over the last on I did, a few months ago, almost an inch wide. I could feel the reason behind it. Carly lifted my head up to meet her and gently pressed her lips to mine.

"Sammie. You are my girlfriend. I love you. And," she said, kneeling down, "I love all of you." She kissed my legs, my hips, all the way up my arms until she reached my face and kissed my lips.

"I love you too Carly."

"Come one, lets get you clothed again, Spencer might come up."

Silently I put my clothes back on, piece by piece, trying not to ask her what was on her mind, because I can tell she has questions. We walk back to her room and I sit on her bed, cross-legged, and wait for the questions I know will be coming.

Heyy guys, sorry for the EXTREMELY lateness. I've been trying to schedule my courses for university next year, and apply to get a loan, and it just been a COMPLETE mess. So yeah, sorry for the lateness, and also the shortness. I will definitely write more for the next chapter. I Hope you enjoy it, and please review!