She's spiraling, spiraling, spiraling into some pit of despair.

(And no one's there to catch her this time)

…

It starts as a semi-normal day in class.

Her feet are propped on the back of Freddie's chair. At first, he turns to glare at her, but she shoots him an angelic smile and with a sigh, he turns back around.

She takes a pillow out of her backpack and leans back on it. After a moment, she dozes off.

A tap on her shoulder awakens her after a while. "Sam!" Her nub's voice pulls her out of her sleep.

"What do you want?" she yawns.

"You're wanted in the office," her teacher, a big bald man with some weird name, informs her. "I trust you'll be able to find your way there, you've surely been there enough."

She nods, wondering what she had done this time. In fact, she'd been trying to get in less trouble, considering she was trying to get into colleges these days. But she walks slowly to the principal's office. Anything to get out of class.

…

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Principal Franklin tells her.

She nods, her eyes glued to the table. She doesn't (can't) believe the words that he's telling her, so she just pretends like she's fine. "Can I go now?"

"Sam." His eyes soften. "I know you guys were very close, this must have hurt you deeply. You don't have to hide it."

"We were not close," She lies.

"I've heard some rumors that you two were fighting over a boy, a friend of both of yours, Fred-" He begins, but she cuts him off.

"We were not," She protests. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Fine." He crosses his arms. "You may go back to class then."

She's so grateful he doesn't see the single tear slide down her face before she furiously wipes it away.

…

"How are you doing?" Freddie whispers softly to her.

"As well as you'd expect," She shoots back. With a swing, her locker bangs shut and she spins to look him in his dark brown concerned eyes. "I'm fine, Freddork. I'd think that you would be the hurt one."

A horrified expression crosses his face. "Why would you think that?"

"You went out with her," Sam hisses. Her eyes flash with the inner turmoil that's inside of her, that's been eating her up ever since her 'loss'. "You kissed her."

"She kissed me!" Freddie protests, but he doesn't deny it. "Look, Sam, are you jealous?"

"Of course not," Sam lies again. She's become such the expert at lying.

His eyes harden as he continues to stare at her. "Stop lying, Sam."

"I'm not," She tells him plainly, still lying. "I'm leaving now. Don't bother coming after me, nub."

And with that, she turns her back on him (once again) and walks off.

…

It's that same day that she dares to go in her room.

It's sickeningly girly in her eyes, it's always been, but it's so, so, so much nicer than Sam's room, which makes Sam think it's unfair once again (just like everything else). Her eyes trace all of the photos that line the walls, photos of her with Sam, photos of her with all her friends (she'd always been so popular), and last of all, photos of her with Freddie from the time when they'd gone out.

She bites her lip as she looks at these photos, wondering if it's possible for her to be jealous of a dead girl.

Dead.

It's the first time that she's been able to think the word, and as she repeats it over and over in her mind, trying to make herself believe it true, another single tear snakes its way down her cheek. Wiping it away roughly, she reminds herself, Sam Puckett doesn't cry.

Her wet fingers trail along the pink fabric of the bedcovers. The bed is still a bit warm, considering that its owner had slept in it just three nights ago, but now she was gone and she would never sleep in it again.

Sam feels a bit guilty. She'd never gotten to say goodbye, never gotten to tell the girl she loved her.

Swatting at her damp eyes, she walks quickly out of the room, vowing silently not to go in there again.

…

At school on Monday, she feels so alone, and everyone's giving her these looks of sympathy that she can't stand. Scowling, she walks a little bit faster.

Someone catches up with her. "Heard you went in her room."

"She has pictures of you all over the walls," Sam retorts. She can't stand using the past tense had, it sounds far too permanent for her liking. "Thought you'd be glad to know that."

"Thanks," He retorts bitterly. His hand clamps down on her shoulder, and it sends a strange burning through her whole body. She puts her hand on top of his and tries to squeeze hard enough to hurt him, but for some reason she can't. It feels like she is speaking to her- "Don't hurt Freddie, Sammy, he's a good kid." She did always want Sam to date him, even though she was the one who'd actually gone out with him. Without warning, Freddie continues. "I didn't feel anything for her, Sam. And what does it matter if I did? She's dead, Sam. Dead and gone."

Gasping at his use of the dreaded word, Sam yells, "DON'T USE THAT WORD!"

"Still haven't come to terms with it, have you?" Freddie raises his eyebrows. "You're gonna have to sometime."

She jerks her hand off of his. "I would say I hate you right now, but I can't…loser."

"What do you mean, you can't?" Freddie calls behind her, but she's running off, trying to ignore him.

…

The funeral is set for that weekend. Sam doesn't often wear dresses, but she decides she might as well now- she would have loved for Sam to wear a dress. The dead one was always begging for Sam to wear dresses and telling her how pretty she looked whenever she dressed up.

So, in her honor, she pulled on a dark black dress with black flats. She left her blonde curls down, and put on a little bit of dark make up.

Once she got there, she felt a few teenage boys' eyes on her, but she couldn't bring herself to dwell on anything like that. How could they even think about something like that when she was dead? Or maybe they're only looking at her because they are…they were…she can't even bear to think the word.

Across the room, Fredward Benson (who looked good in a dark tux) seemed to be having similar thoughts, or perhaps it was jealousy. But it was probably just her own dark fantasies telling her that's what it was.

She sits down next to someone she doesn't know, but she probably knew, and buries her face in her hands. Tears stain her hands and after she takes her hands off she sees the dark makeup staining her hands now.

After the funeral and all of the good words about the smart girl who once lived, she can't bear to look in the coffin. She'd always been so alive and it'd kill Sam to see her dead.

…

After the funeral, someone comes up and puts their hand on her shoulder. The burning coursing through her entire body tells her that it's not just another great-aunt.

"Fredward." She states the obvious.

"Sam," He replies plainly, then he pauses before saying, "I'm so sorry."

She buries her head into his shoulder. Knowing how confused he would be, she explains, "I don't want you to see me cry, dork."

"Do you want to talk?" he asks her. "I know you haven't really had anyone to talk to since Carly moved away- and she's coming to visit soon, you know, since she heard, but that's an awful long time to wait-"

"Let's go outside," She commands, intertwining her fingers with his and pulling him out the door.

He doesn't even protest like he once would've, instead, he just allows her to pull him along. Once they get outside, he whispers, "You were jealous of her."

"She's my twin," Sam chokes. "She was so perfect, she had all of the friends, she even had you- I was so jealous. But now she's dead, and I spent my whole life loathing her, when in fact we could've been close…" She cuts herself off.

"She loved you," Freddie whispers, tucking one of her stray blonde curls behind her ear. "I'm sure she did."

"But how can I forget when I look in the mirror and all I see is her?" Sam's words hang in the air- a question that she can probably never answer.

His arm wraps around her shoulders, and he pulls her close to him. She relents and leans against his chest. He whispers, "I'm sorry, Sam."

"It's okay," She replies, when suddenly, he leans in and gives her a small kiss on her lips. A way of comfort.

…

They walk out to the gravestone for the first time, hand in hand. It's in the shape of an angel, and it's inscribed:

Melanie Grace Puckett

Sister, Joy and Friend

She will be loved

And for the first time, Sam hears a whisper in the wind: "I love you."

(She knows that Melanie's happy for her)

A/N Sorry to all of my iBP readers! Thought you might enjoy this though. It's been a month since my last iBP update, I know! SO SO SORRY!