Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly

A/N: Thank you to anyone that has ever or will ever read this.

Choices

"Choices"

Choices... people think that those are what determine what happens, that those are how you make your future. But in reality, we don't get to choose our futures. They are pre-set, carved into a metaphorical stone for all eternity. The endpoint and the key things that happen along the way can't be chosen and they don't happen at random. It doesn't matter what path you take in life, it's irrelevant. No matter what you do you can't escape the truth. You still hit those points and you still end up in the same place. All choices do is define how you go about hitting those points. It's a matter of coming from the left or the right, not going forward or back. And that's why people obsess with choices; they think if they do something different, change the path they take that it will make a difference, but it doesn't. People are persistent, that's just how people are, and I'm no different. Yeah, choices.

Walking down the street, I keep my eyes glued to the sidewalk. I don't need to see where I'm going. My feet know this route as if it's engraved into me. I know every crack and line of the sidewalk, every item in every storefront and who works there, by face at least. And it's not like I'm in danger, not on this side of town, not here. This is upscale, this is safe, this is where people live to get away from people like me. The worst that'll happen is someone bumps into me and asks for an autograph because they recognize me from then. they talk about how they used to watch the show or how their kids were fans and an autograph would make it a great day for them. and I simply walk past, I don't care what they think, I'm not her anymore. But even if I wasn't on this side, I still wouldn't be in too much trouble. I tend to have a reputation, and it's not exactly good. I wouldn't say people are afraid of me, but they tend to avoid me.

It's dark, probably after midnight. Not really sure anymore, I've been walking for hours now. Trying to clear my head and have this make sense. And it doesn't really matter since I don't have a watch and I barely ever carry my phone. I can barely pay the bill. Pathetic, I know but I don't really care. I don't have the desire to speak to anyone. After the state emancipated me, things changed... I changed. I saw what mattered most, and it hurt.

Life was pretty good for a while. Pam was trying to be my mom. Things were starting to look up. She was sober and she was there. For the first time in a long time, she didn't look at me with anger. But all good things come to an end sooner or later. And it wasn't really that good. Sure she tried, that was more than I could have asked for, but it wasn't enough. A few months of nice didn't make me forget a life of bad. Something was bound to set her off, something to make her rediscover alcohol and the joyous damage it brings. It had to happen, the balance of the universe. There can only be so many Puckett's with clear heads. And when she did fall, it was like watching a train wreck. Everybody tries to help but you know better so you just sit back and watch it happen. You sit and watch as car after car slides off the rails and tear into each other. Wrenching metal and screams.

After she was gone the state had no idea what to do with me. I refused foster care, had to fight for that. So, in the end, they tried to put me in the care of some relatives that weren't in prison, but they didn't want me so they cleared my record and shoved me in some crap apartment and gave me a shit job so I could scrape out a living. That's when things came undone, at least in noticeable ways. There were things before, things I should have seen. But I was blind to it, just like how I was before. I didn't have any free time to spend with Carly, and that ended the show, that's why she chose to end the show. She said it wouldn't be the same and without me, that there couldn't be a show. And when we ended the show, it was like I lost a grounding for my life. It got harder to keep things stable. Losing a routine, almost a habit, of your life can do that. And when things uprooted I made a mistake, not a choice. This was one of those key points I'm destined to hit. I fell in love.

Normally love can be dealt with. Kill it or ignore it for long enough and it goes away. At least, that's what I always thought. But not when you fall in love your best friend. Not when it's so bad it hurts. Not when they are there next to you so much, when they care so much. That you can't kill. Not when it's the only person who has ever given you the emotional support to get up in the morning, even when she didn't have to. Then you can't ignore it, it becomes a wedge. My love for her drove me away. I forced myself to stay away from her, trying to stop it, trying to kill it and go back to normal. But I couldn't do it, it was too much. It started small, doing the little things. I didn't speak to her as much, when I saw her I didn't get close. But it didn't help, it just kept hurting because I saw what I had become. Then I started to actively avoid her, to make excuses and walk away. It got worse and worse, playing with emotions I didn't know I even had. I can't begin to imagine how she feels, how I made her feel.

My feet slow down, which means I'm close. Looking up I'm greeted by an old sign and I stand a moment, staring at the Bushwell Plaza. I spent more time here than in my own home. No, this was home. Scorch marks still scar the area around her window and that just makes me stand in the dark for a few moments longer. God, Spencer shouldn't ever be allowed to touch wires. Or anything that deals with electronics.

I miss him, almost as much as I miss her. But he's one of those things that's just so close to her. Just another part of the problem, I guess. I can feel the emotions just swarming inside me as I start to become nervous, blood rushing and palms sweating. And on cue with the mood, it starts to rain. Seattle tends to do that, the city knows.

Rain hits me as I jog across the street holding my coat over my head. It's old and worn and does little to stop the rain as I reach the new fire escape they installed about a year ago. Yeah, it's due to Spence. Something to do with extra water heaters. I couldn't bring myself to find out why. It has been months since I was last here.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles as I climb my way to their floor, the only thing swimming through my head is doubt. It's like a giant cloud that's causing me to slow down my pace considerably. It's a weight sitting on my shoulders. I finally hit their floor and climb through the side window. They really should lock these things. I told them a million times that if I could get in, then someone else could too. But they would joke and say I was the worst thing that could ever show up. But they didn't know how true that was.

The window gives a small sound and I get in. It's exactly like it was. It even smells the same and all of a sudden that dark cloud has turned into a sea of despair where I have to struggle just to keep breathing. A struggle to drag my legs forward. I make my way through the loft, touching little things along the way. Pictures and little mementos showing their history, my history. All of it is painful. All of these memories, each just as painful as the last, even the good ones. It's almost overwhelming. I get to the edge of the stairs and that sea of despair is now a solid wall of dread. I can barely breathe and my vision fades, but still, I press on. I hit the top and find my way to her bedroom door. And I just find myself standing here, immobile. Contemplating how I got here.

It's actually rather simple. I hit a key event in my life and made a choice. it wasn't the best one, but I couldn't take it back. That choice that left me with two options. Just leave. Up and go and don't tell anyone. Maybe leave a note for them to find so they know I didn't blow my brains out. And the other is to tell her the truth. Tell her that I love her and that I hate what my life has become, and then tell her that I'm leaving. And I don't think I'm coming back.

Even though I'm at her fucking doorstep, it's not too late for option one. I could choose to leave and forget I came here. They would never know, but it wouldn't be fair. That's probably the better choice when it comes to my emotions. But what about her feelings, how has this all affected her? I've been avoiding her for months and she has no idea why. She might think it's her fault. But then the unexpected happens and the choice is made for me.

Her doorknob turns and it's one of those movie moments where something really dramatic happens and time slows down. At least that's how it feels. My breath catches in my throat and my heart pounds in my ears. This should be a completely enlightening and absolutely horrible experience.

The door opens the rest of the way and there she is, standing there in her pajamas. She's looking down at first but her eyes slowly make their way up me; the empty cup she had in her hand slips and a shocked expression is on her face as she takes a quick breath. I hear the glass hit the floor and her arms wrap around me. This isn't going to be easy, and I made it that way. I chose this.