Disclaimer: I do not own Victorious, or the characters! ^_^
Chapter 1- A Note In The Locker
Today is a Thursday, so I smile and giggle with my friends, and pretend that life is amazing. Sometimes it actually is. Just not today. Today, my brother had to go back to treatment for the last month. Each time, he just come backs more scared than before. Sometimes, I don’t even think he’s there. That maybe they’d switched him with some crazy person, and my real brother was with some other family.
As I walk back to my locker, decorated with red glitter, and a yellow brick road painted in the middle, I giggle with Tori, and smile at Robbie. They think I don’t know anything, but I know a lot. I put in the combination for my locker, and jiggle the handle a little bit. It smells like vanilla when I open it, but along with the heavenly scent, a piece of paper flutters out. ”What is it, Cat?”, Tori asks, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and pressing her lips together like she always does when she’s concentrating. A smile and read the note. “It’s a letter! From Beck!”. As I exclaim this, Robbie’s face falls. He still smiles a little though and asks what it says. “He just wants me to meet in him the janitor’s closet at lunch!”. So that’s exactly what I do. Right after the 4th bell rings, signaling the end of class, and the start of lunch. A peer around to make sure nobody’s watching and slip inside. Beck is standing there, concern spread across his usual, smiley face. “I know about your brother.” My heart stops just like when the car crashed into my brother.
Lucas B. Valentine. 3 years older than me. Just as sweet and innocent. I can’t imagine him being seen by any of my friends. He’s almost creepy to the point where he seems insane, but he’s just shook out of place. “How do you know, Beck?” I ask, my voice trembling. “I saw him when I went to the treatment center to visit my grandpa.” is Beck’s reply. “But… h-how do you know it was him?” my hands are shaking. My brother doesn’t like strangers. He only trusts me and the nurses. “His name was written on the door.” Beck stares at me for a second, then raises his eyebrows. “Oh, God.” I start crying. “So, why’s he there? Does he have a drug problem or something?” Beck grabs my hands, and my instinct is to let go, but then I remember he and Jade aren’t together anymore. “No. He has post trauma syndrome, or something like that. He got hit by a car when he was 8. I saw it happen. He also has some brain damage in the memory storage part.” I lose my happy state, and Beck draws me in for a hug. “It’s sort of like Alzheimers with the memory thing, Beck. It’s scary sometimes.” I rest my head near Beck’s shoulder and cry for a minute. He looks at me different now. I don’t like it.
Warning: This fan fiction contains Cat-Centric content, and may frighten some Cat-sessed readers to hate Cat Valentine. Remember, this is mostly my headcanon, dears! ALSO. I don’t own Victorious or the characters! Kthxbai!
I smiled at my brother as he drew a picture of us with chalk in the driveway. I loved my brother. We did everything together. Except take baths, and relieve ourselves together. He walked backwards, leaning over into the street to write ‘Valentine’ in huge letters under the picture, when a car turned out of nowhere and slammed into him. My heart seemed to stop for an eternity, as the driver got out, just as shocked as I was. I felt the tears falling down my cheeks as a small sob escaped my throat. I ran inside to tell my mother, the driver called 911.
That was when I was 4. I am 16 now, and my brother is 19. He has post traumatic shock syndrome, and can’t seem to screw his head on straight. He freaks out at the slightest sound of a tire screeching, and seems to relive the accident every night. It scares me to death. I miss my old brother. The one who always let me try to ride his bike, even though it was taller than my tiny self, the one who would let me slip the broccoli onto his plate. Now all I have is the manic, paranoid version of my brother, who is plagued with confusion. This is why I’m always happy. No, not because I enjoy his pain, but to mask my own pain. So this is why I hide behind my velvet curtains. This is why it always hurts.
(A/N: I know there are other stories like this, but I never write sad stories, and I really wanted to!)