Yay, my story! This is very different in feel... yet very similar to my other stories, so just please let me know what you think. Thanks to all the writers and reviewers that inspired me into getting this out. Enjoy.

"I heard your wrists got bruised,

Must've felt just like old times.

I wish you would've grabbed the gun

And shot me cause I died.

And I'm nothing now without you;

Yeah I'm less than nothing now."

Ryan Adams

She closed her eyes as she felt his fingers crawl across her body. Every touch was slower than the previous one, but it wasn't teasing her. She felt it vaguely, and knew it was the way it should be. So drawn out that it was nearly boring. He briefly touched his lips to her stomach, but pulled back almost immediately. It wasn't what they wanted to do. It didn't fit in with the rest of their sluggish deliberate movements.

Brooke took off her own shirt and let it fall behind his head, on the floor behind the chair. He dug his fingers farther into her back, liking how he saw the imprints of his fingers even after he let go. She dipped her head down to his chest and bunched the fabric she found there. His shirt caught underneath his arms as she fell down his body, finally settling herself between his legs on the floor.

He looked vacantly at her, pulling gently on her hair as he traced its path down her shoulders. She wouldn't feel guilty until later, but never guilty enough to turn him away when he was knocking on her door.

They didn't kiss much anymore. He'd kissed her a lot the first time. He had pushed her up against the wall, whispering to her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. He'd kissed her lips, sucking so hard on her mouth that she'd gotten a ring as if she'd just played into a mouthpiece. His eyes had been closed the whole time, but besides that, she'd swear that he did love her as much as he said.

She pulled his knees farther apart, her eyes locked on his as she dragged her hands up his thighs. He offered her some sort of smile and slouched further down in his chair. She felt as if she was knelt before a king who didn't have to order her around anymore. She was some sort of a slave that could anticipate whatever it was he needed.

As she thought on her knees, he reached down and unhooked his belt, slightly lifting his hips up, closer to her, as he pulled it out of his pants. His own girlfriend was all too willing to give him head, but it wasn't the same. It was forced and emotional. She always seemed to mean it.

Brooke tugged on his jeans, not even bothering to unbutton them, sliding them down his slim hips.

The first time she'd said something. She'd said a lot. Not that she didn't love hearing him gush about her, but she had something to say. She asked if he was sure; she'd said that she'd missed him. She didn't miss him anymore.

He closed his eyes softly when she took him into her mouth, his eyelashes fluttering more gently than he touched her anymore. He wasn't rough with her; he was just indifferent. It was what they did; it was expected. He knew she wouldn't turn him away, something that he'd never experienced when they were dating. There was always the chance that she'd be mad at him, or she'd be tired, or that she wanted to keep him guessing. They didn't have those kinds of problems anymore.

She finished him off, swallowing hard. She'd have that feeling in her throat for at least the next hour. He opened his eyes again and slid his ass back in the chair after pulling his pants back up. He reached out for her, and she willingly crawled into his lap. They could be friends again. She was still topless, and it would be a lie to say that he didn't notice. He pulled her down to him so that her forehead rested against his, her breath mixing with his in front of them. He looked dead ahead, holding her as they both came back to life.

Sometimes she wanted to shake him when they were together like this. When they would lie or sit together and not say a word so that their relationship could go back to normal. It seemed so sick and inhuman, and nothing like what she could've imagined when he used to tell her how he wanted to save her. Sometimes she wondered if he still did. She thought maybe if she could find the strength to shake him until he cried, she could rescue him first.

"I should probably get going; she's gonna call looking for me."

Brooke nodded, slipping off of his lap onto the chair. He looked at her when he stood up, still in her dark purple bra, her arms crossed beneath it.

"Hey."

She looked up at his voice, and he kissed her. He was cupping her cheek with his palm, trailing his finger along her jawbone until he flicked it off her chin along with his lips.

"What are you doing tomorrow? We could go out for a beer or something."

"Okay."

She had something to do, but she couldn't remember what it is. She'd blow it off anyway. They never drank when they were going to fuck; their fucking was never a mistake. They were real people in a bar, sometimes Peyton would join them and they would all laugh about the people they used to be.

"Okay. I'll see you around." He kissed her cheek and walked toward the door.

"Lucas?"

He turned around as soon as his hand touched the frame. "Yeah?"

I want to save you. I'm sorry. I think I still love you. Do you still think I'm beautiful? Why don't you dump her? Why don't you look at me when you cum? "Never mind." Brooke shook her head and smiled, pushing the thoughts out of her head. "Bye."

He raised his eyebrows with a boyish smile on his face and cocked his hand before closing the door behind him.