The World's Not Waiting
For Five Tired Boys In A Broken Down Van
Series: One Tree Hill
Author: Ericka
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Just for entertainment purposes, nothing belongs to me.
Summary: How do you get a Fall Out Boy to your door?
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FALL OUT BOY TOUR BUS
ON THE ROAD
"This is the way they'd love if they knew how misery loved me."
His hands flowed over the bass, his fingers strumming each note over every fret; his mind was on the music, always on the music. And a girl. It's not hard to explain. There's always inspiration behind any creation. You sing what you know, and he knew heartache well. Things were so different now, he had connected to the crowd, his fame was growing, the music was reaching someone, he wasn't alone but his heart ached for something more. There was a girl. There was always a girl.
The band was on tour now, one of the first, since the sudden boom of popularity, and rise in airtime on MTV and popular radio stations. Excitement electrified the air, just like their music. It had to start somewhere. The "Friends with Benefits" concert was a hit. In the small town of Tree Hill, North Carolina this one benefit alone raised over twenty thousand dollars for the Breast Cancer Foundation, all because of one seventeen year old girl. He didn't know anyone in his high school days who was capable of something like that. Granted, he spent more time rocking out in a garage than in class, but that didn't change the intensity behind it. The CD was set to be released in March, and all the proceeds would go directly to the cause. Never in his life had he ever been apart of something so huge (other than the music itself) until she came banging down their door.
He thought of her everyday since he'd laid eyes on her. A small blonde, standing at the edge of the stage as they were rushing on, not screaming, not excited, but glowing with pride, this was her baby. She was a part of the music, he could tell. She was a part of the bigger picture. He could understand. And maybe they could understand each other. It was something he was missing; even the music couldn't fill that void. He needed that something else. He wanted it. He wanted her.
Peyton Sawyer.
"…Sawyer, was the only reported casualty at the Tree Hill High School Shooting. Two are feared dead, their names have yet to be released. There will be more news of this pending tragedy at eleven o'clock tonight."
The name had caught his ear. The six o'clock news had just finished on the radio.
Did he just say Sawyer?
Had there been a shooting at Tree Hill High School?
The same Tree Hill he had been in weeks before?
What were the chances this "casualty" was her?
How many Sawyer's could there be?
The shock of the possibilities almost made him drop his guitar.
What happened in Tree Hill?
And if it was Peyton, how bad was she hurt?
His mind raced. He couldn't get a grip on this.
What happened?
Turning the radio up now was pointless. He couldn't get to a television. No one would understand if he just asked them to stop the bus. He forgot where they were heading. Nevada? Arizona? It was somewhere out west. He couldn't just turn them around. There was a show. There were always more shows. But the girl. The girl was hurt. Peyton was hurt. His gut told him his fear was true, even if he didn't know it for sure yet. He had to know. He had to find out somehow. This wasn't right.
How could something like this happen?
The news had shaken him. Once the bus stopped for gas he bolted into the gas station's sleazy bathroom. His cell phone shook a little in his hands. He didn't have her number; he didn't know who he thought he would call. He dialed the first number that came to mind.
"Information, what city?" the lady's voice was cold. Doesn't she know this is an emergency? Doesn't she know who he is? Of course not.
"Tree Hill, North Carolina. Please hurry!" he couldn't shake the emotion from his voice. He didn't mean to sound rude, but this was so important. He needed to know. He needed to know that she was okay. She had to be okay.
"The name?" For a moment he didn't know what to say. Should he ask for Peyton Sawyer? Should he ask for the nearest hospital? What should he do? He had to find her, his hands were clammy, he said the first name that came out of his mouth.
"Tric Night Club," the name just rolled off his tongue. The club was their direct connection. Someone there would know. Someone had to know.
"Hold please," a click followed. A second later it clicked back on. "Would you like me to connect you?"
"Yes, please!" he didn't have to think about it. The line started to ring. A sickly feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. Three rings, no answer. It was almost eight o'clock. Most clubs were open at six or seven. Someone had to be there. Three more rings, still no answer. No one was there. "Damn it!"
He took a deep breath and hung up the phone. A force of habit made him wash his hands before exiting the crummy bathroom. He ran his hands through his hair, little beads of sweat formed at the top of his forehead. He'd lost his appetite. He practically stormed out of the mini mart, and got back on the bus without a word to anyone.
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Everything was in a haze. The school, the ambulance, the hospital, where was she now? She wasn't sure. She felt light headed; she couldn't feel her body, but everything around her felt heavy. It was like life slowed down, but she couldn't grab onto a single thought in her head. What happened? Was she just dreamed? Had she really been shot?
Her.
Shot.
Jimmy.
Shot.
Jimmy.
Shot.
Her.
She couldn't feel it anymore, that burning sensation in her leg; she swore it was just glass. Then again, she didn't feel much of anything right now. Just that heavy thick haze laying over her. Just like a bad dream. It started to lift. She wasn't dreaming. Her breathing was slow as she opened her eyes, still calm, still confused. There was a stead beep, a sterile smell, and a dull tan color on the walls. Nothing was quite so clear, but she knew one thing. This was a hospital. She was in the hospital. Everything was real.
"Peyton? Peyton, can you hear me?" She recognized the voice, but she couldn't see a face. She was too stiff to move. Her mouth was dry, she couldn't answer. She tried to focus her eyes. It was almost useless. She was too drugged to function normally. She moaned in a daze as her answer. She desperately wanted to feel clarity and understand the situation. Just what the hell had happened? Detail-wise? Was this all a dream?
No, she knew it wasn't. Her mind just wandered back to that every time. None of this made sense. She had been shot. Jimmy Edwards had shot her. Lucas Scott had saved her. She couldn't remember the details. The drugs made everything fuzzy, even the itching in her legs. How could this be real? How could this have happened? Things like this didn't just happen, not in Tree Hill, not to her. How could this have happened?
"How di -," her words choked back in her dry throat. They weren't coming out.
"It's okay Peyton. You're okay," the words were there but the reassurance wasn't. She didn't feel like she was dying, she wasn't worried about that. Then again, she didn't feel like she was shot either. She didn't know the rules about how that worked. At the moment, she didn't know anything anymore. It just felt so unreal. How could something like this happen?
Jimmy.
She didn't know him, not really anyway. She knew of him, that's how it was in high school, but she had her own group of friends, her own life. She didn't know him.
What happened Jimmy?
She couldn't understand what would make someone bring a gun to school. She couldn't understand why he would fire in an open crowd? Did he mean to shoot her? Was he aiming at her? Or did she just have the worst luck in all the world? And what about the others? What about Brooke, and Nathan, and Haley, and Mouth, and Lucas? What happened to Lucas? He saved her, he must of. He was the last thing she remembered.
I love you.
Is that what Jimmy needed? Someone to love him, someone to save him, someone to tell him it was okay. She couldn't believe someone could do something like this on purpose. It had to of been an accident. She didn't know him, why would he shoot her? Part of her was hoping he was okay too.
I'm so tired.
She was drained. She hadn't said anything. She barely opened her eyes, but she was exhausted. This was a hospital, she must've been medicated. She could barely move, but she was too tried to try anymore. She was too tired to move, to think, to feel. She prayed everyone was okay. She prayed everything would be okay. Peyton rarely prayed, but tonight she was on her knees (figuratively).
I'm so tired.
With tired eyes, tired minds, tired souls, we slept.