Notes: Thanks to St.Jade and psawyers for the information and help. This is my first OTH fic so be gently with me, okay? Songs by Janis Joplin, B.R.M.C and Hell is for Heroes. Let me know what you think. Sorry for all the mistakes but English is not my native language…so if anyone is willing for some beta work, send me an email.
Curls grow
Rhamiel
Sit there, hmm, count your fingers.
What else, what else is there to do ?
There's it was that stupid song again. She could remember her mother singing it to her when she was just a small, happy, child. So full of life and joy, nothing like the drama queen she was now.
She lost the ability of thinking coherent long ago. Her thoughts were flashes of images. Her mother, a red light turning into Lucas red shirt. An ocean of blood and Brooke standing at the edge of a cliff, waving her goodbye. She was not going anywhere as far as she knew and she wanted to scream at Brooke but her lips were a giant zipper, closed to eternity.
Oh and I know how you feel
I know you feel that you're through.
Much, much later, Haley came to where Brooke was and she sang a song for her.
Ah, count your little fingers,
My unhappy oh little girl, little girl blue, yeah.
But it wasn't Haley's voice, it was Janis Joplin's one. God, she hated that song. Why she couldn't pull the song out of her head? Over and over again, it drives her crazy.
Maybe she was crazy.
Maybe she was not.
Who could tell?
Was she alone here? She couldn't see or hear anything but she hoped that someone could be there with her. She just needed someone to be there with her.
Even if that someone was a fucked up bastard.
She found her consciousness hours later. She remembered what had happen and where she was. The song wasn't in her mind but a fear was. Fear of what had happen to her. She tried to move but her whole body ached. She tried again but she was tied up. She tried to move all her body and not part of it but she gave up soon after. The pain was too much to handle and she felt drifting off of consciousness once more.
Her throat was sore and she was so damn thirsty, she could drink the whole ocean if she could. She couldn't feel much of her mouth. It felled as if it was someone else mouth and not hers. The first hours, she could taste the plastic in her mouth but now her sense of taste was numb.
It was possible for a person to lose the sense of taste? If that thing were out of her mouth, it would be possible for her to taste? Or she had lost that ability for ever? She could feel the water in her mouth or not?
Cold water.
Clean water.
Lot of water.
So damn thirsty.
She waked up from the nausea. She tried to fight it and she did, for a while. The feeling grown bigger and she knew that if she let herself she would die from chocking.
Calm thoughts, happy thoughts.
Her first kit of markers.
She was four and she liked to paint her bedrooms walls. Her mother had come, angry as hell, ready to give her a good spank in the ass, only to stop and admired what her four-year old daughter had done.
They never stopped her from painting again.
Her first trip to the Modern Art museum.
The first time she saw Ramones at MTV.
The first time she heard The Clash.
Her first CD.
Calm thoughts, happy thoughts.
Tie the knot
Hang to dry
Pull the plug
"Honey, mommy is not coming back, okay? I need you to be strong for me, can you do that? I need you as much as you need me. We are together in this," her father had said after her mother's funeral.
They went to the supermarket a week later to shop. She had never seen her father so lost. He didn't know what to take so she did. She was a small child, carrying milk and detergent. Just a kid, just the perfect little lady.
"So Peyt, tomorrow is your birthday," her dad said with a smile.
"Uh huh," eleven year old Peyton was too cool to feel excited about anything.
"So, what do you want?" her dad asked and helped her daughter with the dishes.
"A CD," she gave him another dish to put it in the sink.
"A CD?" he sounded confused. "What kind of present is a CD?"
"The one I want," she heard her dad leave a sigh and smiled.
"Okay, if that's what you want," he didn't sound angry and she thought that maybe he had to be angry with her. After all that what a parent should do but not her dad.
Not after her mother died.
"Which one do you want?" he asked her.
"Um," she never thought of that before, "can we go and buy one together?"
"Yes, but I'm not buying you a Backstreet Boys CD, okay?"
She stopped feeling her hands and that was a good thing. She remembered the sound her wrist did when it broke. She didn't felt the pain at first, only a burn. The sound was enough to make her want to vomit but a pair of strong hands grabbed her. A low, hard voice asked her to be quiet or else…
She did as the voice asked.
She stayed quiet while they vandalize her room.
She stayed quiet while they made fun of her music.
She stayed quiet while they cut her curls.
She didn't stayed quiet when they tried to burn her sketches.
That was when she started to fight back.
That was when the real pain came.
That was when she started to hope for someone to come.
But no one came. For her.
No one came.
For her.
Red eyes and tears no more for you my love I fear
Red eyes and tears no more for you my love I fear
A person can survive ten days without food. A person can survive three days without water. Then the body shuts down. No miracles for that one. Not a cancer to bit with modern medicine, not a broken hurt to heal with a new love.
No water, no life.
Simple as that.
And that thought made her happy.
No water, no life, no pain.
Simple as that.
"Let me ask you something: if I have a heart attack, do you die too!"
"That's… that's really sweet."
Someone would be extremely happy now.
Dying was…almost nice.
She had thought of death before. She had thought of death a lot of times before. Sleepless nights in her room, when her dad was away. She had thought of dead and she had liked the idea. Dead meant that she would stop missing her mom so much.
She had smile with that thought. Maybe at the end of the tunnel her mother was waiting for her, young and beautiful as the last time she remembered her. Not in the hospital's bed with all those doctors and nurses around her.
No one had come to take her away from there, so she watched her mother dying. It was almost strange, the fact that she knew that her mother wasn't coming back despite the doctor's efforts.
'Sometimes people have to leave' her dad had said to her when Peyton asked him why her mother had to die.
People always leave.
She watched too many of them leaving.
It wasn't a line. It was a fact.
People always leave.
She was ready to leave.
She was ready to die.
Cause dying meant seeing her mother.
And that was the one thought that gave her strength to keep going.
Just…not anymore.
TBC…