Story: Peyton and Brooke's friendship shattered six months ago, along with Brooke's heart and her relationship with Lucas. While Peyton intoxicates herself to forget the void, Brooke attempts to fill it with unemotional sex. Breyton. Warning: Femslash - if you don't like it, don't read it.

I never signed up for this. What time is it anyway? Brooke crooked her neck uncomfortably from her position on the hard dorm room bed. Two a.m.! And he still wants to cuddle? Re-freaking-diculous.

The brunette rolled her eyes. Okay, enough was enough. Clenching her teeth, she slowly reached for the boy's arm that was secured to her stomach. He let out a grunt in his sleep and pulled her tighter.

"Oh come on!" she exclaimed. That did it.

The boy… whose name had escaped her… leapt off of her at an impressive speed.

Brooke let out a sigh of relief and immediately took advantage of his disoriented state to scamper off the single bed. Her clothes were strewn about the floor, along with what appeared to be the boy's entire wardrobe.

"What's going on?" the boy murmured. "What're you doing?"

How are you even in college?

"Um, leaving?"

Just because the boy was dumb didn't mean that he deserved her sarcasm. But Brooke's patience was limited when it came to this newly developed… hobby. She did this to distract herself. She did it to train her heart – make it unbreakable. When they lay there like that, with her, that's when she could feel her world start to fall apart again.

In the dark, alone save for her nameless, fast-asleep novelty item, Brooke could think. She'd remember when she was happy. She'd remember Peyton's betrayal. Then, she'd remember how it felt – standing in Peyton's room and calling her best friend and her boyfriend on their affair, vowing to end her relationship with both, but knowing that her life would be empty without them.

Although, if she was entirely truthful with herself, only one was truly indispensable.

The boy was more aware now. "What's your damage, anyway?"

Brooke forcefully pulled up her low-rise jeans. A cynical laugh escaped her lips and she shook her head. "You got all night?" She whipped her head in his direction, "That was, like, rhetorical or whatever."

Five minutes later, Brooke was walking through the front door of the dormitory. What happened in there was a rare occurrence. The boys were usually happy to let her go, no name, phone number or address needed. I wonder if there's a way to detect that beforehand.

--

Brooke crashed down onto her bed. She was exhausted, but could sense that there would be no sleeping tonight. Peeking over the edge of her silk sheets, Brooke's attention caught onto her laptop. She guiltily picked it up. She couldn't stop herself. For some reason, despite the pain it caused, she had to do this every night. Hello, masochism.

On her desktop, she clicked on the shortcut that took her straight to a place of calmness – Peyton's bedroom. Brooke had an addiction to her ex-best friend's podcast… an addiction, it seemed, shared with 20,000 other people around the globe. Her ex-best friend's cult following would put that lonely whiny girl in the mountains to shame. The following had grown slowly since the explosion in that bedroom six months ago.

While the picture loaded, Brooke found herself holding her breath. She reminded herself about the necessity of oxygen.

There, on her screen, was the blonde that was core of her life for so long. She had held everything together. Peyton had the same insomnia problem that she did.

Looking at Peyton, straight into those green eyes that seemed to pierce right into you from the screen, it was torture. Brooke brought her fingers up to the screen, touching the blonde's lips, her hair, then dropping her hand as though it'd been burned.

From the screen, Peyton seemed to mouth, "I'm sorry."

Okay, exhaustion has caused hallucinations. C'mon Brooke Davis, sleep like a normal human being.

--

The halls were empty by the time Peyton got to school. It was pretty typical. She had one more thing on her plate every morning that most kids didn't have to worry about. Most teenage girls got up, grabbed a bowl of cheerios, brushed their teeth, spent between five and thirty minutes deciding what to wear, fixed their hair and makeup and headed out to class. Peyton did all that, and then spent ten minutes in the parking lot with her new best friend, Jack Daniels. To her, that time in her car was more essential to preparing for the day than any other morning ritual.

She looked up at the clock. 9:43. The hands were a bit blurry, but she was sober enough that there were only two of them. Crap, she thought.

The blonde strode to her first period English literature class and pushed open the door.

"Peyton Sawyer," sighed Mr. Reeves. "Glad you could fit us into your schedule this morning."

She walked straight to the back of the room and smirked at her teacher's comment. "Glad? Then I haven't been trying hard enough," she spat out, before slumping into her plastic chair.

Instead of giving her full attention to Mr. Reeves now that she was in class like a good student, Peyton took out her notebook and began to draw furiously. Her face no more than a few inches from the page, she blocked out the rest of the world and dove headlong into her creative outlet.

From the other end of the room, Brooke disregarded Mr. Reeve's lecture as well. She watched as Peyton's eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Even while in her own head, Peyton looked angry. Even doing the things she loved, Peyton was cold. During realisations like these, Brooke had to remind herself why she wasn't there to comfort her old friend. Going back would be weak, she told herself. Peyton brought this on herself. She betrayed me, not the other way around. I deserve to be happy. Granted, I was always happiest when she was with me… but that's not the point! I deserve to be happy on my own, or with people who are, like, not of the back-stabbing bitch variety. Yeah! Why can't I do that?

At that moment, Peyton looked up, as if sensing her stare. When their eyes connected, Peyton's entire being seemed to soften. Her muscles became less tense, and her eyes conveyed hope rather than frustration.

Apparently Peyton was still in her own world though. "Brooke," she said. The word was barely above a whisper, but it shot through the classroom like a bullet.

Brooke's eyes widened and she immediately averted her gaze.

Mr. Reeves adjusted his stance and turned back to the girl that may or may not have been the reason he decided to retire next year. "Miss Sawyer. Do you have something to say?"

"Actually I do," she answered. Somewhere deep inside her, sober Peyton was scolding her to stop. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brooke hit her forehead down on the surface of her desk. She thought she heard her friend – her ex-friend – curse.

Mr. Reeves huffed and looked at the caged clock above his door. "Okay, we've only got three minutes left. Let's hear it," he said.

Peyton stood up, and in doing so, knocked her sketching pencils and pad right off the desk. She didn't seem to notice. The look Brooke had given her lingered in her mind. It said more to her than anything that had actually come from Brooke's mouth within the last six months.

For six months, she watched her friend act as though nothing had happened – around everyone but her and Lucas. Brooke smiled and giggled with the cheer squad throughout lunch period and flirted with the basketball team during practise after school. Her wardrobe was never outdated and she bragged to her friends about her latest purchases. She kept dating – albeit, Peyton had never seen her go out with any guy for more than a week. This must be the Brooke that everyone else used to see from far while I got the backstage pass.

In that look, Peyton could see past the shell of her former best friend.

"I just wanted to say to Brooke that-," Peyton gulped and re-balanced herself as she started to sway. "I wanted to say that I never wanted him. But I couldn't tell her that, then. He was just… there, y'know, he was there. And I was, well, scared." The blonde nodded solemnly, turning her gaze to Brooke. A hint of a smile appeared on her face. "And I hope that, one day, she'll let me tell her why. I mean, she might have to pound it from me… but I'm sure she'll have no problem with that."

With that, Peyton let out an over-exaggerated sigh and picked her discarded bag and sketchpad up from the tiled floor. "Thanks Mr. Reeves. See you tomorrow," she said, heading for the door and stalling just inside the threshold. "Well, if you're lucky," she added over her shoulder.

Brooke peeked out over the edge of her desk as Mr. Reeves dismissed the rest of the class. She felt the heat creep up into her cheeks during Peyton's little monologue. She knew that she was an extremely unattractive shade of red right now.

Once most of the students had cleared out, she stomped over to her teacher.

"Why did you let her do that?" she whined to him.

Mr. Reeves took a step to the chalkboard and started to erase the white words.

"Well, Miss Davis, it seemed the two of you wouldn't be able to pay attention to all of the intelligent things I had to say until your own conversation had been finished," he said.

Brooke's mouth dropped open, not realising that he had seen her source of distraction. "But I didn't say anything!"

"No, but you spent a good fifteen minutes of valuable class time making eyes at our very own class-destruction vessel," he said.

Brooke grunted. "I was so not 'making eyes,'" she asserted, making air quotes. "I was just, like, monitoring her to make sure that she wouldn't distract your class again. It was her fault!"

"While your concern for my class is touching, Miss Davis, what's done is done. I hope you got enough out of your girl's speech that you can pay more attention to me and less attention to my counterpart next class." Mr. Reeves raised an eyebrow at his student, and picked up his briefcase before leaving the classroom.

Meanwhile, Brooke struggled with her words. Her mouth was open in protest, but for once in her life, her protest was silent. Finally, she came up with, "But – she's not my girl."

--

Thanks for reading, guys!

This was my first Breyton story… I haven't written fanfic in years, and just got a random craving to start, so I figured here was a good place to do so 

I love feedback, P.S.