He feels her eyes burning on his skin, but he resists the temptation to turn around. Even in this crowded, noisy room, she's the only one he feels. She's the only one he sees. He feels her eyes look him up and down and knows what she's thinking: Who is this boy?
He knows she's scowling to herself on how much he's changed in so little time. He gulps hard, still resisting the urge to walk up to her and make it all okay. He smiles weakly at the blonde girl before him and grabs her hand to distract himself. He knows she sees from the corner of her eye, but he continues to ignore the sharp stares.
He turns around as he feels her eyes drift elsewhere. Her brown hair tangles in itself, a mess of chocolatey curls surrounding her dimpled face, as she heads for the closest exit. He knows what comes next: he's been through her hurt before. Running away, locking herself in her room, radio loud enough to drown out the tears that run down her face. He sighs and grips her hand tighter, as if faking love for her more will compensate for the heart that will leave this crowded room in pieces, even after all this time.
He turns around a final time to see her about to clear through the door. She freezes in the doorway and looks behind her in one last attempt to capture a mental picture of him. The boy she used to know, this boy who had turned her world upside down. Where had it all gone wrong?
He locks eyes with her and she feels the tingling in her stomach that had become way too familiar to her. The burning sensation of what could've been, what should've been. She feels her walls become full-fledged, the cracks in her heart burning. He smiles sympathetically, his lips slightly parted, about to form words that get caught in his throat and burn like a hot drink. Words he should've said. Words that he cannot force past his lips. Words to make this all ok. She smiles weakly, a smile filled with hurt and heartbreak. A smile with no understanding, just questions left unanswered.
He sees right through her mask and know its all his fault.
I hope your happy, she thinks to herself as she spins gracefully and makes her way out the door. He feels himself move foward as a reaction to stop her, but is tugged back by the new girl by his side. He looks down at her and wonders if this was the right choice.
It occurs to him that he'll never feel complete without her in his life.
She walks at a fast pace across the lawn. Her heels sink into the damp ground and she pauses for a moment to take them off. She finds herself barefoot, each stalk of grass caressing her foot, the cool dew sending shivers up her spine. She finds herself running now, faster and faster, her shoes clicking in her hand. Click. Click. Click. Her keys rattle in her bag and she sees something white fall out of her purse. But she doesn't have time to pick it up. She must keep running.
He kisses the hand of the blonde girl and promises to be back. She nods, unsure of what has him so distracted tonight. She watches as he rushes away, passing through swarms of people fiercely, and walking out the door as fast as he can.
He gets outside and looks around for her. She's sitting in the middle of the street down the block on her knees, bent over so her face is placed into her palms. Her back heaves up and down slowly, ocassionally jolting a quick hiccup.
He runs over to her and she looks up at the pattering of feet down the cold street. She sees him and isn't sure whether she should run away or just stand still. She contemplates for a moment before deciding she's too frail to move. Tears consume her face and she's hardly distinguishable under the streaks of mascara that coat her pretty face. Her shirt is scrunched up revealing a strip of tan skin on her stomach. Her jeans are torn at the bottoms and wet from the grass, showing slight traces of mud as well.
Somehow she still is beautiful to him.
"You know, if you gave me a blank piece of paper, I could draw your tattoo perfectly without even seeing it. After all this time," he thinks aloud. She looks into is cloudy blue eyes for an answer. Her face is expressionless.
"Doesn't matter now," she says plainly.
He lowers himself down next to her unsure of where to go from here. He wants to tell her he fucked up, he wants to tell her that she's a nightmare, but he can't get the words out. They get caught in his throat, bubbling at his lips. It's not fair to her. Breaking her heart twice was two times too many as it is.
"It means spring."
"I'm fully aware, Lucas. Now, is there a reason you're here or can you leave me here alone?"
"This isn't how it's supposed to be."
"It was your choice," she spat angrily. And she was right. He had chosen to let her walk out of his room the night that she had broken up with him for no real reason. She just walked away leaving him wondering. He hadn't chased after her, yet here he was, four months later, chasing after her when they weren't even together.
"You're right."
She looked at him, still remaining silent. "I regret it. I regret it everyday."
Silence.
"I should've went after you," he shrugged. "You were always it for me, and I know I was the one for you too. We still probably are, but I fucked up. Badly."
"You're a fucking joke Lucas, do you know that? You are the reason my heart has been broken not once, but twice in the past year and a half. It is your fault."
He let the words hit him, each one striking him like a bullet. Her face contorted in rage and he didn't know what to say next. He looked her up and down noticing the small black ink peeking from her waistband.
"You never needed me. You don't need anyone for that matter. Peyton did. She's always broken and always hurting. You could live without me if you wanted," he breathed finally realizing why he was with Peyton. Guilt. He felt bad for her.
How wrong he was. She didn't need anyone... except for him. He had been her backbone, even at their worst. He had pushed her forward. He had been the reason she had changed for the better. It was all him, it would always be him. She sat there in silence pulling her knees to her chest tightly, looking for some kind of security. Never did she imagine herself needing security around the boy who had once made her feel so safe.
"It's on that flat part of your hip that lands just underneath your pantyline. It covers that tiny birth mark you have that's slightly lighter than the rest of your skin. Right above it, there's a small beauty mark."
A raindrop landed on the bridge of her nose. God, she used to love the rain until it rained the night she had broken up for Lucas and he didn't fight for her. Rain had meant so much to her until that moment. It had been the worst thunderstorm in Tree Hill history when Lucas told her it was her, not Peyton, he wanted. It had been raining the first time they had made love in the back of his old car. It had begun raining outside as they curled up in her bed and she had traced small circles on Lucas's stomach for hours. She looked at him and saw him smile as a small drop fell onto his cheek.
It began raining harder second by second, but Brooke nor Lucas flinched. He watched her, waiting to see what she'd do, but she just remained still, her face pointed to the sky. He watched her as she thought, her face relaxed yet serious. The rain splashed onto her face causing her mascara to run more. He watched as it dripped down her cheeks to her ears, flecks of water richocheting off her face glimmering in the street lights. He felt his hair matte to his head and shook it quickly watching little water droplets go in all directions. Her hair was curling at the sight of moisture and small sections separated themselves, spreading all over her bare shoulders. The rain ran down her arms to her fingertips and he saw tiny goosebumps form on her creamy skin.
"It means spring. But it also means spring rain," she said softly, not taking her eyes off the inky black sky.