Disclaimer: Peyton's not mine. Though, sometimes I wish she were because she's not always portrayed in the best light. Anyway, I'm not stealing her, just borrowing for the moment.
Notes: I haven't written in a long time. This is my first piece in several months, so be gentle with the criticism. But because I haven't written in forever feedback and comments of any kind would be much appreciated.
Summary: One-Shot. Takes place the day after the season three finale.Peyton stand alone fice. Inspiration and title from P!nk's song, "I'm Not Dead" and all my inspiration these days are coming from Thirty Seconds to Mars.
I'm Not Dead
Peyton sat silently as the tall, dark headed man, who'd introduced himself as Ray, prepared the table in front of her. She wasn't sure what had made her walk in that door today or why she had thought this would be the answer to all her problems. She considered it before. A million times, actually. The repetitive drawings in her sketchbook were proof of that, but she'd never gone through with it. She'd never even walked by this building with any intention of actually walking inside. She had shelved the idea, along with so many others that had crept their way into her mind. But this morning when she had woken up, there was an urge inside of her, an urge that she was just too damn tired to fight any longer. She was tired of fighting, period.
Her life had become nothing but a series of struggles, and battles – sometimes even wars. The enemy was usually different, though some kept coming back for more.Each time they wouldtake a little piece of her away. Or maybe she gave it to them. Shewas startingto think that maybe she was the one begging for the fight. Begging for anything thatwould take away her perpetual feelings of sadness.
She felt that. Peyton had drifted into her own world again and hadn't noticed the burly man in front of her had completed his task. She hadn't notice his gloved hand graze her pale and fragile skin as he pulled herjeans down just a little bit lower on her hips. The buzzing sound of the needle gun still rang as silence in her ears. It wasn't until the sharp point, of what felt like a million needles, embedded itself into her skin that she realized he had started. For a moment she watched the black ink sink deep into her light covering. His hand was steady. His line so unbelievably straight as he permanently marked her body with her own artwork. She smiled for a short moment. Her work was finally seeing a canvas -- a permanent one. It was only fitting that it be one she alone could grant permission to. But just like the rest of her smiles, this one faded, as the events of the previous day began replaying themselves in her mind.
----FLASHBACK----
"Peyton." It was the soft voice of the fair-headed, blue-eyed boy that drifted through her silent room. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. He didn't seem to mind. He had his own agenda. "Brooke's gone. She wrote this letter." He laid it on the bed next to her. "She didn't say where she was going or when she'd be back. She didn't tell my why she left. All she said was to ask you. She said you had the answers to all my questions."
A painful tear fell down Peyton's cheek as she read the sloppy scribble of her best friend before rolling over to look him in the eyes. "I don't have any answers, Lucas. I don't even know the questions anymore." Peyton rolled away just before his confused squint appeared.
"Peyton, are you okay?" Her heart fluttered and her head screamed. They were always in conflict over him. She'd let him in. Now she was realizing the mistake that had been. She'd forgotten about change. A fact that had shaped her life into what it was now. She'd convinced herself they would stay the same and the moment she had done that, she sold herself a lie. She wouldn't do it any longer and she wouldn't let him believe everything was okay. She wasn't worried about him now.
"I'm not okay, Lucas. I haven't been okay for a long time. But there's nothing you can do to change that and I'm sick of both of use pretending that you can. The only thing you can do for me right now, is leave."
"But Peyton…"
"Damn it, Lucas! Don't you ever just listen? Stop trying to figure me out. Stop trying to fix me and save me and everything else. Some things are meant to be broken and some people you are meant to lose."
"Why are you talking like this?"
"I'm trying to be honest. I'm tired of clinging onto some stupid fantasy. I'm tired of trying to force relationships and happiness. It doesn't work, Luke. It only makes it worse. So, please, just leave me to figure myself out. And don't call my dad or Brooke or Haley or anyone, to "fix" me. I don't need to be fixed. I need to be left alone." She hadn't realized she was screaming at him and it wasn't until she heard the front door close behind him, that she realized she'd been holding her breath as well.
----END FLASHBACK----
"Outline's done." Ray's voice breaking into her thoughts.
"Huh?"
"I said the outline is done."
"Oh, okay."
"Do you feel alright? Too much pain?" He was more compassionate than she imagined.
"I'm fine. Just floating." Peyton sighed and closed her eyes. She didn't see the confused look wash over his face. He didn't say anything, though. He just turned his needle back to her skin.
----FLASHBACK----
Voicemail. Again. She'd dialed her best friend's number literally a thousand times in the past three hours. Praying she'd get the person she was calling, rather than Brooke's angry voice and message that had been dedicated strictly to her. Brooke definitely wasn't playing around.
Peyton dialed the number again. Again angry voicemail. This time, she waited for the lonely beep and then she began.
I guess it's safe to say you're avoiding me and you really meant it when you said our friendship was over. So, you said your piece and now I'm saying mine. I never meant to hurt you, Brooke. Not the first time and certainly not this time. I don't even know why I told you. I guess I just didn't want what happened last time to happen again. But it seems it has and there's nothing I can do to erase that. I love you, Brooke. You are my best friend and the only constant in my life. You're the only person I want to be there. When I see my life in twenty years, it's filled with people I don't know -- except for you. I'd choose you over anyone.
I know I've made mistakes. We both have – with Lucas and with each other. We've both been selfish and our friendship is the only thing that suffered. We took advantage of the fact that the other would always be there. And now, we've lost that. I don't want to fight with you or live my life without you, but I'm not going to keep begging for your forgiveness and understanding. So, for the last time, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. There's nothing left for me to say. The ball is in your court. I won't call you anymore and I won't try to find you. You know where I'm at. I love you.
----END FLASHBACK----
"Are you sure you want these flames," Ray asked, bringing Peyton back to the present. "You said earlier you weren't sure about them. If you're still not, you can always come back and add them, but once…"
Peyton cut him off. "Add them. It's time to set myself on fire."
He simply nodded as she shut her eyes.
----FLASHBACK----
Peyton stared at the blinking cursor on the screen. Jake's email address sat in the "To" box. The rest of it was blank. She'd thought of a million ways to word this, but all of them seemed too much – too emotional, too weak, too full of excuses. There was really only one thing she had left to say to him, so she said it. Plain and simple. Eight letters in the subject line and she was done. GOODBYE.
----END FLASHBACK----
"Why don't you have a look," Ray said as he wiped the last bit of messy ink from her hip.
Peyton walked across the room to the full-length mirror. Her eyes lowered themselves to where her fingers were tracing the most perfect pattern on her skin. She smiled -- a secret smile -- as she traced the phoenix outline on her skin again. She'd been hurt and wounded. She traced the orange flame that had been etched onto her hip. She died – at least a part of her had – or several parts if she really thought about it. Finally, she could accept that.
She no longer needed perfection. Peyton needed life. And like the phoenix, she could create that for herself. Let others tear her down. "I'll tear myself down," she thought, "but I'll build myself back up." She took one last look in the mirror before paying her debt and extending her thanks. "I'm not dead," Peyton whispered to herself as she walked back into the world, this time on her terms.