Author: Mollie
Title: We Were Good Once
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, and it's unfortunate, lol.
Rating: T
Summary: Starts with the scene where Peyton and Nathan broke up, and then continues to show their past, when they worked, and sometimes when they didn't, as Nathan tries to deal with the loss.
"Thank you for being such a grade A ass, Nathan," Peyton yelled at me,"It's making this really easy."
Or at least that's what I thought she said. I wasn't quite sure. I lost track of her actual words the second I took in how angry she was. She got pissed at me, we argued, but she'd never been this mad. And it scared me.
"What are you talking about?" I said, my attitude getting the better of me and killing the desperate tone before it even left my lips.
"Are you breaking up with me?" the tone again incredulous, as if it were an impossibility for her to want to leave me. I knew it wasn't an impossibility. I knew it was reality. I knew she had every right to leave. I shouldn't have expected her to stay. I didn't. But the incredulous tone was truly because she had to know how broken I'd be without her. If she thought I was heartless now, I'd be down right cruel without her. She was my humanity. And I loved her.
I knew that I'd regret those words. I knew distinctly that this would be a moment that I would want to freeze, rewind, have slowed down. That her anger is something I would've wanted to be prepared for. So I could not just react, but counterattack.
And when did it become like this? Me using words like "counterattack" towards her. Since when did I start to feel this strange need to attack her. When did we stop working? When did things stop clicking? When did our relationship stop being a relationship and start being a battle? A battle that we'd started fighting like we could take no prisoners? Like we were prisoners? A battle that we'd decided somewhere would kill one or both of us?
And as she looked at me as if I was unbelievable, I knew this war was over. I had killed her. And with a plastic bag of things thrown into my face, she had killed me. We were both victorious. It was the only outcome we would have allowed, yet still neither of us was smiling.
But I wasn't ready to admit defeat because I had to fight for her. Although I knew the second I had her again, our battles would begin again. I fought for her, so I could fight against her, with some desire to take her prisoner, to win the war, that I didn't even understand. And maybe that's why I couldn't let her go. Maybe I was too convinced that there was a way to end this war with a clear winner and loser. And I refused to lose, even if it meant she was destroyed. "Come on, Peyton," I demanded of her.
She shook her head at me, as if she couldn't think of a time I'd been stupider. I could. I could think of plenty of those times. The times when I lashed out at her because I was jealous. The times I made her feel inadequate by telling her she was played out, simply, so I could feel better. So I could be victorious, at least, until I realized that I didn't have her. And without her I couldn't truly win, or be anything. And then she told me to leave. Just like that. Leave.
One word, that ended our war. That rocked me to my core. That left us both broken and dying on the battlefield that was our love. And as much as I wanted to fix it, I didn't have the words. There was nothing I could say, to take away the pain I caused her, or the pain I was feeling. There was no way to tell her now that she was perfect without sounding contrived, or cheap, or like a liar. There was no way to explain it. Other than stupidity. Or misplaced anger. Or jealousy. So with that, I did for the first time in a long time, just what she asked. I left. I walked silently, brokenly out to my car, with my things. Her things. The things I had given her. And I cried, silently, over her for the first time, as I started the car. I pulled onto the road, not knowing at first where I'd go, but then knowing right where to go.
The beach house.
We spent a lot of time together there.