title, washing away the tide.
words, 1,766.
author, for-blueblueskies.
--
She's getting weaker, that, he's sure of.
Her face pale, so pale, her breath shaky. (red, red blood pours onto the carpet, the sandy carpet. The sandy carpet drowns in red, red blood. Her blood.) His friend, or ex-friend, did this to her, hurt her. Jimmy hurt her.
Why?
He doesn't know. (he wishes he had the answers to the questions churning in his mind.) Her head droops onto his shoulder, and bobs back up again, like the waves of the ocean—don't get caught up in the tide. Her eyes were closed, but she opens them (open your eyes).
"I don't want to stay awake anymore Luke," she says, desperate, the pain lingers beneath her eyes, and he'll be dammed if she'll go anywhere but a hospital this way, "I saw her, my mom; she said it's okay to go to sleep now. Both of them."
"Peyton—"
"S'okay," she says, smiling a soft, weary smile, "I know you tried." Lazily, her hand finds him (her hands always find his, her fingers are made to fit in between the gaps), lazily, slowly, she entwines her fingers with his, "thank you, for… being here."
She nods to someone not there. "I know, he is." She says, eyes slipping shut. His ex-friend did this to her, hurt her. Jimmy hurt her. More than hurt her, he's killing her. Why? He doesn't know (and he needs those answers to the questions churning in his mind).
"Peyton. You are not going anywhere." He says, bending his head around the bookcase, checking the coast is clear, and he needs it to be clear, because he needs to get Peyton out of here. It is. Clear that is, as clear as the blue ocean swimming in her eyes, "Brooke will kill you if you leave her."
(He will kill her if she leaves him.)
"I'll kill you if you leave us."
Her eyes are open again, "I lost Brooke, I'm sorry, so sorry."
His hands rest on her cheeks, cold cheeks. Cold, pale, cheeks. Like the dead, but he doesn't want to think like that because she's not going anywhere. Lucas Eugene Scott keeps his promises, "its okay. She's fine, she's out." Peyton nods, sort of, shaking. "Peyton, I've got to tell you something, but you've got to stay awake to hear it, okay?"
She swallows, dazed eyes filled with the ocean staring blankly at him.
Carefully she nods.
"Remember, you've got to stay awake, if you want to hear it."
He bends, arms under legs, arms around his neck, her head against his chest.
"Stay awake to hear."
She sounds so weak. His ex-friend did this to her, hurt her. Jimmy hurt her. More than hurt her, he's killing her. Why? He doesn't know (he's going to find out the answers to the questions that are churning in his mind).
He takes her to the door, the one that he barricaded, ('don't leave me, please!' 'I'm not leaving you.') what seems like forever ago when she was gripping onto life. She still is. But she's acting like she's giving into the tide—the one trying to sweep her away.
He sets her down, carefully, she's fragile, as breakable as a porcelain doll. (pretty painted faces, and pale, pale skins, oceans swimming in their eyes.) Unblocking the door takes the slightest bit longer because he's always checking, checking she hasn't broken.
He bends, arms under legs, arms around his neck, her head against his chest.
"A little longer," he says, whispers, to her. "Just a little bit."
"They say it's okay to go to sleep."
His grip tightens slightly, holding on, "Tell them you miss them, that you love them, but you're not done here yet." He whispers, approaching the door, she grumbles (still awake, still breathing, still alive), "Tell them you'll see them soon, but not now."
Slowly, slowly, opening the doors, letting the water flow—let it wash away this madness.
"I've got you." He whispers, into her ear (and he's not letting her go yet, Brooke would be devastated. So would he. And Haley, and Nathan, her Dad—she has a lot of people to live for. He's not letting her go yet).
The door slams.
Echoing.
Echoing around them.
Down the hall.
Through the ghost town of Tree Hill high. He needs to hurry. He needs to get her out. He needs to keep his promise. He can't recall a promise he hasn't kept. He's not going to let this one be the first he breaks. (It'll break him—all of them.)
He contemplates running, but if he falls, he'll help no one.
He walks, fast, moving through the silence, cutting his way through the maze. He listens for sounds, footsteps, voices, gunshots. Anything. Nothing so far, he looks around the corner before he walks around it. Careful, so careful.
So close now.
One door, the glass door, one of them is shattered, broken because the bullet that's in Peyton's leg killed it. And it bled, glittering pieces of broken glass. Peyton grumbles into his chest, lowly, so quiet that had he not been straining his ears to listen for it, he wouldn't of heard it.
And there he is.
The one that hurt her.
Standing in that same hallway.
The handgun's in his hand, he's pointing it, toward him, toward them, but he's already hurt her. He's killing her. Frantic. "Where do you think you're going!" He's yelling, screaming, and he'd fight the man with the gun had he not made a promise (besides he knows better than to make the m—boy with the gun angry).
It takes him a second to internally cool himself down.
"She's bleeding."
Surely his ex-friend can see that.
Still yelling, screaming, "The school's on lockdown!"
"I know Jim," swallowing through a thick throat, "But if I don't get her out of here she's going to die." and I made a promise to her. (you're going to be fine, I promise. I love you. Just incase you can't keep your promise.)
Softening, like melting butter.
"I didn't mean to hurt her."
Still pointing at him, at them (you're still hurting her). And then Keith is there, words of wisdom that can surely calm the raging tides. Words that can surely wash away this madness, "We know Jimmy."
Frantic.
Screaming.
"What the hell is this, the school's on lockdown!"
Keith is saying things, and he's looking down at Peyton's blonde head because he's sure she just moved it, that small inch. For a fraction of a second he thinks she's opened her eyes (open your eyes), but then Keith's in front of them and he opens his.
"Go on Luke."
He does. No promises will be broken.
Keith walks in front of them, not taking his eyes away. Protecting them from mans killing machine, and why do things have to happen the way they do. Why should people need guns like he needs answers.
"Keith?"
"Luke, I love you. Now, go."
He's ready to try and convince Keith. But Peyton is still bleeding her red, red blood onto white, pale floors.
(he was never to know that those would be the last ever words that Keith would ever say to him, because he was preoccupied with getting Peyton out. Getting her out and to help because he wasn't going to let the tide take her under. Not now. Not in a million years from now.)
He's about to kiss her head before they approach the last glass door, the last hurdle, but he's not hers, he belongs to Brooke like Brooke belongs to him. He nearly kisses her head because they're nearly out. But he stops himself.
Opening the door.
Letting the water out, washing away the madness.
There's a whole team outside. (but why aren't they in there helping, protecting, isn't that what they're supposed to do?) One of them whisks Peyton away, to an awaiting ambulance, she was the only one hurt, he wants to tell them, get her safe, he wants to say, but they tell him to be silent.
Hands up.
He's on the floor.
In the distance he sees blonde hair on a stretcher, he kept his promise.
His ex-friend did this to her, hurt her. Nearly killed her (she's going to be okay, she's going to be okay).
Why?
He doesn't know.
But he's going to get those damn answers.
These questions aren't going to go unanswered—they won't be washed away with the tide.
--
end.