So, this IS going to be a multi fic. And I'm going to try and write it in advance, so that my usual problem of not uploading EVER is avoided ;)

Prompt by Leijona on Lexie's prompt forum

http:/ forum. fanfiction. net/ forum/ Story_ Prompts / 107161/ (lose those spaces guys!)

So, hope you all enjoy this first chapter ;)

Chapter 1

Now…

They say every picture tells a story. If that's true, I have a lot of stories. Most of them meaningless, most of them having no actual input into what I call my life. I guess you can say there are a few of these picture-telling photos out there that actually hold some kind of significance to me, actually let people see the real me: Peyton Sawyer, a normal girl. But most of them, ha. Most of them, they show you what the camera want you to see: Peyton Wolfe, teenage drug addict. Illegitimate daughter of rock legend Mick Wolfe. Party addict. Best friend of Brooke Davis – the multi-millionaire and international design sensation. High school dropout. Worthless. The girl that models for a living, for her best friend because she couldn't do anything else. Home wrecker. Most of the time, they're so convincing, even I start to believe them. 'Like, oh my gosh, I'm a drug addict?' never mind the fact my mother is dead due to drugs, I'd never dare go near them. But sometimes all of this scares me. I mean, if I can start believing these absurd rumours, that I know aren't true, then what about the rest of the population, so eager for gossip about celebrities, to them I am a mess. And why? Because of that little old saying, every picture tells a story. Only problem is, sometimes, it's just that: a story. No fact behind it at all. So you want a picture that has a story? Oh, I'll give you a picture. You can have the whole damn, sordid affair…

One year ago…

'Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer!' Brooke Davis, my best friend, shouted my name as soon as I entered her New York store. Her hair was styled perfectly, and her dress was designed (by herself) with her in mind, so it both fit perfectly and flattered her in all the right places. Most people would probably be scared that a famous fashion designer was shouting at them, but I could see the smile etched on her face, which let me know I wasn't on trouble.

'Hey?' I asked, not quite sure what she was up to.

'You whore!' she squealed. I looked at her, checking for any signs of insanity: shouting rude words in her shop, that couldn't be good for business could it? Before I realised the shop was closed, and that it was fashion week tomorrow, and she always closes the Sunday beforehand to prepare.

I laughed then, finding her outburst comical, another press release of who I supposedly slept with last night. 'Who did I fuck now?' I asked, an eyebrow cocked, I was intrigued.

Brooke scowled at me, 'You make it sound worse when you word it like that. Mind your language in my shop.' Her face broke out in a grin. 'Do you really want to know?' she asked me, barely being able to contain her excitement.

Not really. But I couldn't say that and ruin her fun, so I smirked at her. 'Go on, then. Spill all.'

'Nathan Scott!' she blurted so fast I almost missed it. 'Number 23, small forward for the New York Knicks?'

I laughed at her, 'I do know who Nathan Scott is Brookie.' I told her winking.

'Well?' she asked, I didn't reply. She huffed. 'Did you actually sleep with him?'

I looked at her with what I can only assume was an indignant expression on my face (yes- I know what indignant means.) 'You assumed I did it? Some best friend you are!' I tutted at her. 'Isn't he married?'

She looked at me; her mouth hanging slightly open like I said something stupid, then she spoke. 'Has that ever stopped you before?' she asked, raising her eyebrow at me, before slapping her hand over her mouth. 'Ouch, that was bitchy, sorry P.' a look of regret in her eyes.

'It's fine.' I dismissed her comment with a wave of my hand. 'And, no. I did not sleep with Nathan Scott. I've never even spoken to him before in my life… wait – why do you look disappointed by that?'

She smiled sheepishly. 'well, because his wife, Haley, is coming in today, she's going to work alongside you as the face for the company, don't get upset!' she warned me, unnecessarily I might add, 'But it will be good for the company, she's a rock star you know.' She stopped for a breath and to stick her tongue out at me. 'Anyway, you know how much I love drama. I would have so much fun if you'd slept with her husband!'

It sounded really bitchy, but I knew it wasn't. Brooke has been my best friend since I was about nine. But we met when I was six, in Bellevue Hospital, and my mother had just died…

I slumped to the floor. The words ringing in my ears. 'Your mommy didn't make it pumpkin.' The kindly faced nurse called Lindsey had told me. 'Do you know your daddy's number?' I remember shaking my head, my vision being blurry from my tears, before I screamed, watching her flinch at my high pitch, then ran away. To this very spot, outside the building, in a courtyard for family and friends, sobbing. I barely noticed all the people walking past me, some trying to ask me if I was ok, but I just ignored them, sobbing quietly.

Until, 'Are you ok?' it was definitely a girl's voice, a young one. Someone about my age maybe, so I looked up, right into her deep brown eyes, filled with concern. Her hair was a shoulder length chocolate colour, and she had a pretty pink flower in her hair.

'My mommy just died.' I told her. I saw her mouth open into a little 'o' shape, and she sat next to me, putting her arm around my shoulder.

'I'm sorry.' She told me. And I sobbed into her shoulder.

'I have no one to look after me anymore. My daddy doesn't want me either! He's a rock star and can't look after me properly my mommy used to say.' I cried.

'I'll look after you.' She told me, a fire burning behind her eyes, letting me know that it was true. 'I'm Brooke Davis.' She told me, sticking her small hand out to me.

'Peyton Wolfe.' I replied, shaking her hand. She sat with me for ages, hugging me when I cried, telling me it was all going to be ok. About an hour or so later, I heard a man speak.

'Peyton, honey?' I looked up, into my father's bright green eyes. He had my twin brother, Julian, with him. Tears still openly falling down his childish face, and I think my father's eyes were a bit watery too.

'Daddy!' I jumped up, hugging him. 'Mommy died. She had a bag of the flour stuff, and she put it in her nose. Why would she put it in her nose, Daddy?'

'I don't know, Pear-drop. She was silly. Come on, we have to go. Aunty Anna said you can go live with her.' He told me.

'Can't I live with you, Daddy?' I asked, my bottom lip sticking out.

'No, sorry Pear. You can't. You're lucky that Julian had my number in his pocket. Come on. We have to go now.' He took my hand, and started pulling me away.

I turned around, looking at my new friend, and her face was sad. She waved at me. 'Bye Peyton!'

'Bye, Brooke. I'll see you later ok?' I told her, before getting in a taxi with my father and brother. Straight to the airport, then off to Tree Hill, North Carolina. Maybe, I wouldn't see my new friend ever again. I sat back in the taxi, crying. Crying for my mother's death, as well as having to leave behind little Brooke Davis.

I didn't know then that I would see her again. Two years, and a name change later. When my father's sister, Anna, died in a car crashed, and her husband, who I'd seen as a father-figure couldn't bear the sight of either me or Julian anymore and sent us straight back to 'Daddy dearest.' I kept the Sawyer, as a reminder that people will always leave you. Mick signed us up straight away to the most expensive private school he could find, his attempt I guess to make up for being a lousy father. And who would be in all my classes other than the Brooke Davis from outside the hospital. We knew straight away this was our big reunion. And she didn't ask me any questions. She just hugged me. We've been best friends ever since.

I coughed, snapping myself out of my little trip down memory lane. 'That would be saucy, I guess.' I told her, winking. 'When does she come, anyway?'

Brooke looked at the clock behind the counter. 'Ooh, now! Well around about now, I don't know, soon? I'm really excited about this because it will…'

I never got to hear what would happen, because the bell above the door chimed, and a woman spoke. 'Hi, I'm Haley James, you said I should come down today?' she said.

I turned around, and saw a petite woman with honey toned long hair, and stood next to her, the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His hair was jet black, and his eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue. I knew exactly who this man was: Nathan Scott, number 23, small forward for the New York Knicks. And my 'supposed' new fling.

'I brought my husband, is that ok?' Haley asked.

'Perfectly fine.' Brooke replied, going over to greet them both, showing Nathan to the comfortable purple couch, then pointing Haley in the direction of the 'magnificent room at the back' as Brooke calls it. She went to follow Haley, but managed to look at me, pointing at Nathan, mouthing 'he's hot!' to me when she thought he wasn't looking, before turning around and leaving. Unfortunately, judging by the grin on his face. He saw exactly what she said.

'Hi.' He said to me when Brooke had gone.

'Hey.'

'You're Peyton Wolfe, right?' he asked me, a cocky grin on his face.

'Sawyer.' I replied coldly.

'Sorry, sorry. You get used to the media names.' He laughed. 'So you're my little bit on the side?'

I grinned. 'That's me.'

'Mmm.' He said. 'That sounds about right. Damn, you're hot.' He winked at me, and then stood up. 'I'm bored. You wanna go get some coffee?' he asked me.

I nodded. Damn, this was going to get interesting.

*NOT PROOF READ IN THE SLIGHTEST, SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES*

I know this wasn't very long, but I think I think I'm going to have fun with this one. Reviews mean a lot guys, and I love to know what you all thought of it, so let me know! EmmaJoie xx