Disclaimer: I do not own One Tree Hill.
Summary: Peyton left for New York six months ago to start a new life. When she suddenly returns to Tree Hill in desperate need of help, who will come to her rescue?
Rating: T for some violence and language.
I don't have a set plan for updates; however, I'll try to get a new chapter up every few days (possible once a day if I have time).
Reviews are appreciated, as always.
Lucas Scott crawled under the warm, cozy blanket on his bed. It had been quite a long day for him. He and Brooke had been together since early that morning. They hadn't talked in a while, but the flame in their relationship was restored nearly minutes into their day. Lucas loved Brooke more than ever. She made him truly happy; every moment he was with her he found himself smiling. He held feelings for her deeper than anything he'd felt before. Haley was his best friend, but he didn't feel the same spark when he was around her. The other girls he'd been with had been fun, but his relationships with them weren't anything serious. In fact, as far as he knew the only girls he'd ever felt this way about were Brooke and… Peyton.
Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer. Lucas smiled to himself as an image of the thin, curly-headed blonde popped into his head. Peyton was a truly amazing girl. Best friend of Brooke and ex-girlfriend of his brother, Nathan, Peyton was fiery and headstrong. She had a deep passion for music and art and could always be found in her room, blasting some unknown punk track and sketching meaningful (and sometimes sad) pictures. Lucas and Peyton had a bit of a history: when he first started dating Brooke, he ended up realizing that he liked Peyton more and they had gone behind Brooke's back. When Brooke had discovered their unfaithfulness, she had severed ties with them both. Months later, however, Brooke found her way back to Peyton and eventually fixed her relationship with Lucas. He had remained close friends with Peyton, sometimes feeling the spark between them coming back, but they never took a different step in their relationship.
And then one day she just left. She took off, only to write him and call occasionally. She was out of their lives, out of his life, completely. And Lucas could recall the memory of that day perfectly, as though it had happened yesterday.
"Peyton? What are you doing?"
The blonde girl looked up to see Lucas standing in the doorway to her room. Her eyes widened in shock. She shifted her body so she was facing him completely, trying to block the bed from his view, but she was too late. He'd already seen.
"Why is there a suitcase on your bed?" Lucas questioned her, stepping into her room. The bright red walls look unnaturally bare. He could tell that she'd taken down most of her artwork. "Are you going on vacation?"
Peyton hesitated for a moment. Her forehead wrinkled as she quickly tried to think of something to say. Taking a deep breath, she responded, "You could say that..."
Lucas grinned. "Don't think you can get away with being vague to me. I know you're up to something. Spill, Sawyer, or I'll just have to torture it out of you."
But he could tell from the way her eyes dropped to the floor that this was no laughing matter. Peyton looked lost, upset. She seemed to be struggling with the decision to tell him something. Stepping forward, he placed a hand on her thin, bare arm. Peyton shuddered slightly at his cold touch before raising her eyes to meet him.
"I- Lucas, I meant to tell you earlier. I really wanted to. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I-I'm really sorry. I should've let you know."
Lucas's brow furrowed. "Meant to tell me what?"
Peyton sighed. Her eyes looked glossy but he couldn't understand why. His heart was racing now as worry filled his stomach. Placing his hand under her chin, he lifted her face to his. Peyton bit her bottom lip before speaking.
"Lucas, I'm going to New York. And-and I'm not coming back. Not for a while, at least. I'm sorry."
He stepped back, his stomach dropping. A single tear fell down her cheek as she stared at him with sad eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and then turned to face the door. Breathing hard out his nose, he turned back to her. He could easily see that she was upset; her face was becoming pale and her lip was quivering as though she were about to sob.
"When do you leave?"
It was all he could think to ask. He didn't know why she was leaving, and he honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to know.
"My flight leaves at 9:30 tomorrow morning. I'm leaving the house at 7:00," she replied softly.
Lucas let out a low whistle. Giving a harsh laugh, he snapped, "So you were just gonna up and leave without telling anyone? What, you were gonna write me a letter once you were gone saying, 'By the way, Lucas, I decided to move out'?"
Peyton ran a hand through her unruly hair. She seemed stressed and upset by the conversation. "Lucas, I'm sorry. I just really need to leave, okay?"
"Yeah, well…" Lucas turned his back on her and walked to the door. When he reached the frame, he looked back. She stood in the middle of the room, tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. "Good luck with New York. I hope you find your new life better than this one."
And as he slammed the door shut, he heard her let out a loud, frantic sob.
That had all happened six months ago. A week after that night he'd gotten a letter from her. She had apologized numerous times throughout, explaining to him that she needed a fresh start. Her life had been anything but simple in Tree Hill, full of drama, drugs, and death. He knew he was being selfish for not understanding her decision, but he didn't care. When she had first left, he felt like he'd lost a part of himself. It had taken weeks before he could focus again. He wasn't sure he'd ever be the same.
A sudden knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Turning onto his side, he glanced at the digital clock on the table beside his bed. The neon-green light flashed, "2:52 AM". As he lifted the clock to make sure he'd read it right, he heard another, much louder, knock on the door.
"All right, I'm coming," he called, getting to his feet. Groping around in the dark for a shirt, he jumped at another harsh banging on the door.
"Jesus Christ," he murmured as he put the shirt over his head and walked to the door. "I'm coming, I'm coming! Keep your pants on!"
The brass doorknob felt cold on his fingers as he turned it and pulled the door open. It only took his eyes a second to adjust to the dim light outside from streetlights and stars. As he took in what was standing in front of him, his blue eyes widened. He felt his jaw dropping open.
Standing in the doorway was Peyton Sawyer.
She looked much different than she had the last time he'd seen her: she looked thinner (almost sickly) and her hair had been chopped short and uneven, as though she'd done it herself. Her clothes looked incredibly large and dirty. She had an old, army-green backpack slung over her right shoulder. But what caught his attention most wasn't her hair. It wasn't her unnaturally thin body or her tired demeanor. It wasn't even her crass attire.
It was the black eye.
It was the long, bright red scratch running the length of her cheek. It was the purple marks on her neck and chest, the way her left wrist seemed to be bent at an odd angle. And it was the way she was looking at him with fear in her hazel eyes.
"Hey," she whispered.
"Peyton?" It was all he could think to say. "What- what are you-"
She spoke again, her voice starting at a small whisper and raising with each word, until it broke into a sob at the final syllable. "Do you think…can I stay here…for the night?"
Looking at her, hearing her speak, broke his heart. He could feel himself shaking, could hear his heart beating against his chest as he forced a small smile at her. "Of course you can. C'mon in."
She walked past him slowly and nervously, putting as little weight as she could on her left foot. As she stepped by him he saw more cuts on her face, as well as a bright purple bruise on her left shoulder and what looked like a handprint on the side of her neck. She averted her eyes from him and stepped into the room.
With a feeling of great unease, he closed the door and turned to face her for the first time in six months.
