Title: All Our Little Dreams Have Run Dry

Pairing: Breyton

Rating: Uhm. M, I guess? I'm never good at this.

Disclaimer: Title is from Wilderness by Sleater Kinney. Don't own anything but the plot and idea of this.

Summary: So broken. Such shells of themselves.

Spoilers/Warnings: Sexual situations,f/f. Helluva lotta angst.

Author's Notes: No beta so all mistakes are mine.

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It's one in the morning and you know you should be in bed. It's a school night and you have two tests tomorrow. You haven't studied for either, and you know you should. You won't, though.

She's late tonight you think to yourself. It's one ten and she's only just reaching the edge of your yard. Your breath hitches, just like it does every night. You wonder what kept her, if maybe she almost didn't come. She pauses at the end of the sidewalk. Your blinds are at the right angle, she can't see you. You know this, but still you worry that she can see you. You wouldn't be surprised if she knew you were there watching, you both always could read each other better than you could read yourselves.

She's at the steps now. You sigh. One thirty five. You wish you could see her now, try to decipher her thoughts, or at least watch her. She doesn't come in. You don't know what she does but the need to know is slowly burning your muscles, and you tense up. And then you think that maybe tonight's the night she'll come in. Doubtful, but hey, a girl can hope.

Three months, four days. This is how long you've known about her nightly visits. You'd developed insomnia, took to looking out the window. You were surprised to see her, nervous and scared. You didn't know how to deal with that, so you hid. She didn't come in. Didn't even knock. Just stood there for an hour, maybe longer before heading away. Every week night. Later or maybe not at all on the weekends. She still parties. Part of you wishes she didn't, but you understand why she does. Release and an attempt at feeling something akin to love, something to fill the void that you and Lucas created.

It's been months you think. Months of not speaking to each other, except on school projects using only short clipped sentences, polite but not friendly and the most basic and necessary words. Haley looks at you both, pained. She knows. Of course she knows. She might be the only one that understands this thing you have. This thing that was Brooke and Peyton, which should be BrookeandPeyton you think, but has ended up Brooke. And Peyton. Maybe. Or not at all. There should be more spaces in there you think, it's too close to be correct. You wonder when you started mapping this out and why you didn't start earlier, why you didn't think things through.

Two twelve. She's back in view.

Two twenty. End of the sidewalk. She's tense. You know she wants to turn back around. You can see it in how she holds her body, and you know that she won't. She's too stubborn and strong willed for that.

Two twenty nine. She's out of sight, heading somewhere, maybe back to her house. Maybe somewhere else.

Haley's tried talking to you, talking to her. It hasn't worked, at least not yet. Haley's cried and screamed, cajoled and begged but neither of you will budge. You try not to stare at her in school but you know she hasn't been eating as well, or sleeping. Haley tells you as much, even though you both knew you already knew. Brooke always had a better handle on make-up than you however and can hide the dark circles under her eyes. You wonder if her grades are slipping or better than ever. Yours are. Without her around you suddenly have all this time so you study and accomplish all these things you never thought you had the time to do. You have more artwork than you know what to do with. You don't sleep, and you don't eat well or often either for that matter. You've taken to morning runs that occur before any sane person would be up waiting until after she visits. You've also started going to the gym late in the afternoon while she's at practice. You try so hard to wear yourself out but you never quite make it.

You don't know any other way to deal, so you immerse yourself any distraction you can grasp, except for him. He tried for awhile, to fix things but you knew that things were so broken, that you were broken and couldn't handle having him around. He was a constant reminder of why she wasn't there and you couldn't handle that. You didn't even cry when you told him, though you'd spent the last few weeks crying over her every second you weren't in public, whether you were in school or not. You contemplated becoming best friends with Jack and Jose but you knew you would pass out and get sick and she wouldn't be there to take care of you, and you couldn't stomach that.

There wasn't a thing you could do that didn't have traces of her. No where to go, nothing to think or see that didn't have some sort of tangible or intangible connection to her. You'd never realized it before, how everything was always about her. Everything. Was. Always. About. Her. You just didn't know it then, she probably didn't either. You wonder if it was the same for her. She acts indifferent. Almost the same. Everyone knows, of course. Something changed, something was fundamentally broken between the both of you, but she puts on a good act. She glides by though, glosses over it, and no one pushes. No one except Haley.

You resist the urge to pick at Haley, to get her to give up all the information she has from her interactions. No, you wait patiently, silently until it drives Haley crazy and she just blurts it all out. It hurts. And you don't understand. She ended everything. She was so mad, so hurt and you don't understand why she's a shell of herself now, why she hasn't moved on. Haley understands, but you don't ask. That would give you too much hope, and you can't handle that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

You hear muted whispers, catch wisps of information. Something about a move. Something maybe scandalous, maybe insignificant. You can't tell yet. Maybe you'll ask Haley. Probably not. If it's important she'll tell you anyway. You wonder idly when Haley will get tired of this. Every day she's there. At least half an hour with both of you. Sometimes in complete silence, sometimes in rants, sometimes as a shoulder to cry on. Every day. She's there without fail, without regard to her husband, her job or her schoolwork. She's there. You appreciate this more than you can ever convey to her, yet you hate Haley just a little bit for it, cause it's not her. It's never her nowadays though. It hurts more everyday, and you wonder who the idiot that said time heals all wounds was cause he sure as hell got it wrong. It must have been a man, no woman would have been that stupid. But then again, you have been, haven't you?

You go for your run, trying to exhaust your thoughts and regrets. It never works, but sometimes, if you try hard enough, you fall asleep afterwards. Fitfully, and only for a few hours, but it saves your ass and you know it. A quick shower, a haphazard dangerous dash to school and a last minute slink into your seat. A new routine. You don't enjoy it, but the less time in a common space with her is better. Maybe. You aren't sure. At least at school you can see her, you know she's still alive. You don't have that on weekends.

Thursday. One twenty five. You start to panic. She's never been this late before. Maybe she's starting to get over it, over you.

One forty. You can't see her standing on your porch now, and you're breathing again.

Two forty five. The middle of your sidewalk. A pause. You can't help it. You run downstairs and pause at the door, looking through it, weighing the consequences in your mind.

She tenses, looks like she's ready to run and all of a sudden your door is open and you're running to her, calling her name.

"Please. Please god turn around. Please." You're begging. And on your knees. They'll hurt later but now you don't care.

You don't think she could be any more motionless.

"I'm sorry." You pour everything you have into those two words.

She takes a step away from you and your heartbreaks all over again. You're done not fighting, you're done dancing around this. You need her back.

"God please. I can't stand this anymore. It's killing me. Haley fights with me everyday just to get me to eat. I don't sleep. I haven't slept in fucking months because I miss you too much. I know I messed up. Believe me I do, but I can't do this anymore."

"I don't care." Her voice is so strained, so pained that you can't believe it. But there's emotion in it, and that's more than you've gotten from her in months.

"Please..." She turns suddenly, on her heels and you've never seen anyone more enraged and you're scared. You get up, backing up awkwardly as she advances. You hit the door frame, your breath whooshes out and you are surprised. You don't remember the steps.

"Don't you dare act like a victim!" She's vicious and hurt. God, she's so hurt. You're crying and the tears are stinging; you'd think you'd be used to them by now.

"I'm...I don't mean to. I know I'm not. I just..." You thought about how things would go if you ever got to talk to her again, but seeing her here, having her this close affects you too much and you can't think to save your life.

"You did this. You brought this on all of us."

"I know."

"So don't you dare act like this is anyone else's fault. Don't you dare try to make me feel bad for you."

It hurts. God, it hurts. Eyes closed, the images are burned into you now.

"I loved you. So much it hurt to breathe sometimes. I was too scared to tell you, and you were too self-absorbed and busy and dumb to notice. God, how did you not notice? It was always about you. Always. About. You. Everyone else knew, you know. Everyone. Except you." Swallowing, you can't think of a thing to say. Her fingers jabbed at each emphasis.

"I want to hate you. I want to hate you so bad, I want to wish you were dead. I can't. Lord knows I've tried. I miss you. I fucking miss you, even after what you did. I can't handle it. I can't want to touch you still. I can't." She's not looking at you now, and you don't know what to do. You're startled when she closes the small gap between the both of you far too fast. You can't breathe and it takes you a second to realize that's because she's kissing you and you're kissing her back.

She's pulling you into the house, twisting you around and you're stumbling in the dark. You've forgotten your house, she hasn't. She slams you into the wall next to a table. The door's shut and her hands are tugging at your clothes. She moves from your mouth to your neck and she is rough. This isn't the gentle girl you used to know, the one you fell in love with. This is the broken girl you've created and she's intoxicating. You moan and react and she is rougher still.

After, you're leaning against the wall for support, panting and amazed. She won't look at you, isn't touching you, and that hurts more than the sex you just had. She grabs your face quickly, kissing you forcefully before fleeing. You slump to the floor and sit there for what feels like forever before crawling to the couch and passing out.

You miss the first class or two. You aren't sure but you know by how bright the sun is that you missed something. Trudging upstairs you debate on whether or not you should even bother. You don't bother with a shower, just throw on whatever seems clean, brush your hair and head to school. You don't even register that a few more people than usual are looking at you. It's been months and they still stare at the both of you, trying to piece it together. Some will, to a degree but no one will get the whole story because neither of you have it either.

Haley drops her mouth open in a small "o" of surprise and pulls you into an empty classroom, staring at your neck. You look at her confused and ask her what's going on.

"What the hell happened to your neck?"

"What do you mean?"

She pulls out a mirror and you gasp in shock.

"We...we...talked. Sort of. And there was the door, and the wall and then she was gone and...I don't..." She doesn't press you for more information, just hands you make-up, and when she sees that your hands are too shaky to apply it, she does it for you.

"You'd better get to class."

"Yeah..."

School seems to last even longer than usual today. You think that you'll drink tonight as you clean the make-up off your neck and stare at it. She won't be by, so you might as well. You don't have any reason to stay sober. You feel like everywhere she touched you last night is burning and etched into your skin and your memory so deeply that it'll drive you crazy.

You're surprised that after half a bottle of liquor she's in your room. You don't have time to question whether or not she's a mirage because she's on you and clothes are disappearing rapidly and then as abruptly as she entered, she's dressed and gone, without a word.

You don't like this, not really. But it's something. It'll ruin you, but that's ok you think. It's something, after all and you can live with that.