Her shoulders hunch as she pushes the door open and hikes up the gravel driveway toward the two-story mansion with green shutters and a steep roof. "Two more days, two more days," she chants under her breath with her hands clenched into fists as she squeezes between the vehicles. "Only two more days and I'll be in college and none of this will matter."
The lights through the windows illuminate against the grey sky and a "Congratulations" banner hangs above the entrance to the porch, decorated with balloons. The Scotts always liked to put on a show, for any reason they can think of; birthdays, holidays, graduations. They seem like the perfect family but she doesn't believe in perfection.
This party is to celebrate their eldest son Lucas's graduation and his basketball scholarship to the University of Wyoming. She has nothing against the Scotts. Her dad has dinner over at their house occasionally and they attend barbeques at their place. She just doesn't like parties, nor have she ever been welcomed at one, at least since sixth grade.
When she approaches the wrap-around porch, Brooke Davis, captain of the cheerleading squad waltzes out with a glass in her hand. Her straight dark hair shining in the porch light as her eyes aim at me and a malicious grin curls at her lips.
She dodges to the right of the stairs and swerves around the side of the house before she can insult her. The sun is lowering below the lines of the mountains that encase the town and stars sparkle across the sky like dragonflies. It's hard to see once the lights of the front porch fade away and her shoe catches something sharp. She falls down and her palms split open against the gravel. Injuries on the outside are easy to endure and she gets up without hesitation.
She dusts the pebbles from her hands, wincing from the burn of the scratches as she rounds the corner into the backyard.
"I don't give a shit what the hell you were trying to do," a male voice cuts through the darkness. "You're such a f**k up. A f**king disappointment."
She halts by the edge of the grass. Near the back fence is a brick pool house where two figures stand below a dim light. One is taller, with their head hanging low and their broad shoulders are stooped over. The other the same height, with a black suit and black mass of hair, and is standing in the other's face with their fists out in front of them. Squinting through the dark, she made out that the shorter one is Mr Scott and the taller one is Lucas Scott. The situation is surprising since Lucas is very confident at school and has never been much of a target for violence.
"I'm sorry," Lucas mutters with a tremor in his voice as he hugs his hand against his chest. "It was an accident, sir. I won't do it again."
She glances at the open back door where the lights are on, the music is loud, and people are dancing, shouting, laughing. Glasses clink together and she can feel the sexual tension bottled in the room from all the way out here. These are the kinds of places she avoided at all cost, because she can't breathe very well in them. She moved up to the bottom step tentatively, hoping to disappear into the crowd unnoticed, hopefully find her best friend Haley, and get the hell out of there.
"Don't f**king tell me it was an accident!" The voice rises, blazing with incomprehensible rage. There's a loud bang and then a crack, like bones splitting into pieces. Instinctively she whirls around just in time to see Mr Scott smashes his fist into Lucas's face. The crack makes her gut churn. He hits him again and again, not stopping even when Lucas crumples to the ground. "Liars get punished Lucas."
She waits for Lucas to get back up, but he stays unmoving not even bothering to cover his face with his arms. His father kicks him in the stomach, in the face, his movements harder, showing no sign of an approaching end.
She reacts without thinking, a desire to save him burning so fiercely it washes all doubts from her mind. She runs across the grass and through the leaves blowing in the air without a plan other than to interrupt. When she reaches them, she's shaking and verging toward shock as it becomes clear the situation is larger than her mind originally grasped.
Mr. Scott' knuckles are gashed and blood drips onto the cement in front of the pool house. Lucas is on the ground, his cheekbone cut open like a crack in the bark of a tree. His eye is swollen shut, his lip is ruptured, and there is blood all over his face.
Their eyes move to her and she quickly points over her shoulder with a very unsteady finger. "There was someone looking for you in the kitchen," she says to Mr. Scott, thankful that for once her voice maintained steadiness. "They needed help with something… I can't remember what though."
His sharp gaze pierces into her and she cowers back at the anger and powerlessness in his eyes, like his rage controls him. "Who the hell are you?"
"Peyton Sawyer," she says quietly, noting the smell of liquor on his breath.
His gaze travels from her worn shoes to the heavy black jacket with buckles, and finally lands on her fair hair that barely brushes her just past her shoulders. She looks like a homeless person, but that's the point. She wants to be unnoticed. "Oh, yeah, you're Larry Sawyer's daughter. I didn't recognize you in the dark." He glances down at the blood on his knuckles and then looks back at her. "Listen Peyton, I didn't mean for this to happen. It was an accident."
She doesn't do well under pressure so she stands motionless, listening to her heart knock inside her chest. "Okay."
"I need to go clean up," he mutters. His icy gaze bores into her for a brief moment before he stomps across the grass toward the back door with his injured hand clasped beside him.
She focuses back on the banged up flaxen haired boy, releasing a breath trapped in her chest. "Are you okay?"
He cups his hand over his eye, stares at his shoes, and keeps his other hand against his chest, seeming vulnerable, weak, and perplexed. For a second, she pictures herself on the ground with bruises and cuts that can only be seen from the inside.
"I'm fine." His voice is harsh, so she turns toward the house, ready to bolt.
"Why did you do that?" he calls out through the darkness.
She stops on the line of the grass and turn to meet his eyes. "I did what anyone else would have done."
The eyebrow above his good eye dips down. "No, you didn't."
She and Lucas had gone to school together since they were in kindergarten. Sadly, this was the longest conversation they'd had since about sixth grade when she was deemed the class weirdo. In the middle of the year, she showed up to school with her hair chopped off and wearing clothes that nearly swallowed her, after the demise of her mother Anna. After that, she lost all her friends. Even when their families had dinner together, Lucas pretended he didn't know her.
"You did what almost no one would have done." Lowering his hand from his eye, he staggers to his feet and towers over her as he straightens his legs. He is the kind of guy girls have an infatuation for, including her back when she saw guys as something else other than a threat. His blond hair flips at his ears and neck, his usually perfect smile is a bloody mess, and only one of his cerulean eyes is visible. "I don't understand why you did it."
She scratches at her forehead, her nervous habit when someone is really seeing her. "Well, I couldn't just walk away. I'd never be able to forgive myself if I did."
The light from the house emphasizes the severity of his wounds and there is blood splattered all over his shirt. "You can't tell anyone about this, okay? He's been drinking… and going through some stuff. He's not himself tonight."
She bites at her lip, unsure if she believes him. "Maybe you should tell someone… like your mom."
He stares at her like she's a small, incompetent child. "There's nothing to tell."
She eyes his puffy face, his normally perfect features now distorted. "Alright, if that's what you want."
"It's what I want," he says dismissively and she starts to walk away. "Hey Peyton, it's Peyton, right? Will you do me a favor?"
She peers over her shoulder. "Sure. What?"
"In the downstairs bathroom there's a first aid kit, and in the freezer there's an icepack. Would you go grab them for me? I don't want to go in until I've cleaned up."
She's desperate to leave, but the pleading in his tone overpowers her. "Yes, I can do that." she leaves him near the pool house to go inside where the very crowded atmosphere makes it hard to breathe. Tucking in her elbows and hoping no one will touch her, she weaves through the people.
Karen Roe, Lucas's mother, is chatting with some of the other moms at the table and waves her hand at her, her gold and silver bangle bracelets jingling together. "Oh Peyton, how are you hun?" Her speech is slurred and there is an empty bottle of wine in front of her.
"Fine thank you" she calls out over the music as someone bumps into her shoulder and her muscles stiffen. "I'm just looking for Haley. Have you seen her?"
"Sorry hun, I haven't." She motions her hand around with flourish. "There are just so many people here."
She gives her a small wave. "Okay, well, I'm going to go look for her." As she walks away, she wonders if she's seen her husband and if she'll question the cut on his hand.
In the living room, Lucas' brother Nathan Scott is sitting on the sofa, talking to his best friend, Antwon (Skills) Taylor. She freezes near the threshold, just out of their sight. They keep laughing and talking, drinking their beers, like nothing matters. She despises him for laughing, for being there, for making it look like his life is so perfect when really it's far from it.
She starts toward him, but she can't get her feet to move. She knows she needs to get it over with, but there are people making out in the corners and dancing in the middle of the room and it's making her uncomfortable. She can't breathe. She can't breathe. Move feet, move.
Someone runs into her and it nearly knocks her to the floor.
"Sorry," a deep voice apologizes.
She catches herself on the doorframe and it breaks her trance. She hurries down the hall without bothering to see who ran into her. She needed to get out of this place and breathe again.
After she collected the first aid kit from the bottom cupboard and the icepack from the freezer, she takes the long way out of the house, going through the side door unnoticed. Lucas's not outside anymore, but the interior light of the pool house filters from the windows.
Hesitantly, she pushes open the door and pokes her head into the dimly lit room. "Hello."
Lucas walks out from the back room without a shirt on and a towel pressed up to his face, which is bright red and lumpy. "Hey, did you get the stuff?"
She slips into the room and shuts the door behind her. She holds out the first aid kit and the icepack, with her head turned toward the door to avoid looking at him. His bare chest, and the way his jeans ride low on his hips smothers her with uneasiness.
"I don't bite, Peyton." His tone is neutral as he takes the kit and the pack. "You don't have to stare at the wall."
She compels her eyes to look at him and it's hard not to stare at the scars that crisscross along his stomach and chest. The vertical lines that run down his forearms are the most disturbing, thick and jagged as if someone took a razor to his skin. She wishes she could run her fingers along them and remove the pain and memories that are attached to them.
He quickly lowers the towel to cover himself up and confusion gleams from his good eye as they stare at one another. Her heart throbs inside her chest as a moment passes, like a snap of a finger, yet it seems to go on forever.
He blinks and presses the pack to his inflamed eye while balancing the kit on the edge of the pool table. His fingers quiver as he pulls his hand back and each knuckle is scraped raw. "Can you get the gauze out of that for me? My hand's a little sore."
As her fingers fumble to lift the latch, her fingernail catching in the crack, and it peels back. Blood pools out as she opens the lid to retrieve the gauze. "You might need stitches on that cut below the eye. It looks bad."
He dabs the cut with the towel, wincing from the pain. "It'll be fine. I just need to clean it up and get it covered."
The steaming hot water runs down her body, scorching her skin with red marks and blisters. She just wants to feel clean again. She takes the damp towel from him, careful not to let their fingers touch, and lean forward to examine the lesion, which is so deep the muscle and tissue is showing.
"You really need stitches." She sucks the blood off her thumb. "Or you're going to have a scar."
The corners of his lips tug up into a sad smile. "I can handle scars, especially ones that are on the outside."
She understands his meaning from the depths of her heart. "I really think you should have your mom take you to the doctor and then you can tell her what happened."
He starts to unwind a small section of gauze, but he accidentally drops it onto the floor. "That'll never happen and even if it did, it wouldn't matter. None of this does."
With unsteady fingers, she gathers up the gauze and unravel it around her hand. Tearing the end, she grabs the tape out of the kit. Then squeezing every last terrified thought from her mind, she reaches toward his cheek. He remains very still, hugging his sore hand against his chest as she places the gauze over the wound. His eyes stay on her, his brows knit, and he barely breathes as she tapes it in place.
She pulls back and an exhale eases out of her lips. He's the first person she's intentionally touched outside her family for the last six years or at least what's left of them, that being her dad. "I would still consider getting stitches."
He closes the kit and wipes a droplet of blood off the lid. "Did you see my father inside?"
"No." her phone beeps from her pocket and she reads over the time. "I have to go. Are you sure you'll be okay?"
"I'll be fine." He doesn't glance up at her as he picks up the towel and heads toward the back room. "Alright, I'll see you later, I guess."
No, you won't. Putting her phone away in her pocket, she departs for the door. "Yeah, I guess I'll see you later."
"Thank you," he instantly adds.
She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. She feels terrible for leaving him, but she's too chicken to stay behind. "For what?"
He deliberates for an eternity and then exhales a sigh. "For getting me the first aid kit and icepack."
"You're welcome." she walks out the door with a heavy feeling in her heart as another secret falls on top of it.
This is a new story Idea I've had cooking up for a while, review and tell me what you think!
Peace and Love,
Sawyer Scott