Nathan crawled out of bed for the third time that day. A crunching noise could be heard as he placed his feet on a half empty packet of potato chips. Screwing his face up he rose from his bed, grabbing his remote and turning his TV off in the process. He stood at the foot of his bed, facing the long mirror strategically placed on the back of his door. The person he saw looking back at him was far from the person he was a year ago. His hair poked up in all directions, dark circles had formed under his eyes and dry blood sat in the cracks in his pale lips. His bare chest was no longer rippled with muscle, and the large scar reaching from his left rib cage to his right hip was the only visible sign of the tragedy that had occurred only a few months ago. Running a hand through his hair he opened his bedroom door and paused, looking across the hallway at the black bedroom door opposite his. The sign on the door reading "Bitch Inside, Back Off" was vibrating as the loud punk rock music surged. Shaking his head he turned to his left and headed downstairs.

The light from the sun hit his face as he entered the bright kitchen. He squinted and continued towards the fridge not even glancing at his father who was sitting at the kitchen bench reading the news paper.

"Afternoon son," Dan Scott smiled, his eyes flicking from the clock on the wall back to the sports section. Nathan didn't respond, taking a carton of juice out of the fridge and removing the lid. "Glad to see you out of bed… finally," his father sneered, as he watched his son scull half a bottle of juice from the carton.

As Nathan lowered the juice carton he gave his father a huge fake grin, turned on his heel and left the kitchen. He bumped into his mother on the way out, who gave him a pat on the shoulder, and a small smile. He continued on his way upstairs, and Deb Scott took a seat across from her husband.

"That was the doctor on the phone," she said, taking the newspaper out of his hands to make sure he was paying attention. "The test results came back, everything is fine. Nathan should be fine to go back to school tomorrow, and his next check up will be in two weeks,"

"Well that's great. We'll start him out on light training—"

"No Dan," his wife cut him off, placing a gentle hand on his knee. "Nothing has changed. You heard what the doctor said. No basketball. Ever. It's the beginning of a new school year, and I would like both of our children to start fresh, with no pressure from you," and with that, she left the room, not wanting to deal with her husbands irrational behavior.

Dan bit back a growl. How could everything go so wrong is just three months? Nathan would have been a Pro if he hadn't been so reckless. The accident had ruined his chance at a professional basketball career, and Dan Scott's very own social status.

And although the police never officially charged Nathan of any crime the residents of Tree Hill didn't want anything to do with a supposed murderer, or his family. As far as they where concerned;

Nathan Scott was driving.

Nathan Scott was speeding.

Nathan Scott was the cause of the crash.

Nathan Scott killed his four best friends.

Nathan Scott would suffer for his crime.

****************************************************************************************************