Rating:Eh nothing to dangerous...i will let you know in advance if you should be worried
Summary: Can't really give to much away just yet...Characters consist of Peyton, Nathan, Brooke, and Lucas. As for the pairing it will come clear after reading this first chapter. Mainly about the couple pairing but the others will also be a part of my fic in chapters to come
Disclaimer: I don't own a thing...please and thanks
Chapter one: My name is... and I have a problem
As I taste the bitter burning of the liquid making way down my throat a rush of calmness and satisfaction takes over me. it won't be long until I start feeling the effects. Won't be long before my inhibitions are lost, my vision hazed, and my night just like every other. You would wonder why this would bring me to relaxation. Truth is I have yet to understand it myself. For without my daily sips, without grasping that buzz; I am not complete. Tipping the glass bottle I come to the knowledge that once again I am at an empty. Strutting into the kitchen and over to the cabinets I quickly pull the tiny brass key from my jean clad pocket and easily open the keep sake of my precious desire. Trying to remain at a silent in hopes no one will catch me in this act of robbery, I grasp the yet to be opened bottle of expensive delightful liquor and then as if a bolt of lightning strikes make a quick dash for my bedroom. Sighing out in relief when I realize I made it without anyone's suspicion I remove the lid in much anticipation and lick my lips already tasting the wonderful sensations. Feeling a fog come over me a smile lights my face as I raise the open container to my expecting lips. As I close my mouth over the the bottle and moments away from my safety the knob to my doorway turns and before I can comprehend a figure has arrived. It happens all to quickly for me to make sense. Voices are calling out to others and tears are falling from several orbs. There are gasps of shock while others look on in pure disgust. I feel my security being ripped from me as the bottle is torn from my fingers. I can hear my own voice screeching in detest. A pair of arms enveloping me while a rocking sensation moves us back and forth. Weeping is in the air as I'm being carried now in that set of arms. It is not long before I feel my body being placed into the backseat of an all to familiar vehicle. The doors shut and locked around me in fear that I may make and escape. Even though I imagine doing just that I know it is impossible. I am far to gone in mind to even walk a straight line never mind make a run from this set of people. I feel the tears prickling at my eyes but I just blink them back. Force myself to become numb. In fact I know exactly where it is they are taking me. Though no words are spoken the entire forty minute drive. When my sight comes to see the building I release a bitter laugh. It was predictable. They could not even try to deal with this situation on their own. It seems easier just to send me away. They whisper words of love in my ear even though I don't buy it. If they loved me they would be taking me back home. They would accept my way of life and choices I have been making. It is not their life to be living and yet they think I should be living by their standards. "I'm not a bad person." I complain in making my case. To me its like they have given up before they have even tried. I roll my eyes as I am being led into the main doorway. Everything is far to white here. Not meaning racially speaking. I mean the walls, paintings, staircases. Its all painted a pure fresh color. It sickens me. I feel my throat tighten as I yearn for that opened bottle at home. The one I was moments away from enjoying. I hate them now. I hate them for taking me here and away from the only thing that matters in my life. The only thing that gets me through each day. As they sign and place their john Hancock on many bills, papers, and forms I wish for it to be a dream. Maybe I blacked out and this is all a figment of my imagination. As I grasp the skin on my shoulder I shriek loudly at the pain and once again their eyes are on me. They think I am crazy but they know nothing. I am perfectly normal. I'm a perfectly normal sixteen year old girl. Only now my home embarks the title "Tree Hill Rehab Facilitation."
"I've been sober for seventeen months and I've never been happier. I mean I feel amazing. And this whole group session is wonderful. I really appreciate all its done in helping me stay clean and sober." As she dried her tears with her sleeve I couldn't help but groan in annoyance. It was people like her that really made me have an itching for some flavoring. Shaking my head though I knew it was a pointless yearn. It has been over three years since that day my best friend, his girlfriend, and my dad carried me off into and unknown land. A day that was the beginning to an end. At least what was supposed to be an end. I won't deny it and say that I wasn't a lost child back then. I also won't deny the fact that I would chug back at least two cases of bear each day. I had my problems and though I still do I am better off now. I won't admit aloud, though I tell myself every day bringing me to that place was one of the greatest and yet worst gifts that could ever come upon me. Turning my eyes upward when I hear a voice calling to my name I can't help it when I roll my eyes and sigh exhaustedly.
"Please Peyton share something with us on how you are coping with your problem." I can feel the others gaze burning into my soul. Since I was released a year and a half ago I have continuously made every weekly group session. Though I never share experiences or voice my input I feel listening to these others speak actually makes me feel better off. They are far more screwed up then I myself am. At least I can admit when I have a problem. Reaching for my gray backpack I shake my head before strapping the bag to my shoulder and standing to my feet.
"I don't have a problem." Okay so maybe I lied. But isn't it true that if you never speak words aloud it has yet to become honestly true? Or maybe that was just some stupid theory of someone who like me couldn't admit to his mistakes. Slamming into the heavy door I made my way out of that death threatening room and into the sunlight. Not even bothering to look back I headed over to my black motorbike and straddled it underneath me. I know it wasn't very conventional for a nineteen year old girl to be riding a sports bike. But I'm not just like any other nineteen year old girl. I'm far more troubled and far more complex. Zipping up my black jacket that once belonged to my late mother I felt the rush of wind wisp through my golden locks.
"Peyton. Hey Peyton wait up."
Turning my head I raise an eyebrow in question. He wasn't a stranger for we've been residing in the same youth group for the past year or so but all I could offer in knowledge of his being was the name he presented himself with. That and the most wonderful, piercing, breathtaking eyes. The ones that soared down into your soul and sparkled with understandmant. He wasn't a bad looking guy. I could definitely see the common attraction that woman would most likely fall for. The way he wore his dirty blonde hair shaggy but yet tamed, his navy blue T-shirt a bit wrinkled yet clinging to his abs nicely, and the jeans that snuggled nicely to his lower regions. He held the perfect amount of rebellion demeanor as also showed a side in which seemed to be comforting. As I ponder it more he seems a bit detached from the group. One who also doesn't like to be the object of attention and only seems to attend these good for nothing sessions to appease the councilors. Looking back towards the way of the road I debate letting him make way over to me. Debate pausing there for a moment so he can join my presence and speak what ever it was that he had planned. For a second I thought I would stay to listen. But as I feel my foot press onto the petal and my hand rev the engine even more I know it is a pointless conversation coming. It would be a waste of time and breath for the matter. We weren't acquaintances and we were never going to become friends so what was the use of staying behind and waiting for him? There wasn't. Passing the cars, street signs, and alleyways Lucas Scott became that much smaller and smaller. His figment the size of a dime and his importance even smaller. I shrugged off the wonder of what his words were to be. I didn't even bother to care. For he is nothing. For they all are nothing. The one importance in my life has disappeared. Maybe not forever, but for the time being. Because my name is Peyton Sawyer and I have been sober for one thousand, one hundred, thirty three days, and counting.