Love, Emily.
She awakened to the familiar bitter taste of alcohol hard against her tongue, just the setting around her being the only difference than the countless other recent nights. It didn't take very long to realize where she was. It was always him to help her, even if he was the last person she needed to see, and now, as of a few days ago, a person she was 'forbidden' to see.
"You're up," she turned her face quickly to see him walk through the door with a glass of water and two aspirin. "Here, these should help." He sticks out his hand with the aspirin.
She doesn't accept them.
"How'd I get here?" It was then she noticed that she wasn't in her own clothes, "And where the hell are my clothes?" Standing was harder than she thought, and she found herself sitting back down immediately once attempting to do so. Her eyes searched her room, locking on her purse which was placed on his chair by the door. Her escape.
"Whoa, whoa, no, Peyton, sit down, all right?" His hands gripped her shoulders before she shrugged him off and sat back down on his bed. "You got drunk, and I came and got you when Rachel called."
"Hello?" He groaned into his phone, his eyes not even able to adjust enough to be able to read the clock.
"Luke, it's Rachel, look I need you to come pick us up." Us? Of course it was Rachel. It had to have been at least past two in the morning, and she would be the person to need a ride at that time. "Look, Peyton's drunk, so she definitely can't drive, and I have no clue how to drive her car even if I was sober enough to."
"Why is it when you hang out with Peyton, she ends up drunk, and I end up making sure she's alright?"
No answer.
"Fine, I'll be there soon." Click. Dammit.
"You shouldn't have come." Always had to be stubborn, and her voice showed the annoyance her face couldn't. "You didn't have to."
"Right, Pey, next time I'll just let Rachel drive so you can go crash up a fucking pole, is that better?" He helped her, like always, and once again, she wasn't the least bit appreciative. "You asked what happened, and I told you. I'm not going to leave you, you should know that by now."
"And my clothes?" She pointed down to the white t-shirt and shorts she was wearing, "In case you never noticed, I don't wear boxers, Luke."
"You know, you weren't so pissed off at me last night."
He opened the passenger side door once they had gotten back to his house after dropping Rachel off. She was partially awake, still unsure whether she should yell at him or thank him. Either way, her stomach was churning from the alcohol that wouldn't come back out, the alcohol that was burning only against her throat. He lifted her up carefully, carrying her through his room and straight into the bathroom. It was only a matter of time before she needed it.
"I'm gonna throw up, Luke…" She began coughing as she hunched over the toilet, "Luke, just go," she didn't want him there.
Too late.
He pulled her hair out of her face just before the night's contents spewed out of her mouth. Her throat, stomach, and tongue now burned with the taste and feel from the intoxicating alcohol. She felt his hand sooth her back in small circles as her fists clenched in pain.
She was finished, at least for now as she wiped her mouth with the top of her shirt.
"What're you d-doing?" His hands were at the hem of her shirt before pulling it over her head completely. His face concentrated on her confused one.
"Getting you out of these clothes. Hold your arms up." She weakly did as she was told, feeling like a worthless kid as he put her arms through his shirt holes over her head. "Here…I'll let you handle these," He handed her a pair of boxers to replace the jeans she had on. "Or not…" Worthless again, struggling to let alone stand by herself. He helped her to her feet, unsnapping the button on her jeans for her. He held her waist as her jeans fell to the floor, and held her up as she stepped into the boxers.
"Thanks…" One of the few times he'd ever heard her anyone, let alone him, that.
"Let's get you to bed, alright?" He lifted her up again and carried her back into his room, setting her on his bed and securely covering her with a blanket.
"Luke…" He turned his face back to hers. "I-I lo-"
"I know." He cut her off and nodded. "Get some sleep." She drifted off to sleep quickly, leaving him awake watching over her.
"Your clothes though? They're finishing up in the dryer." He smirked before heading off toward the bathroom.
"What do you mean I wasn't pissed at you last night? I've been pissed off at you now for over a week." That was mostly Brooke's fault. It was her decision for him to stay away from Peyton, but then again, it was Lucas who listened to her.
"You won't talk to me, Peyt, last night was the first night I actually got to see your eyes because all you've been doing to me lately is turning your face away when you see me." He stopped walking toward the bathroom and turned around to her again.
"Oh you mean thanks to your girlfriend, and my former best friend? 'Cause that's why we're not talking, Luke, because of her."
"That's not fair."
"Yeah, it's not fair to me, Luke." She attempted standing up again. "Do you even realize this is the first time we've talked since the wedding? And that if I hadn't have gotten drunk, it wouldn't be happening? Are you under that tight of a leash to where you can't even talk to me anymore? I thought we were friends."
"Then why couldn't you tell me why you and Brooke were fighting? Friends right? Why couldn't you?"
"Because it's always her, Lucas, every time." Tears burned against her eyes.
He knew. Now he knew why they were fighting. He didn't see it before.
"I'm sorry, Luke, I shouldn-" She succeeded at standing as she walked toward the door. "I'll just wait outside in your truck."
"Hey Peyt?" She turned at the door to face him. "I love you too."
The End