Disclaimer: I own nothing.
This story is kind of different from my usual stuff, so I'd really like to hear what you guys think!
Brooke Davis sighs as she finishes unloading Clos over Bros spring collection from their respective boxes. She runs a hand through her smooth side fringe, small beads of sweat stuck like glue on her hand. The saltiness of the heat stings her wounds, the wounds that were fresh cuts only two days ago. Brooke closed he eyes momentarily as images of the burly man flashes through her brain, loud and life sized. She allowed her body to shudder and she breathed in, another failed attempt at regaining composure.
Lucas Scott switches off the radio as he pulls the break infront of Brooke's store. He had dropped Peyton off at her place, telling her to start packing her things, for their new life together. He almost had to push her through the door, she wouldn't stop quoting love songs, or kissing him, or touching him to feel if he's really there. He pauses in his seat, staring into the boutique, hoping for some kind of light, or loud whispers of the curvy brunette he once claimed as his. He sat still for a minute or two, it finally felt like too long so he climbed out and found himself staring at a thick window, it was dark, and he knew something was seriously wrong. Brooke, cheer Nazi and workaholic wouldn't close up shop at merely 7pm. He must have dozed off from the lack of 'rest' in Vegas, because in one blink, Brooke Davis was standing infront of him.
A very bruised, battered and broken Brooke Davis.
'Well well, where's the runaway bride?'
He normally would look down, and chuckle at her witty words. But this time he couldn't bring himself to laugh, he couldn't bear to see her face, all bruised, battered and broken face. Brooke's face has always been perfect, flawless, like a porcelain doll. But her face now looks cracked and flawed and somehow tainted.
'What happened to your face Brooke?'
Brooke rolled her eyes and forced out a bitter chuckle, and if he wasn't sugar coating it for himself, he would admit that it sounded more like an unkind cry, a yelp, a snarl.
'Why do you care Luke?' Her voice was tired, pained and bored. And if Lucas was honest with himself, he would admit that it didn't come from her physical pain, but more from the tedious task of spelling things out for him all the time.
'Hmm? Why do you care?' They were both standing infront of the store now, the sky has taken notice and started to darken, heavy clouds hung over them like the brunette and the blonde's unresolved problems.
Lucas stood still, unfazed, unresolved and unaware.
' Why do you always feel the need to be the hero? I am not some pathetic damsel to nurse your hero complex okay? I don't need you to pretend you're sorry for not being here, for taking my best friend away when you knew I needed her the most!'
She was barely conscious now, barely coherent, boderline hysterical. Lucas stood still, mouth closed, taking her bullets in.
'I only came to say hey Brooke, nothing else'. Lucas knows he's a lying liar who lies.
He smiled a bit as he handed her a brown paper bag.
'I got this for you'.
Brooke, having jerked from her outburst, took the bag and revealed a plastic elvis.
'He dances and sings too. I just thought it was pretty funny'.
Brooke rolls her eyes again.
A lying liar who lies, a boyfriend who buys his future bride's best friend a present on their getaway, a guy who cares so much but knows so little.
'Thanks Luke.'
And at this point he's certain she's not thanking him for the present.
Lucas looks at his watch and sighs.
'I should get back. My mom's expecting a call'.
Brooke nods.
She knows he's lying.
Lucas starts to turn back to his car, but her voice stops him.
'Luke, say hi to Peyton for me'.
And he knows she means so much more than that. It seems more like a goodbye, or a blessing, he doesn't dare to wonder.
Lucas nods gratefully. 'I'm sorry I didn't save you Brooke'.
Brooke rolls her eyes for what feels like a millionth time. He didn't have to say it, but it was just one of his OCDs, his obsessive need to please people, to rub salt in their wounds.
Brooke gestured to her store. 'I'd better get back, the fall line calls'.
He knows she's lying, he can faintly make out glossy patterns and swirls by the racks.
But he lets her go, it's not like he's never done it before.
One raindrop, two raindrops, three raindrops and a million more.
Brooke's still standing there and Lucas is still thinking of a fresh lie.
He turns to her one final time.
'I wished you said yes Brooke'.
And Brooke knew that wasn't a lie. His eyes were determined, just like that night in the storm, so many years ago.
Lucas can read her eyes. And as her tears become part of the rain, he too, knows she's no longer lying.
They're both hiding, hiders, two lovers in denial.
One selfless brunette and a blonde masochist.