Authors Note: This is a new fic that me (Courtney) and Camilla are writing together. We're very excited about this, and we hope that you enjoy it! I won't say a lot about the story now, because it supposed to be a mystery. This story is mostly Brooke centered , but there will be some Brucas, since we're such huge fans. The Brooke in this fic is much different from what you're all used to, so hopefully you'll enjoy the change!

The title of the prologue is from the Goo Goo Dolls, Out Of The Red, along with the lyrics in the beginning. The Goo Goo Dolls and their lyrics will be playng a huge part in this story.

The prologue is being dedicated to Jo for just being amazing and such an awesome beta!

Make sure to review!

Disclaimor: We don't own the characters, those are all Mark's! We don't own The Goo Goo Dolls song, or their amazing lyrics either.

Prologue: Out Of The Red

I'd rather hang with drunks than hang out with myself

Well, the booze is over there take a glass off the shelf

If you ain't had enough by tomorrow at noon

we're gonna place a call to the boneyard crew

Went to sleep at home and woke up in a shed

Brooke Davis had never been one to cry. In fact, she had never that much cared for anyone, let alone enough to shed a few tears for them.

She hated to cry. To her, it was one of the biggest signs of weakness, and if there was something Brooke was not, it was weak.

Yet, she found herself curled up in a bed that wasn't hers with a box of kleenex she had swiped from her pretend sisters's room, and a bottle of vodka she had managed to buy with one of her many fake I.D.s.

She thought that the stinging sensation gliding down her throat and that the slight dizziness would make her feel better.

It didn't.

No matter how many identities she had, no matter how black her eyes were, no matter how many black tank tops she bought, she was still just her.

She was Brooke fucking Davis, queen of no one, but feared by many. She was still scarred for life, the souvenirs on her arms were the sign of just that. She was still the beauty queen who just wanted someone to love her, even though people just scoffed when they heard of her past. She didn't care about them anymore though, they could have their opinion. She couldn't blame them either. She herself had a hard time believing that the person with the intense, but lifeless eyes was her.

The only thing that was somewhat the same was her porcelain skin, even though it had also faded to the lighter shade of bone china, a paleness that would never be tanned no matter how hard she tried.
Not that she tried anymore though, this new Brooke Davis wouldn't allow her to slip back into old habits.

Brooke moved herself off the bed and walked unsteadily around the room she was so generously being offered to live in. The walls were bare and with a bleak yellow color. Only a few sketches here and there covered the minor damages. Damages that gave proof that people had lived there before her.

Happy people, she guessed. That was until tragedy struck.

Tragedy always interferes, she concluded.

The only thing that was truly hers was a stuffed bear she had gotten for her fivth birthday. She loved it, like she had loved her parents. She also had her own clothes, but she wasn't so sure that they belonged to her either. She had bought them, she wore them, but they weren't hers. The leather skirts that enhanced her slim legs were her identity, and the big military boots were her cover. The scowl she wore screamed «get the fuck out of my face», and the black, heavy eyeliner was there to hide the truth behind her eyes; she just wanted someone to understand her.

Only one person did, but he wasn't the one for her.

She glanced in the mirror, and felt nausea wallowing in the pit of her stomach. She was disgusted with her tear stained cheeks, she was dissapointed in herself for feeling weak.

She needed a drink.

This was her life, this was what she had become.
And this was what she wanted to get out of.

She tightened her grip around the bottle, and stumbled towards the calendar on her dresser. She looked at the date. It was already circled, but she circled it again anyway. This day meant the world to her, and hopefully it would mean something to the others as well.

She counted the days remaining and took another satisfied swig from the bottle when she was done.

In 30 days, Brooke Davis would cease to exist.