Pills And Ashes Under Her Skin
Summary: She idly thought of what doctors would find years from now if they were ever to perform an autopsy. Pills and ashes under her skin. That's all that would be left.
Disclaimer: Title comes from a Counting Crow's song "American Girls", I don't own that, or the character's of "One Tree Hill"
Damaged. Broken. Fucked up. Ruined.
The picture of perfection.
No one ever saw her flaws and that was the way she liked it. If Brooke Davis' facade were ever penetrated she would never be able to face her world. It was better to fake her way through until the smile truely became genuine and the pain was truely gone.
But there was no way of knowing how long that would take and so Brooke concentrated on having fun. Or, at the very least creating the appearence that she was having fun.
The truth was that it was all a lie.
She put forward images of cheer and flirtation; sexuality and seduction. But that wasn't even close to what could be found behind closed doors when all the rest was striped away.
The reality was that she was a sad, lonely, little girl lost. Abandoned by those who were supposed to love her unconditionally. Betrayed and left behind by others who promised to always stay by her side.
Brooke bit her lip as she twisted the lid off of the child-proof bottle and tipped the last few pills into the palm of her hand.
Lexapro.
Things weren't good in her life and she was reffered to a psychiatrist by the school nurse.
Then came the antidepresants.
The matches were around earlier than that though.
She would sit alone in her room, light a match and watch the flame as it danced all the way down to her fingertips.
She never even flinched as the fire reached her skin. In fact, she smiled. Those moments were the only ones that she felt real.
After Lucas and Peyton... After what they did, Brooke was in excrutiating pain. She'd never felt anything like that before.
But then, at some point after confirming with a doctor that she wasn't pregnant and Lucas calling her a slut, everything went numb.
Black ash marring her fingers were the only reminders of her late-night activities.
In the back of her mind she idly thought of what doctors would find years from now if they were ever to perform an autopsy.
Pills and ashes under her skin.
That's all that would be left.
Her heart was gone, leaving a gaping black hole in her chest, her blood ran cold at every thought of those people and nothing felt good anymore.
All she had left were her pills and her fires.
For now, that was all she needed.
Her life had always been sex, (pretty self explanatory), drugs, (beer and various other harder liquer's) and rock 'n roll (Tree Hill's version of a rockstar were basketball player's.)
Someday soon the smiles would be genuine, the pain would be completly gone. She needed it that way, and so that was the only outcome she would focus on.
She didn't want to be pills and ashes. Cheer and flirtation, that was what she needed and that was what she was going to get.
Eventually.
FIN
