Disclaimer: all creative rights to the One Tree Hill characters belong to their original creator(s)!
I've given the story a rating of M due to "coarse language and incidents of violence." Enjoy!
A compact 1990 Mazda crawls cautiously over the graveled lot, stopping at a spot facing the soda machine.
When the driver's door opens, a dark-blonde haired girl steps out, shutting the door with a swing of her hip. In the creeping darkness, there are only a few cars sitting in the parking lot. A pickup is pulling off the highway and into the gas station next door, its high-beam headlights blazing in the semi-rundown station.
She makes her way slowly towards the convenience store, the crunch of gravel under her shoes breaking the silence. She pushes the door open and the bell above chimes softly, making the clerk look up.
He gives her a quick but thorough once-over. She's in a white t-shirt, the two black giraffes printed on it embracing her plump tits. Her small waist meets up with a round, denim-clad ass and shapely hips. Low red heels with little white dots cover her feet, and neat, perfectly trimmed unpainted toes peek out. A long gold necklace hangs around her creamy neck, the medallion resting just between that fantastic bust. She has a pretty and open face, large, brown doe-like eyes, a perfect nose, cheeks and lips tinged with pink, a noticeable beauty spot on her jaw. A sweet, unforgettable, girl-next-door girl. Just what he likes to play with.
His mouth curves into an appreciative smile when her eyes connect with his. "'Sup," he greets her with a flick of his chin, flashing his silver tooth.
She gives him a flat smile and a slight nod in acknowledgement before moving away towards the back of the store. Her cell phone rings as she's grabbing a large bottle of water from the fridge.
"Hi, babe," she says brightly.
The clerk pushes himself back in his chair, leaning to perversely check her out, flipping the pages of his magazine absentmindedly. He snakes his eyes over her body, working his way up and down.
Her thick hair falls in wispy waves at her back, moving slightly with the motion of her head and shining like threads of gold under the store lights. She laughs, a melodious sound that makes him want to beg her to let him take her anywhere. She has given him a raging boner without even trying.
The girl abruptly turns around, startling him. His eyes drag away quickly from her ass to her face, his cheeks flaming red at being caught. Tweezed eyebrows go up questioningly as she walks down the aisle towards the counter. Clearing his throat, the clerk focuses back on his magazine, the words swimming before his eyes. He should know better by now just how long he should look before he's caught.
"I'll be home soon. . . .I love you. . . .Bye."
Pocketing the phone, she grabs two packs of gummy worms from the stand next to the register, pushing them and the bottle towards the clerk. He notices a plain gold wedding band on her ring finger. The good ones are always taken.
"How you doin' tonight?" he twangs, deliberating how someone so young is married. Maybe she's one of those weirdass chicks with promise rings and shit.
"Fine, thank you. How are you?" she asks politely.
Her voice so close is like delicious silk on skin, and given the chance, he could lose himself in her brown eyes and do anything she asked.
"Fantastic," he answers, flashing the silver tooth again.
He got it after his ex-girlfriend confessed that she had a thing for guys with grills. That phony bitch turned out to do pure justice to the spirit of Jezebel.
His newest crush pulls out a charge card from her wallet. His clammy fingers brush against hers as he takes it from her. "This all?"
Instead of answering, she nods.
"Goin' home?" he tries again. He wonders if she'll give him her number if he's charming enough.
"Yes. Thank you," she says, grabbing the receipt and taking quick strides out of the store like she's in a hurry.
The clerk gives a low whistle as he watches her exit the store, shaking his head in disappointment. God sure took some time on that sweet little peach, he thinks.
Haley Scott peels out of the parking lot, leaving bits of gravel flying behind. Looking into the rear view mirror, she doesn't see any car following her. To be sure, she takes a glance at the back seat. There's no one there, either. No one followed her.
And then she laughs. She laughs at her foolishness, of thinking that someone could have followed her, that someone being the creepy store clerk. The greasy hair in a ponytail, seventies sideburns, silver tooth and large diamond stud just appeared unnatural on him. Not one of them complimented him at all. She sobers up when she thinks of the moment she caught him staring at her, ogling at her butt, lust contorting his features. The leering had sickened her and she had almost run out of the store.
Following a moment's hesitation, she checks the rear view mirror again and thankfully, there are no headlights behind her. With one hand on the steering wheel, she pulls out a packet of gummy worms from the white plastic bag and tears it open with her teeth. She's starving.
She's on her fifth worm, humming and tapping a rhythm on the wheel with her thumbs, when the car lurches forward. "No…"
The fuel gauge doesn't show anything alarming; a three-quarters full tank wouldn't cause this kind of trouble. After a few moments of peaceful driving, the car lurches again. Then like on command, the engine dies, leaving the car inching slowly forward.
"Oh, crap."
Steering to the shoulder, she hits the brakes and brings the car to a stop. She peers through the windshield, seeing nothing but farm fields. Her cell phone dictates that there's no signal. There are no cars in sight. She wraps her hands around the wheel, and her head falls on them. She's screwed if this car doesn't get its act together
"Crap, crap, crap," she groans over and over again, hitting her forehead on her hands. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Head still bent, her hand fumbles over the passenger seat for another gummy worm, the sweet sourness of her recent weakness making her feel better.
A while later, she lifts her head and reaches for the ignition. "I need to get home to my husband, okay? And to do that, you have to work, you stupid thing."
She can hear clicking under the hood but the car doesn't start. "Please, please, please work," she begs, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
Her foot presses on the gas pedal repeatedly, the movement causing it to squeak. "Come on, come on…"
The engine knocks and clanks to life.
"Oh, hell, yes!"
"Oh, God, yes…" she moans softly as their lips draw apart. "I should come home late more often."
Nathan pulls her on top of him, making her giggle in delight. "Is that right?"
"Definitely. If this is the kind of treatment I get, I should be staying late in school or work for much longer. A great bath, a great dinner, and really, really great sex. You have blown—"
He cuts her off with a hard kiss, his teeth tugging at her lower lip, leaving her purring in pleasure. "You caught me in a good mood tonight."
"A sexy good mood," she murmurs, her lips trailing along his jaw.
His fingers run through her hair slowly until she looks up. Propping her chin on her fisted hand where it rests on his chest, she asks in a whisper, "What?"
"I love you," he replies, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger.
She slides her naked body up until her face hovers above his, her lips dropping on his for a slow kiss. "I love you, too."
Gentle and sweet soon advances to fiery. A long time later, they collapse together in sated bliss on the mussed up sheets. Lazily touching, a heap of tangled limbs, they just gaze at each other as their breathing returns to normal.
"Is it just me or was that incredible?" he says, his fingers lightly grazing the side of her face.
"Isn't it always incredible?" she grins, rubbing the tip of her nose on his cheek.
His arm goes around her shoulders, pulling her close. "I can't explain it. I'm not saying I don't love it because I do, but that was something else."
"I guess we're in a really good mood tonight."
They laugh and kiss again, cuddling as they take a moment to cool down.
"How was your day?" he asks, his fingers running up and down slowly on her bare arm.
"Okay."
"Okay? You usually have more to say."
Haley bites on the inside of her lower lip in contemplation. "I ha—"
Just then, the doorbell rings. It's followed by three sharp knocks.
"I'll get it," Nathan says. "Probably Tim telling me something that he could have easily told me over the phone."
"Tell him that he has the worst possible timing," she groans, pulling the sheet over herself as he finds his shorts. "I was hoping to get some more on top of the some."
With a laugh, Nathan draws a t-shirt over his head and leans down to give her a quick kiss. "I promise to show him my wrath."
"I sure am lucky to have you, baby."
He laughs again, dropping another kiss on her lips. "Keep the bed warm," he says with a wink, and shuts the bedroom door.
She falls back on the bed with a sigh, an uncontrollable smile on her face. Coming home late was definitely worth it.
A shout and a crash from the living room cause her to sit up. "Nathan?"
Deep voices begin to argue back and forth, making her panic. She can't make out what they're saying but it sounds serious. She dresses quickly in her pajama bottoms and red tank, and turns the bedroom door slowly.
"—talking about but you should leave," she hears Nathan say angrily as she walks down the short hallway.
"Babe, what's going on?"
She steps into a scene straight out of a movie or television show. Three uniformed and rubber-gloved police officers are rummaging through cabinets and drawers, and another is standing outside the open door. There are shards of glass from the broken vase not far from the doorway, limp sundrops and their pale yellow petals lying on the damp patch of carpet. Nathan is head-to-head with a rotund, half-bald man dressed in khaki trousers and a brown shirt, the two staring at each other like in silent war.
Haley moves to stand beside Nathan, her hand reaching for his back. "What's going on?" she asks in a low voice.
Before he can answer, the stranger breaks eye contact with Nathan and turns to her. "Are you Haley Scott?"
Taking a look around, Haley replies, "Yes. Is there a problem, um, officer?"
He pulls out something from his back pocket, flipping it open to show her a shiny gold badge. "Detective David Collins."
Haley looks around their living room in horror at the mess and disarray. One of the uniformed officers has moved to the couch, dragging out the cushions and throwing them haphazardly to the floor. She's instantly irked.
"Hey! What are you doing!?" Nathan yells, making a move to walk towards the sofa.
Detective Collins steps in front of him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Then tell him to stop ripping apart our things!"
The uniformed officer smirks at Nathan quite unkindly. Bending forward, he tugs at the armrest, wrenching it apart, stuffing spilling out like snow.
"Stop that!"
Still in a daze of confusion, Haley steps between her husband and the officer. "What is going on? What do you want from us?"
"Haley Scott, you're under arrest for the murder of Cornelius Dwight," Detective Collins says, pulling out a pair of handcuffs.
She's sucker-punched full-force in the gut. Air is being siphoned from her lungs speedily and mightily.
"W-what?" she breathes out.
The room starts to spin as she tries to comprehend what the detective has said. Under arrest? Murder?
"You are under arrest for the murder of Cornelius Dwight," the detective repeats.
There's a sharp pain in her head and her heart is beating at a thousand beats a minute. Gradual numbness is creeping up, taking over all her senses, her mind, body and soul. She feels like she's watching the scene play out in slow motion from outside herself; the coolness of the handcuffs brushing along her skin as the detective reaches for her wrist, her compliance, Nathan yelling and pulling her back, shaking her head in disbelief, her face wan and pale…
"Don't touch her," she hears Nathan rumble beside her.
"Sir, step away. Haley Scott, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney..."
The horror of the situation kicks in. She feels sick. She wants to throw up, she wants to scream, she wants to slap herself out of the nightmare.
Slowly, the numbness begins to wear off when she hears the click of metal on metal as a cuff is locked around one of her wrists. Detective Collins pulls her other hand behind her back to bind them together.
"I-I didn't do anything…" she whimpers.
"Don't you fucking touch her!" Nathan bellows from behind her.
She turns her head slowly to see him trying to free himself from the hold of two police officers.
"I swear…" she chokes shakily, her eyes tearing up. "I didn't…I swear I…"
"It's okay, Hales. It's just a misunderstanding. Let go of me, you asshole!" he spews out angrily at the big man with the crew cut.
"Insult me one more time and I will break your kneecaps," the officer tells him with a menacing glare. His name badge says DeLong, and he was the one ripping apart the couch with pleasure.
"I'll sue your ass so fast that you'll be begging for quarters on the street by the end of the week," Nathan retorts, pushing against them.
Haley feels herself being shuffled towards the door, her feet like lead beneath her.
"I'm coming to get you, baby, okay?" Nathan says tenderly from across the room. "I'm right behind you."
She can only nod, her tear-filled eyes blurring her husband's features. The cool evening air hits her in the face when she's pushed out the door. The two squad cars sitting at the parking lot with their lights on give her a jolt of reality, the panic and the terror feeding into each other. She snaps.
Screaming, she breaks away from the detective, shoving him to turn and run back into the apartment. Where Nathan is. Where she feels safe.
"Nathan!" she screams, her wrists chaffing as she fights against the handcuffs.
"Haley!" he shouts, straining to loosen his hands from the hold of the officers.
She finds herself falling flat on the carpet, her cheek being pushed hard into it. She screams, tears dripping down the side of her face.
"Let her go!"
"Where do you think you're going?" DeLong growls in her ear.
She's crying uncontrollably, her face hard-pressed to the carpet. "I-I didn't k-kill anyone. P-please let me g-go…"
"Tell it to the judge. Get up," he commands.
When she's pulled up roughly from the floor, she instantly kicks up her legs. She loses a slipper, and screams everything she's saying. "No! Let me go! Nathan, help me! Let me go!"
Nathan, so angry that he can barely see clearly, pushes aggressively against his captors. "I told you not to touch her! Let go of her!"
Fists are suddenly flying, people are cursing, screaming and shouting. There's a shrill whistle but it doesn't stop the commotion. A punch in the gut leaves Nathan breathless as he falls to his knees, clutching his stomach.
"NATHAN!" Haley shrieks, twisting her body from the iron grip around her torso that is holding her in place inches off the ground. "What did you do to him!? Nathan!"
The other slipper flies off her foot to land on the kitchen counter but she doesn't care. "Nathan!"
She watches him trying to catch his breath, coughing against the brutality of the blow. His name passes from her lips in a long, painful moan. "Nathan…"
Amidst her thrashing and hot tears, she's carried out of the apartment, fighting to break free and run to her husband. The apartment's door slams behind them, and defeated, she just slumps against her carrier. "No…"
"Much better," DeLong says smugly as they get to the stairs.
"Y-you hurt him. Why did you hurt him?" she sniffles, feeling like a ragdoll on display as they pass by their curious neighbours.
She wants to break his legs and skin him alive for what he just did to Nathan.
"We warned him but he still threw the first punch. He's lucky that I didn't take out my Taser."
The flashing red and blue lights in the apartment complex's parking lot are like strobe lights at a nightclub. Haley is pushed into the back seat of a police cruiser before the door is banged shut. Sniveling, she lifts her eyes to look at their apartment at the far corner of the first floor.
"You better hope to God that he's okay," she warns with an icy edge to her voice.
"I don't believe in God, sweetheart," DeLong responds dryly, turning the ignition.