I Died a Thousand Times

He'd sell his soul to save Brooke Davis… literally. When he saw her lifeless in his arms, shot by Jimmy Edwards, he knew he'd do anything to pour life into her cells. Even if that meant to deal with the Devil. Mainly BL. Told from Lucas' point of view.

Enjoy, R&R

Chapter 1

My Bloody Hands

She kept bleeding strenuously in my arms and I kept pressing my fingers against her cold flesh insanely, probably leaving reddish marks on her skin as if I wanted to grip at death, to follow her. Now she was only the shell of what I had known, but I still loved her. Watching her, I knew I adored the faded lineament she had become.

And I heard how God laughed at me, made fun of my powerlessness. Maybe a picture of me – with puffy bloodshot eyes and shaking hands, on my knees begging him to give her back to me – had popped up in His head.

But I didn't plead, didn't shout; I didn't even have the strength to utter a word.

My body had become numb with hopelessness, or maybe with the posture I had held for awhile. Only my fingers were still clinging to her dead body, like I believed that my touch could bring her back to life.

Unfortunately, a magician wasn't on my characteristics list. Her blood kept dripping onto my wrists.

I closed my eyes for a split second. I saw many pictures, my life rolled in my head like a film reel as if I was dying. Remembering the images, it was crystal clear to me that I had died a thousand times.

The moments of my life were repeating in my mind, faded and blurry, and I knew that none of them was her. I remembered how Peyton looked when her car broke down, I remembered the moment I defeated my brother in that legendary match of ours. I wouldn't trade this for anything in this world because at that time she had been still alive, fun, evil, unique. It didn't matter that I had always belonged to someone else, the fact that she existed gave me hope.

I didn't want to open my eyes because her blood still didn't grow cold in my imagination, but I did. The same weakness that had paralyzed my veins dominated over my pathetic self again.

I looked away from her pale face and the crystals from the broken window shined around me. With shaky hands, I tried to wipe the blood away, but I failed. Maybe I didn't want to succeed.

I remained prostrate next to her body, grieving for her soul, while her blood was forming a lake around us. I wanted to switch places with her; at least I wouldn't have felt anything, I would've saved myself from the pain that was corroding my body like sulphur.

The world wasn't going to be better or safer. The sun disappeared.

My personal sun. Brooke Davis.

I craved to see her green eyes once again, but her eyelids would tenaciously forbid it. She didn't smile either because a jet of blood escaped from her lips, forming a little fall between her chin and her neck.

A God who allowed this wasn't much of a God. And I cursed Him for dragging her away from me.

Silence enveloped the famous Tree Hill High. It looked abandoned as if a new unknown disease had spread. I didn't know where the shooter was, but it seemed that there was nobody around. It was only me and the dead body I was holding loosely in my arms. The sound of her blood dripping onto the floor could be heard clearly.

If you had taken a look around the school's region, you would've seen many things – my dad was probably outside – the mayor pretending to cope with the situation; my mom was also there, cursing my lack of reason. My bother was somewhere in the building - out of his mind, looking for his wife. In the middle of a sea made by crystals of glass, Brooke Davis' body was lying. The guy who was frantically pulling her closer to him, pain and insanity on his face, was most likely me.

I looked defeated and mad at the same time. My heavy eyelids hurt, fury and weakness were stuck into my face. I was rocking back and forth like sick, my eyes were following carefully the blood that was coming out of her.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the corridor. I lifted my head and saw the faded nondescript silhouette of a girl running to me.

Her hair was disheveled and was sticking up from everywhere. The image of her pain and weakness was drawn on her face. Apparently, she couldn't stand on her feet, so her movement looked a little bit clumsy and difficult.

The girl ran up to me and stopped for a second. She could barely take a breath. She was so scared that she didn't notice Brooke's dead shell I was holding. The girl was staring at me with fear; she expected me to help her, but I remained fallen on the ground powerlessly and inadequately.

She tugged a lock of her hair behind her ear and whispered, "It's Jimmy Edwards."

Her voice echoed in my head and pierced my brain even though the words were uttered inaudibly.

When she saw the corpse in my arms, her eyes widened. She covered her lips with her fingers and stepped back.

"Go get some help," I ordered weakly. I knew there wasn't a significant use of help in this case.

She began running even faster and let me tell you, I bet she had no idea where she was going.

Already lost my battle, I looked down at Brooke once again. I didn't care I wasn't the hero; I just wanted to see her green eyes.

I stretched my thumb to wipe the blood that was escaping from her mouth. I tried, but it was stronger than me. The touch of her skin hurt.

When my shirt collided with my back, I felt the cold sweat that had broken out there.

I soon felt two singers tapping my right shoulder. They were hotter than my cold skin. Of course, I didn't know anything then. At all.

There's the first chapter. It kind of sucked, but I'll try my best to make the story better.

Enjoy and review!