Yes. I know I´ve been gone for a very long time (again) and should be finishing my other stories instead of writing something short and useless about a pairing I don´t even like. It´s just that I have personal issue very similar to Brooke´s in the story and I needed to vent really bad. Other than that, I´m really sorry for letting the people that enjoy reading my stories (if there are any) down, I just never have the time/nerve to write these days. I´ve had a really shitty 2010, and 2011 doesn´t seem to get any better. I´ll try to update more frequently, though, I promise. (Which probably means nothing ´cause y´all know I´m not too great at keeping my promises.)
Okay, rant over.
Nobody asked for this;
There´s something about the look in the eyes she hates so much that just won´t let her go. Slightly one-sided Brooke/Damon angst-haunted-thingy. One-shot.
Fandoms: One Tree Hill/The Vampire Diaries
Characters: Brooke Davis, Damon Salvatore, brief mentions of some OTH Characters.
Timeline: No specific one, only Brooke being High School Brooke.
Also, I apologize if anybody turned out a little OOC, my fanfic-writing sucks right now. Also, this story doesn´t have a proper storyline, it´s more like creative rambling.
Nobody asked for this
written by freakiinruby
She´d needed something she could want. Now she had something she needed but didn´t want.
I got a funny feeling
There's something wrong today
I got a funny feeling
And it won't go away
- Shakler´s Revenge; Guns 'N Roses
Brooke Davis couldn't stop the feeling. She couldn't stop the feeling that crawled under her skin and into her blood system whenever she sensed Damon Salvatore walking around the corner. She didn't even know why she would sense when he was around the corner. She didn't even know why she would sense when he was around, but whenever he was, that shaky sting in her gut didn't fail to tell her. She barely knew him, but whenever their eyes met, she'd start trembling and feeling weak and vulnerable and insecure. Whenever he looked at her, the image of this repulsive face wouldn't fade from her mind until she saw him again. She was running in an obnoxious, hair-raising circle. It was like some evil, self-destructive part of her that she didn't want had a crush on him. She definetly didn't have a crush on him, she couldn't. She despised him, he'd hurt Nathan and he'd hurt Haley and he'd hurt Peyton and there were a lot of bad things on her mind when she wondered about what she thought he deserved.
She knew she was so far above him, so much better, with her love and her kindness and her passion, but still, everytime they crossed paths, in the small town that was Tree Hill, she felt so goddamn inferrior to him. She just couldn't forget his face, the expression in his eyes, it never left her alone, no matter how hard she tried pushing it out of her brain.
Most of the time, all she wanted was to punch him in the face, beat the crap out of him as a punishment for doing this to her. But then there were the days when it seemed like he was looking right through her, like he knew everything about her.
Every day after school, she knew she'd see him, waiting for his brother outside the boring old building, staring at her. It was a stare that just wouldn't let go, like he was holding her gaze captive. Through the entire school day, her heart raced, and the closer those few seconds when she'd walk past him came, the faster and louder her heart complained. Like it wanted to bust itself out of her chest.
She couldn't stop, even though she hated it so much, it just kept on ruining her confidence and her appetite.
She'd lie awake at night, desperately trying to knock that picture out of her head.
She'd talked to her trusted friend Haley about it, the she realised her stomach reacted to him so strongly. Before that, she'd try to supress it and ignore it, and maybe that was why it'd gotten so bad. You know, like a tumor you don't notice soon enough.
Last Friday, had been the worst so far. He hadn't been there and she noticed that even though she should've been relieved about not having to walk past him all over, she was disappointed. She noticed that even though it didn't and couldn't matter this much, in a sick and disgustingly twisted way, she needed him. She'd cried when she realised. She'd been done with the world for the next few hours until her worried Haley and her worried Peyton had cheered her up with some Horror Movies and some Alcohol. This uncalled for addiction, it was killing her.
Sometimes, she simply sat on the floor praying to a god she didn't believe in to make it stop. All she wanted was to finally be able to forget about him, the dangerous, hideous stranger. In an unhealthy, immensely stupid way, she loved everything about that ugly grimace of his. But you see, she couldn't do that.
It was Tuesday night, three minutes to midnight. She stood in the bathroom, staring at her pretty but messed up reflection.
"You can't need him." She whispered, then her voice grew louder in a pathetic attempt to sound sure about it. "You can't. Brooke, you can't. You can't, okay?" She sighed, bit back the tears in the face of being so weak, turned out the light, left the room and slid into her bed. She'd done what she'd always do those days, stay up long enough to become tired enough not to care about that name and the face burning right round behind her eyes just before she fell into a dark, dreamless sleep.
She hated him with such passion. She hated him even more than he hated himself. Oh and boy, he did hate himself. She knew that, because if she was angry enough, she could see right through him, too.
Wednesday night, she went outside. Breathing the cold night air, watching the warmth that came from her lungs slowly drift up to the stars. She walked down the road, heard her own heartbeat increase rapidly. He was there. He was there, she knew it. So close. She knew she should've looked around the corner and gone to scream at him and hit him and tell him to get the fuck out of her head. She didn't. She was too scared, to nervous. Instead, she rushed back home, freezing arms around her own round hips.
Thursday night, she went into town again. This time she wasn't scared, she'd gotten surer, but there was nothing to make her tremble this time. He wasn't there. Again, she found herself disappointed and wanting him to be somewhere so bad. She didn't want to go back home. Home seemed to warm and friendly to her right now. She didn't belong there, anyway. Without a destination, she kept walking down the empty night streets of Tree Hill for hours, until she was tired enough to not care about the fact that she hated her house at that point.
Friday night, she went again. Only this time, she headed for some random bar, with her fake ID in her pocket.
After the second glass of Whiskey, the fuzzy feeling came crashing into her head. She went to the bathroom, and while she was washing her hands and fixing her eyeliner, her guts started to feel like they got turned inside out again. When she stepped out, she saw him. He sat there, on the bar. Right next to where her glass and her purse were.
Taking a deep breath, swallowing hard, she stepped up to her chair. She ignored him, but she knew he was staring at her. She always did. She stared at the small leftover of whiskey in her glass, then let the warming fluid drop down her throat. Just as she put it back on the bar, he leaned towards her.
"Brooke Davis."
She grabbed her purse and turned in his direction with the fiercest look those hazel eyes had produced in a while. "Get away from me." She hissed, sounding dangerous enough that she even might've scared him off. She didn't care. She just stood up and left. She didn't care what'd happen next. She'd told him to stay away from her, and he'd damn well better do that. Even though this one moment probably hadn't changed anything, she felt better now.
Maybe Haley was right, this all was just temporary insanity. Without looking back once, she ran home, slammed the red door closed behind her, sunk down along it.
From now on, she'd fight the feeling with everything she had inside of her. If this was war, she'd win it. And if not, at least she'd be able to say she'd tried. She was sick of playing the scared little girl.
She'd get Damon Salvatore to stay away from her, and she'd get him out of her memory.
She was Brooke Davis and nobody screwed with her. At least those were the thoughts she went to bed with.
She's not sure if she'll still be as confident next monday morning, or if it would all be the same.
Damon Salvatore just needed to back off.
That was all she knew, he needed to stay the hell away from her.
Okay, okay, stop throwing stuff! I told you that this is a useless, over-angsty, plotless venting-fic. It's just that I simply can´t write anything else right now.
Maybe I´ll get around to finally type 'he´s alive and well, he´s home' into my computer. But you know, I´m not just troubled, I´m also really lazy.
Love, Francy.