A/N: This is going to be a short four chapter story, my first non-oneshot for One Tree Hill. It's a Leyton. Very much one sided at first, but it gets better. Reviews are welcomed and encouraged! But if you'd just like to read it, that's cool too I guess.
Disclaimer: I don't own One Tree Hill.
The assignment was not as earth shattering as one would think it would be. Write a creative essay about your first love. It was supposed to be a fluffy little piece that would help the English students of Tree Hill High better describe their feelings and emotions. However, while reading over the pieces, Mr. McHenry discovered that not all first love is fluffy.
Peyton Sawyer was one of Mr. McHenry's most intriguing students. The girl could write wonderful papers one day and half-assed work the next. If she was in a good mood, her work was terrible. Choppy sentences and no real emotion. If she was upset or brooding as some would call it then she transformed into Virginia Wolfe or Sylvia Plath. He never forgot the piece she wrote on her mother's death. He, a grown man, cried like a little girl when reading it. He felt the same way when he read her latest essay. It wasn't grammatically correct. There were fragments and run-ons. Sometimes her ideas tended to jump. But the most important part of the assignment was to make the reader understand what it was like to be in love for the first time. And Peyton did that. She hit the nail on the head.
And so what better way to explain to the students how to write these creative essays than to read them one of the best in the class. Anonymously of course. Unfortunately, even with anonymity anyone who really knew Peyton Sawyer would have a clue that it was hers. But Mr. McHenry really didn't know that at the time.
Lucas arrived at English class just before the bell. He slid into his seat next to Brooke in the back. His eyes covertly scanned the room for the blonde that had been avoiding him for the past two weeks. It would have been nice if he could have turned to Brooke and ask where Peyton was, but unfortunately, she would have scowled at him and ignored him for God knows how long. He understood that Brooke and Peyton weren't talking, but he wished someone would inform as to why. Whenever he asked Haley if she knew anything she would tell him he was the most naïve person she ever met and laugh at him. How was he supposed to take that?
Lately, Peyton had been hanging around with Rachel and some of her friends. Rachel hadn't been the same after the accident. She pulled away from everyone, including Brooke and Mouth who had been trying to help her. Instead she found a group of shallow acquaintances who could help her take her mind off of the pain. At first, Lucas thought that Peyton was just another one of these acquaintances, but he soon learned better. Peyton leaned on Rachel and Rachel leaned on Peyton. Obviously they had something in common.
Rachel spotted Lucas's gaze lingering on Peyton's empty spot. She caught his eye and mouthed the words, "She's sick." He nodded his head in understanding. And Rachel rolled her eyes as she turned around. Lucas Scott was just so oblivious, even to his own feelings.
"Class," Mr. McHenry said clearing his throat, "You guys are still having trouble with these creative essays. I mean you've got the grammar, spelling and punctuation down, but where's the feeling? The point of this essay was to make me, a forty year old man, understand what kids your age feel when you experienced your first love. As a result, I've decided that today we will read one of your classmates' essays on their first love. It was the only really good one in the bunch." Mr. McHenry sighed and his eyes drifted over the room. He was kind of glad Peyton wasn't here. She would surely be uncomfortable hearing her thoughts read in front of the entire class. "Any volunteers to read?"
"I'll do it," Rachel said, her hand shooting up in the air. To say the class was surprised was an understatement. Rachel didn't volunteer in class. Hell, Rachel didn't even pay attention in class.
"Ok, Ms. Gattina, go ahead." Rachel stood up, fixing her super short skirt in the process, and walked to the front of the classroom. She cleared her throat and smirked when she glanced at the title. She had a feeling it would be this essay.
"That's Me Inside Your Head by Anonymous," Rachel began, "Mr. McHenry asked us to write this creative essay on our first love. At first, I didn't know who I should write about. How do you define love really? I could say it was the boy I lost my virginity to. I mean I obviously cared enough about him to give him something so special. I mean I'm no slut. Maybe I should say it's the boy who I lived with for four months. The boy who brought me out of some shitty places. But then, who put me in those shitty places? I would have to say my first love.
My first love and I never technically dated. But this connection was forged through friendship. I still remember the first time I ever saw him. We were only seven or so. My best friend and I were looking for a place to eat and I spotted this cafe. We went in and saw a boy about our age spinning his basketball on his index finger. He looked so depressed and so bored. Our eyes connected for a moment and I knew at that point this boy would be trouble.
It was weird how the next time we'd ever look eye-to-eye would be nine years later. I'd be driving recklessly looking for a cd. He'd be listening to his ipod dribbling a basketball. I almost ran him over. Looking back, maybe it would have been better if I had. His eyes swirled with mixed emotions. Fear. Astonishment. Curiosity. I could feel him reading me. I hate when people do that. So I pulled up my walls and told him to move out of the way. I could have sworn I saw him smirk at me. The little bastard.
As time went on, he slowly chipped away at my walls. I was too afraid that he meant anything more to me than a friend. If you let people get to close, they disappear. It's a motto I live by. I knew I really needed him and I thought if I kept him at a certain distance he might actually stick around. Here comes where my heart breaks the first time. He tells me he wants to be with me. I get upset. He hooks up with my best friend. I find out about it seconds after I tell him that I want the same thing he does. Obviously, I was wrong.
You'd think I would have learned my lesson, right? He wasn't serious about me. All his sweet words meant nothing. His caring ways were just a way to get into my pants. He was just like any other boy. But I fell for it. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice shame on me. And twice he did.
So, I tried to be content with just being his friend. I did need him and so what if he was dating my best friend? They deserved each other. Looking at that statement I don't know whether I mean that as an insult or a compliment. Anyways, they seemed happy enough. I just smiled and pretended that it didn't break me in two to see them together. Hell, my mom always said that you have to smile even during the bad times. It always looks up. Only this didn't look up. It just got worse and worse.
I let myself become the one thing I hated. The other woman. The home wrecker. It tore me apart watching myself. Being with him, it was so wonderful. His kisses lit me on fire. My lips would tremble when he came near and my eyes would sparkle feeling his hands on my hips or in my hair. It felt good. I felt complete.
But the timing was wrong. I know I let him go for the idea of being a better person. Maybe we could have tried later. I had that hope. Second time he breaks my heart. He sleeps with someone less than a week after I left him. Clearly he didn't feel the same way. I would NEVER, EVER sleep with someone else so soon after our break up.
Now, I hate him. A hatred so deep in my soul it rots away at the goodness I have left. He pushed his way into my life. Into my heart. He made me need him. And I allowed him. And I hate myself for that. Because I hate loving him.
He called me a mistake. He sees me suddenly as a lapse in judgment. An error. A miscalculation. A step backwards. The reason his innocence evaporated. Why doesn't anyone blame him? Why am I the one here suffering for his wickedness? When he plays with two women's emotions, turns them against each other, not once but twice? Why does he get to go free? Why am I looked at as a harlot and a slut? Why does my best friend hate me? He's the one to blame. He's the liar. The cheater. The manwhore. He's the one who broke us both.
What advice do I give to the girls on the brink of become women? What should I tell you to prevent you from the same heartache I have been dealt? Don't trust a sweet talker. He's full of empty promises. Don't trust eyes that seem to look deeper. While you may think they're looking into your heart, they're really looking at your chest, wondering how fast they can get their calloused hands beneath your shirt.
The syllabus says I have to answer this question as well: Do I regret my first love? Yes and No. Do I regret what he made me feel? The way he made me feel wanted and needed. The way his eyes told me he adored everything about me. The way his smile made my day just a little better. No. I don't regret that. I do regret that it was all lies. I do regret the people my love heart in the process.
A part of me will love my first love until the day I die. He's got my heart and no matter how many times I try I just can't get it back. I could run up to him and demand it, but then he'd think I'm crazy. Crazier than I am that is. I'm pretty sure he has no idea that I feel this way. This is the one thing I can hide. The one secret I've tried so hard to keep. I'm still not over my first love. As much as he denies me, I can't help it. I love him. It just feels like it's always going to be there. Me and him. Or maybe it's just me and my imagination." Rachel finished reading and let her eyes peak over the top of the paper. The entire class was looking at Lucas.