Title: Stockholm Syndrome

Summary: He couldn't leave well enough alone. Now he's back, and Peyton can't do anything about it.

Chapter 1: Backstabber

This is the last time I'll abandon you

And this is the last time I'll forget you

I wish I could

Stockholm Syndrome-Muse

Ring-ring-ring

Peyton's cell phone was ringing. It was 9 pm and she just got off of work. She let it ring to her answering machine. It was time to relax and Peyton didn't want to deal with anyone now.

She and Brooke had another row again. She was always such a backstabbing whore. And Lucas always had to intervene.

Flashback

"You're a bitch, Brooke. You're dead to me. I never want to see you again." Peyton yelled angrily. She punched Brooke, breaking Brooke's nose and her own hand in the process.

"You always wondered what it was like to have plastic surgery. Now you have an excuse for it, stupid cunt." Peyton sneered as she walked away to her car.

End of Flashback

Such a shining moment that was. Everyone laughed at her at school the next day. Peyton couldn't contain her glee any longer that day.

Pulling up into the driveway, Peyton parked her car and cut the engine. "Home Sweet Home." She murmured as she grabbed her purse and unlocked the front door with her key.

She placed her belongings on the small table and went upstairs to her bathroom to draw a bath. All she wanted now was a hot bath, 2 extra-strength Excedrin's, and a long nap.

She shrugged herself out of her black t-shirt, her jeans, her bra, and her underwear, pulling a black terry cloth robe on. Peyton turned the hot water on then the cold gradually, until the heat was good enough.

Quickly, so she didn't lose the heat, she ran downstairs to pour herself a glass of wine. It would help in a way. Mellow her out, so to speak. Taking a sip as she went back upstairs, she peeled the robe off and stepped into the tub, sitting down in the warm water.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Peyton set the glass on the edge of the tub. She sunk even lower into the water, letting her head go under. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes. This wasn't exactly relaxation, but it was pretty close.

A shrill ringing sounded off downstairs. It was her cell again. She knew the ring tone: it was Lucas again. With a groan, she sat up, taking a deep breath before reaching for a towel and getting out of the tub.

Walking down the stairs, Peyton picked up the phone and pressed End Call. She didn't want to talk to him. She went back upstairs and grabbed a smaller towel, drying off her hair so she didn't get a cold or anything.

Peyton walked back to her bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet, pulling out the Excedrin bottle. She opened it and tapped out 2 of the white pills. Gritting her teeth she downed both of them, despite the bitter taste it left in her mouth.

She groaned again as she realized the time. It was 10 and she was getting tired. Too exhausted to change into a pair of clothes, Peyton sank down onto her bed, pulling the covers and drifting off to sleep.

The ringing of a telephone awakened her. It was loud and shrill. Persistent and far away. Cursing underneath her breath, she got out of bed and grabbed her robe, staggering down the stairs, flicking on the lights.

The glanced at the clock and it said four ten. Who the fuck would be calling at this hour?

Fake Derek.

Peyton's guts twisted, and adrenaline shot through her body. She was instantly and totally awake now.

But then she actually thought about it. Derek was in jail. He didn't have access to a phone and even if he did, the caller id would list his jail.

She sighed in relief and picked up the phone. "Hello?" she said.

"You're alone." A male voice, its pitch fluctuating unnaturally, grazed her ear. "Good girl, Peyton. Keep it that way-for everyone's sake."

A click and the line went dead.

Peyton froze. She knew the voice. It was Fake Derek. He was watching her. He was back.