Okay, first of all I wanted to thank the people who reviewed what I have now decided is the prologue to this story, so thank you! And I completely agree with Sister Tenenbaum that Lucas's reaction in 4x15 was not at all what I was hoping for – he just didn't seem at all concerned that his brother had slept with his ex-girlfriend! Anyway, this continues from where I left off, but from now on will be told entirely from Brooke's POV. I've got the events of the next few chapters planned, but after that I'm not entirely sure where I want to go, or even whether I want a happy or sad ending, so please bear with me! Enjoy, and all reviews are welcome!
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Warm water is running down my face, and I blink, trying to work out where it is coming from. Suddenly, beautiful blue eyes come into view and my heart skips a beat. For a moment it's as though nothing has changed, as though we're still together, but then I read the disappointment clouding those eyes, and realisation kicks in. The events of the past hour come flooding back to me, and I turn over and vomit as the image of Nathan and I fucking fills my mind. Lucas bends down and rubs my back as I continue to heave, tears streaming down my face as I remember the look of disgust on Chase's face, the hurt on Haley's as she ran from the room, Nathan's overpowering guilt, Peyton's anger, Lucas's…well who knew how Lucas felt? Certainly not me. Sighing, I sit back up, accepting the glass of water Lucas is holding out to me. I take a few sips and set the glass back down, before reaching up to my face to explore the cuts and bruises that Lucas has so painstakingly cleaned while I was unconscious. I wince, as I touch a particularly painful spot just below my left eye. Damn, for someone so skinny, that girl knows how to throw a punch.
'You okay?' I think I detect a note of concern in his voice, and I look at him hopefully. But no, his gaze won't meet mine, and I can tell by his stiffness that he is disappointed in me. So I nod in response, knowing that he can't take my pain, that he won't.
'Fine.' He stands up again and dusts off his jeans, obviously ready to leave. 'Lucas…' My voice trails off as he looks back at me, and all I can think of to say is 'thanks.'
He nods in response, and turns back towards the door. I watch him leave, knowing he is going to find Peyton. Yet I force down the jealousy rising up within me. I want the best for Lucas, I really do. And I'm not the best. I'm just a cheap slut who screwed his brother. And half the rest of the school come to that. Self-loathing is something that I'm good at, and tonight I think I can reach new levels. But first I need to get out of here, so I stumble to my feet and sneak out the back, hoping that the raised voices I can hear come from people so immersed in their own conversations that they won't notice the bang of the door as it closes behind me.
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'….so are you actually planning on dragging your ass out of bed so you can get dressed before school, or are you just gonna go naked? I mean, now that everyone's seen you in your birthday suit, why waste time putting on clothes? Although I guess based on that logic you'd have been going topless since the whole time capsule incident, so maybe not…'
'Rachel. Shut the fuck up,' I spit, as my feet hit the floor, and I storm over to the closet.
She gives me that irritating smirk of hers. 'Got you out of bed didn't it? I take it you are going to school today, or have you given up on that too?'
I groan, rubbing my eyes in confusion. 'What are you talking about?' What does she think I've given up on? Okay, so I haven't exactly been a social butterfly this weekend, but what does she expect?
'Uh, hello, you missed prom Davis' Rachel informs me sarcastically. As if I didn't know. I'd been looking forward to this weekend since forever; the perfect red dress had been hanging on the closet door for at least the last week. But then everything went wrong, and I couldn't bring myself to ruin everyone else's night by showing up, so I'd stayed in Rachel's room, imagining them all enjoying themselves: Rachel with some random but gorgeous guy, Bevin with Skills, Shelley with Mouth, Haley with Nathan, Peyton with Lucas….okay, so if I'm honest most of my time was spent thinking about that last pairing. I can't help it, even the thought of them together makes me feel sick, and knowing there was a very real possibility that he was screwing her as I lay there alone made me want to curl up and die. A tear threatens to escape, and I rub my eyes again, determined not to let Rachel see my pain. Instead, I paint on my happy mask and pull my sexiest jeans out of the closet, along with a killer black vest that shows off my assets to their very best. Well, if everyone thinks I'm a whore I guess I may as well dress like one, right?
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I wait until the warning bell rings before I leave the safety of my car, figuring at least this way the halls will be empty when I reach my locker. I slip inside the building, praying desperately I won't run into any of the people I'm trying to avoid. Not that it even matters, I realise, as it occurs to me that all of these people are in my first period English class. Nathan, Haley, Peyton, Lucas… Dammit Davis, I hiss under my breath. Do you have to be an idiot as well as a slut? Evidently that is the case, and I sigh for what must be the millionth time this hour, a sigh that stops mid-exhale as I catch sight of my locker. I'm still a good distance from it, but the bright red paint spelling out the word WHORE across the tired grey metal is pretty clear. For a second, I am reminded of the time that Felix scrawled DYKE on Peyton's locker, but only for a second. Then it occurs to me that the similarities between the two events are actually minimal: whatever else she may be, Peyton isn't a dyke.
Angrily I spin round, and almost sprint towards my classroom, which, thankfully, is in the opposite direction to the mildly artistic and very public appraisal of Brooke Davis that is now burned into my mind. Of course, this means I don't have my books, but it's not as though I've actually read whatever novel we're supposed to be reading this week anyway, so that's hardly a major problem. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't done any reading for this class since Lucas and I broke up, so I'm probably on the verge of flunking this class too. And that's even after sleeping with the teacher. I snort in self-disgust, and stride on. I'm just about within acceptable limits for lateness and I really don't want to overstep them: detention is not something I need right now.
And then I'm there. Outside the classroom, hand on the doorknob. I gulp, and take a deep breath before opening the door, intending to tiptoe my way to my seat, ideally without anyone even realising I am there.
Obviously, this is a plan doomed to failure, however, as before I've even taken a step into the room Nick's voice booms out at me. 'You're late Miss Davis,' he announces, and I can detect the sneer in his voice, a definite indicator that he, and probably all the other teachers too, know exactly what has happened.
'I'm sorry,' I mumble, and scurry to my seat, head down. But it isn't enough to stop every pair of eyes in the room from following me, and I catch the expression of disappointment in one particular blue pair as I pass them. It hurts to witness the pain I have caused, and yet a small part of me is triumphant that he still feels enough for me to react to my betrayal. And then it hits me that he isn't disappointed in me because he cares about me, he's disappointed because I've hurt his precious Peyton. Sure enough, I see him send a reassuring smile in her direction, and I almost laugh out loud at my own foolishness. It's always been Peyton, you would think I would have grasped that by now. Or not, I think, as I note the red letter F scrawled on the paper Nick has just thrown onto my desk. Maybe I really am that stupid. Sighing, I bury my head in me arms, fully intending to remain in this same spot for the entire period.
Sadly, my plans are thwarted. I hear the door open and the murmuring of a squeaky-voiced freshman, and then Nick's voice, loud and obnoxious. 'Miss Davis, Principal Turner wishes to speak to you. Please take your things, you will not be returning this period.'
Once again, all eyes are on me, and I want to scream at them, to point out that they've all seen every fucking inch of me already, that there's nothing more to see. But I don't, because I know that even though every person in the room is thinking of that tape, that bringing the subject up would mean seeing four pairs of eyes cloud over with expressions that would be made no less distressing by their predictability: Nathan's guilt, Haley's sadness, Peyton's anger, and Lucas's disappointment. So instead, I grab my bag and run out of the room, almost knocking over the freshman as I do so.
It shows how bad things have become that I'm almost at Principal Turner's office before it occurs to me that him wanting to see me is actually not a good thing. A sinking feeling begins in the pit of my stomach, and I know, I just know, that he somehow knows about the algebra test. I have to fight the part of me that wants to turn and run and never look back, and instead force myself to swallow hard and knock on the imposing door in front of me.
'Come in.' Principal Turner's voice is strong and authoritative, and I take one last breath before I push open the door, and then gasp in surprise as I see the other occupants of the office. Rachel. And Chase.
'Miss Davis,' Principal Turner begins, and I can't bring myself to look him in the eye, 'Mr Adams has come forward and informed me that Miss Gatina was not the only person responsible for the theft of the algebra paper from the tutor centre.'
I gulp. 'He informs me, and Miss Gatina has corroborated his story, that you were also in the tutor centre when the incident occurred, and that the test was stolen for the aid of yourself rather than for the use of Miss Gatina.' He pauses, and glances at some papers on his desk before continuing. 'Frankly, Miss Davis, this explanation is highly creditable, as Miss Gatina has maintained a C average in this subject, whereas your own mathematical ability is decidedly below the acceptable standard required for a pass in this class.' He pauses again, and then asks the question I have been anticipating since I first opened the door and saw Chase there. 'Is this true Miss Davis?'
I am silent for a second, waiting for my mouth to overflow with the mix of excuses, apologies, and flirtatiousness that has got me out of a million and one situations like this. But nothing happens. I don't have a single response. Instead, I close my mouth, and simply nod.
Principal Turner sighs and closes the file in front of him. 'Very well Miss Davis, you leave me with no choice. As of this moment you are no longer welcome at Tree Hill High. Please clear out your locker and leave immediately.'
And so I do.
