Haley stumbled through the front door and carefully closed it, cringing at the slight squeaking noise made by the rusty hinges. She treaded lightly toward the stairs, squinting to see through the overwhelming darkness. She made it up to her bedroom in complete silence, and she couldn't stop the smug grin of accomplishment from slipping onto her face.
She'd had a late shift at the cafe, and knew better than to wake him. Through experience, she's learned that there are few things more terrifying than seeing him angry.
After she slipped into a ratty old tank top and some sweatpants, she quietly slid into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, trying to emulate a feeling of safety. Just as she reached over to flick the light off, she froze.
Pausing mid reach, she stared at the intimidating figure that stood stoically in her doorway.
"It's 2 am." His voice was deadly quiet, and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine.
"I know, I'm sor-" she began, but he cut her off. Her father had never been one for patience.
"Shut the fuck up, you dirty little whore." She could practically feel the alcohol rolling off him in waves. "You're worse than your stupid skank of a mother. She was also a good-for-nothing slut."
His words hurt more than the hits that followed.
She'd gotten used to covering up the bruises by now.
A little concealer here, a dab of foundation there… and there it is. Perfection.
The word seemed to sit uncomfortably in her mouth, as if she's used it too many times for it to retain any significant meaning. Perfection. To an outsider, she personified the word.
Not a hair out of place. Homework always done on time. Room flawlessly spick and span. All A's in all honors.
She didn't really know how to fit domestic abuse into that equation. Not to mention self-harm.
Yep, a picture perfect, All American girl.
She dabbed at her face once more and evaluated her work. Not bad. The blue tint was almost completely gone. If you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't even know it was there.
She could pinpoint the second Brooke knew. She could see the realization in her eyes be replaced by immediate anger, and spoke before she had the chance to yell.
"Brooke, I don't wanna hear it. Just drive."
"Like hell. Haley, I swear to god I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna look him right in his slimy ass face and kill him." Her tone slowly escalated as she progressed.
"Please, just stop. I really don't want to talk about it. Please, Brooke."
"Hales! Look at what he does to you! I love you too much not to say anything. No one should have to go through that. No one. God, you're so strong, honey, so brave, but you can't keep this to yourself anymore. And I can't let you."
"Please don't tell anyone," Haley said quietly, her voice chillingly reserved.
Brooke could see that her best friend was struggling, has been for a while now. No one really noticed, but Brooke took pride in being able to read Haley. She tried being there for her, being her rock, anchoring her to the ground. But her efforts seemed futile now, as she took in her fragile state. She was a shell of the animated girl she used to be, and Brooke was afraid that all too soon, she would lose her completely.
"I'll let it go," she said.
"For now."
They've been up here for an hour now.
The time always seemed to fly by, especially since reality was somewhat distorted by their inebriated state.
However, today, it seemed that hours turned to years, seconds to days.
He took a drag and looked over at her. She seemed… detached. There was no other word for it. This was a regular occurrence. Sometimes he just caught her staring off into the distance, zoning out on a particular piece of wood, or metal, or fabric, or whatever else caught her eye. Adrift in a world of quiet unperturbed existence.
It kind of sounded nice.
He caught a strand of auburn hair detach from it's secure place behind her ear, and wasn't really conscious of his body or his actions when he reached over to push it back.
The second he did, she broke out of her trance flinched away.
He frowned. " Are you ok?"
"Am I ok? Are you ok? Who gave you permission to touch me?"
" Well… I-I," He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that, as generally, Nathan Scott didn't ask permission to do anything. With her, however, it seemed like he was at a loss for words.
He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. He had asked her a question.
" Are you going to answer me?"
"What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.
He reached up to brush up against her cheek again, and she winced.
"Haley, what happened? This isn't funny."
Not even trying to analyze how and why he knew her name, she quickly fired back, "And how is that any of your business?"
"Just tell me. I want to know, Haley."
"No!"
"God, why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn, huh? Just answer the question!"
"I don't even understand why it's so important to you! Why do you even care?"
She had a good point. Why did he care? He didn't, he resolved. He was just curious, plain and simple. If she didn't want to tell him, that was her fucking problem. Her shit was her shit. He didn't need another burden in his life.
He got up, ignoring the tiny faltering voice in his head, telling him to stay.
"Deal with your crap on your own. I don't give a shit either way."
And that was that.
He drove straight to the Rivercourt.
He quickly parked and got out of the car, throwing the empty tequila bottle in the back seat.
The next two hours were a blur of balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking, and sweat dripping.
He didn't stop until he felt it. The stillness.
It was so quiet, it would be frightening, had it not been for the sheer adrenaline pumping in his veins, the overwhelming satisfaction settling in his body.
Basketball. It was his escape, his only constant. No matter the complete shit storm his life was, no matter the agony or pain he felt. It was always just there.
Sometimes it all got too much. He could pretend all he wanted. Around peers, adults , advisors. But he could never hide from himself. Sometimes, it hurt that his dad left, that his mother's in jail, that he's left all alone in an abandoned apartment, that he needs to worry about things like rent, bills and groceries. That's where basketball came in.
That stillness. It was his only saving grace.
As he's thinking about it, he's struck with a thought. For some reason, he finds it amusing.
The only other time he's felt that peace, that stillness, was up on that school roof, drugs clouding his brain.
He just couldn't figure out if it was the marijuana that provided the release, or the girl sitting next to him.