A/N: I know this is a short chapter but I am so full of ideas and I want to get to the good stuff! Review please!!! It gives me inspiration. Thank you!
Brooke stumbled into her own run-down apartment four hours, three more romps, and two more lines later. Her vision was blurred, her heel broken in two, and her dress had been torn up the side from the last rendezvous she had with a guitarist named Jackson. She stumbled her way from the doorway to her kitchen counter where she threw down her purse and keys. Once there she realized her roommate, a girl named Kayla who she saw maybe once a month had piled all of her mail onto the counter with a neat little post-it on top.
Brooke, I took my stuff and left the key in the bowl next to the door. You have major personal and money problems and I just can't be caught in the middle of that. I would have given notice if you had been here the past few days. Sorry. ~K
Brooke threw the post it on the floor beside her. Oh well, she thought, she was a bitch anyway. Always trying to ruin my fun. She flipped incoherently through the stack of mail. Second, third, and final notices found their way from the neat stack to the trash can opposite her. Credit card bills, utilities, and even rent notices were tossed into the bin and easily forgotten about in her coked up haze. As she threw the bills in the trash, she came upon a bright blue envelope she noticed had been personally sent to her. She became curious and opened the letter, revealing a clown shaped party invitation. She shrieked slightly at the clown before laughing uncontrollably to herself about her paranoia. Clown had always scared her, but the blow made it worse.
After twenty minutes of rolling around on the floor giggling, she got back up and opened the little clown card to see what was inside.
You are invited to celebrate Jamie's 4th birthday with us! May 17th at 3 pm at the Scott residence. Send your RSVP to either Nathan or Haley Scott. We hope you can join us for the festivities!
She pondered the idea of going. She hadn't seen her friends in over two years, since she left them all for New York City. But what would they think of her? She looked over to the mirror across the room and loathed her disheveled appearance. They wouldn't think highly of her coke habit or her nightly sexcapades with random strangers. That was all she did now. All of her money went into condoms or drugs, because both were now vital to her existence. They wouldn't think highly of her, but when had they ever. She was always Brooke the slut to them.
Still, she missed her friends. She hadn't talked to them in over six months, when she started using. She looked back to the invitation once more before pulling her vial out of her purse. The last of her stash found its way onto the dirty, laminate countertop before she pulled out her straight razor and built it into three individual lines. A few seconds later, when she felt her high starting to slip away with her sanity, she used the first line. When the first line didn't immediately satisfy her high, she snorted the second one with great ease. She looked up at the mirror and saw her reflection. Her emaciated body and strung out eyes staring back at her. She knew she looked messed up. She knew she looked horrible. She knew she looked like a drug addict. That thought in itself provoked her to use the last line as a comfort line. She used it like a child used a safety blanket. She looked up at her reflection once more, this time pleased with herself and what she had just done.
Brooke read through the invitation once more before she made a decision. Flipping her cell phone out of her purse, she made a call and it was done. Brooke Davis was going to see her way back to Tree Hill in two days to see the people she left behind. To see the people who would judge her once more. To see the people she missed the most.