Chapter Two

Peyton treaded carefully on the way into Brook's house. She went in through the back door, because she'd spotted Lucas through the front window. She didn't want to spy, but she heard yelling as she tiptoed along the hallway, and froze when she saw Lucas and Brook in the kitchen. Brook was at the counter, on the same side as the fridge, she clutched a cup of coffee tightly in her hand, and Lucas on the other side, pacing back and forth quickly.

"Lucas, you need to calm down." Brook said, cupping her hands around her coffee mug.

"No! I can't calm down. I love her. How am I supposed to help her if she won't talk to me?" He stopped, just for a second to turn and look at Brook, his right hand held out, gesturing. "Do you know some days she won't even look at me anymore?" He let out a frustrated grunt and resumed his pacing.

"Lucas." Brook sighed. "I know this sucks, but she needs space. And you need to give it to her."

"I've been giving her space!" He practically yelled. Peyton flinched, taking a small step backwards.

"Luke." Brook said warningly. "Do you know how long it takes me to get Jude and Davis asleep? I swear to every circle of hell that if you wake them, I will gut you, and it will be painful."

Lucas sighed, and sat at the counter across from her. "Peyton's not getting better, and I'm becoming more and more stressed. Brook, I think we need to amp it up."

Brook glanced at him cautiously. "Amp it up how?" She asked slowly.

"Brook, I think she needs therapy. And… maybe even antidepressant pills."

Antidepressants? Peyton might be sad, she might miss Fletcher but she wasn't sick. She had to cover her mouth with her hand in order to stop herself from screaming. She felt a burning in her eyes. Her husband thought she was a freak, and her best friend agreed.

Brook sighed and set her coffee down. "I hate to agree with you on this, but I do. You're right, she's been really bad lately. I think we should start with therapy, and if the therapist recommends antidepressants, than we can do that, but let's not go there right now."

Lucas leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. "I just miss her so much. She used to be so alive, so happy and joyful. Now… She seems broken."

Brook patted his shoulder. "I know, Broody. I miss her too."

Tears were threatening to spill down her cheeks by now. She was beginning to wish she hadn't even had Fletcher at all. She just wanted to run. No matter what, she couldn't listen to the rest of the conversation. She turned, trying her best to be quiet as she snuck back down the hallway. But when she broke into a run towards the back door, she couldn't find it in herself to care. Not when she scraped her arm on the railing of the unsanded wooden porch, not when one of her shoes came off, not even when she heard Lucas and Brook's voices screaming her name behind her.

Peyton ended up at Tric. She wasn't sure how she'd managed to get there without a vehicle in such short time, or why her brain subconsciously decided to go there, but that's where she ended up.

Tric, as expected was locked up, but Peyton had a key. She scrambled with it, sliding it into the lock, before pushing the door open. Peyton trudged up the stairs. She was tired, and sad. All she wanted to do was go home and hide under the covers. But she was at Tric. And even though she had no idea why she was at Tric, she was at Tric. And she didn't have any ways to get home.

When she walked into the club, it was bright, much to her surprise. The lights were on, but the bar looked empty. She walked to it, and sat on one of the stools, unzipping her sweatshirt. She wasn't positive Lucas and Brook wouldn't find her here, but it wasn't the first place they would look. Peyton knew that for sure. So she figured, why not get comfortable.

Lucas had so much trouble understanding Peyton, it was frustrating. They didn't think the same way. He was too nice about everything, always considering everyone else's well being above his own. Always doing the right thing, the right way. But Peyton couldn't help thinking about herself. Not exactly feeling bad for herself, or putting herself above others. More like she compared herself and her life to the lives of everyone else. She couldn't help thinking what if. What if she'd left the house five minutes earlier? What if Lucas had gone instead of her? What if Fletcher had been on the other side of town?

Peyton shook her head and turned towards the bar. Drinking her sorrows away wasn't really her style, or her way of doing things, but hey, there was a bar full of alcohol in front of her, and she felt like punching somebody, so why not right?

A noise behind the bar made her jump in surprise, and Chase popped up, with a wooden crate in his arms. "God, Chase!" Peyton put a hand over her heart. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

He smiled sheepishly, and hauled the crate up onto the counter. "Sorry." He said. "What's up, Peyton? What are you doing here?"

Peyton shrugged, her fingers toying with a loose thread on her hoodie. "Just needed to get away from everyone, you know?"

He nodded. "Yeah. You wouldn't know it, but being bar manager gives you a lot of time to think."

Peyton made a sad attempt at a joke. "Yes, because the best time to think is 2am with music pounding loud enough to shake your teeth out of your head, and mobs of people in line for drinks." But it sounded hollow. She didn't sound like Peyton Sawyer, she sounded broken. And she so badly wanted to be just Peyton Sawyer again.

Chase smiled sadly at her comment, clearly he'd heard the emptiness in the joke as well. "No," he said "I meant that the bar manager is in charge of getting the bar ready before the club opens. There's usually no one here during this time, so it's always pretty quiet, unless Chuck comes by to visit me."

Peyton nodded, giving him a knowing smile. "We all know chuck can make any place loud."

Chase nodded, the corners of his lips curling upward. Peyton rested her arms on the bar, and leaned forward, deciding it was time for a change of topic. "So whatcha got in the crate?"

He reached into the topless wooden crate and pulled out a flask that was a depressingly ugly shade of green. "We're apparently selling flasks now."

"Oh. Well I would say good for you, but that shade of green isn't good for anyone."

He laughed. "Yeah, I swear it looked different in the pictures."

Peyton chuckled, but even she could still hear the note of sadness in her voice. "I'm sure it did." She joked half heartedly. "Thanks Chase."

"For what?"

Peyton shrugged. "For distracting me. I really needed that today."

"Anytime."

Peyton slipped off the stool gently, and took her bag, walking lightly to the stairs. "Chase. Don't tell anyone I was here. I'm trying to avoid people right now."

Chase sighed. "I don't like lying. But… Fine. As long as you come talk with me when you're feeling down."

I nodded absentmindedly, and left, taking the steps two at a time. It was silly, but I couldn't stay there any longer. I couldn't be around anyone when they said things like that. Not just specifically Chase, everyone. Because I couldn't keep promises. I'd learned a long time ago not to make promises to anybody. Promises are just words waiting to blossom into lies.