Special Thanks: To the reviewers! You are all so amazing. Thank you for your input.
Author's Note: Review, review, review! If you like the story, give your input. Nothing makes me write faster than knowing that there's an audience!
- - - - - x - - - - - -
Four days.
It's been four whole days since Chuck had brought her back to his lavishly decorated penthouse at the Empire, and during those ninety-six hours, she hasn't come out of her bedroom. Not to eat, not to talk to him, not to do anything. All she does is sleep, the curtains in her room firmly pulled shut while she hides beneath the covers and remains in a deep slumber within her own little world. She can't remember the last time she had actually slept through the night, and now, that's all she does.
Chuck's been rather silent about the whole matter, a fact that she's eternally grateful for. The last thing she wants to do is spill her guts regarding why she had called him in the first place, especially now with her phone constantly going off with calls from either Lucas or Haley. As scary as the idea of talking to Chuck about all of this is, the very thought of hearing Luke's voice on the other end of the line makes her heart stop in her chest.
But as she closes her eyes, desperate to escape into her depression-induced coma, she can't help but remember the last time that she'd seen Lucas.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she stood before the door of Peyton and Lucas's home, biting down hard on her lower lip as she knocked on the oaken door. She had just barely mustered up the courage to come there, to face her fears and say what needed to be said. It wasn't going to be easy, but the words had to come out of her mouth before they ate her alive. If she wanted to salvage any part of her friendship with Peyton, then it had to be done.
It was the courtesy she had never been given by Peyton when the tables had been turned, but Brooke had to believe that she was the better person, and that kissing Lucas had just been a simple mistake that didn't need to be read into at all. A drunken, wonderful and amazing mistake that had incurred after one too many vodka tonics and nostalgic stories of their prior relationship.
A mistake that she wished had never happened, but somehow, at the same time, wanted to happen again and again until she couldn't feel her lips anymore.
The door opened, and she looked up to find Lucas standing before her, her heart stopping from one look of those baby blue eyes as she gulped. Her hazel eyes were wide as they could be as she breathed out his name like it was the very oxygen she lived upon. "Lucas…"
He was left just as dumbfounded, and she couldn't help but feel hope spark within her as he whispered a quiet, "she's not here", and opened the door wider, silently ushering her in with a look of desperation and his hands shoved into his pockets.
She knew how bad this was, to be alone with him. The last time that she had been, they'd wound up against a wall in the bar they'd had their first date in, making out like they were seventeen again. "Luke…" She murmured softly.
"Just ten minutes. That's all I need." He whispered back, taking her hand.
She crumbled as her fingers laced through his, biting down on her lower lip as he continued to plead.
"Please, Brooke."
Reluctantly releasing his hand, she walked into the house, wringing her hands as she did so. "Look Luke, I just came to-"
"Tell Peyton that we kissed and how big of a mistake it was and that it meant nothing." He finished, his blue eyes bearing into hers. God, why did he have to have such gorgeous blue eyes? Why could they be some undetermined color that she couldn't stand, rather than the ocean of blue that she felt herself drowning in whenever he looked at her?
She nodded, sitting down on the couch. Her heart was so heavy from the guilt that she could barely stand, running her hands through her hair. "How could we do this, Lucas? How could I do this?"
He sat down beside her, shaking his head. "This isn't your fault, this isn't anyone's fault…it just…happened."
She met his gaze, tears filling her eyes. "Things like this don't just happen! They never do!" She cried out angrily, standing up.
She never wanted any of this, to feel like this after all of this time. God, it had been two years since she had even been with Luke, and now she couldn't get him out of her head. He was in her thoughts, her dreams, her fantasies. Lucas Scott was the only man she'd ever loved, and now he was with Peyton, and she was falling in love with him all over again.
He stood up with her, pulling her into his arms as he tried to calm her down. But she shoved him away, slapping him as hard as she possibly could.
"This is your fault! None of this would have happened if you hadn't of kissed me!" She screamed in his face, shoving him again as he stumbled backwards. "You stupid fucking asshole, I hate your guts! I hate your fucking guts and I wish you'd nev-"
His lips crashed against hers like a tsunami once more, surprising her beyond belief as tears ran down her rosy cheeks. For a moment, she let herself go, her lips kissing him back hungrily and passionately as he cupped her cheeks. But as reality set in and she remembered what she was doing, she forcefully shoved him back once again.
"Stop doing that!" Brooke snapped, wiping at her tears furiously. She was so tired of being played with by him, of having her heart toyed with like a plastic doll that was so easily thrown about to and fro, like it wasn't nearly as breakable as it truly was. And now he was doing it again, just because he could.
"Then stop pushing me away!" Lucas roared, the anger and frustration obvious in his eyes. "Of course it meant something to me! It wasn't some fucking mistake! This is you and me we're talking about, it could never be a mistake! She lied to me, Brooke! She told you she loved me and so you ended it! She lied, and so did you, and now I'm trying to fix this!"
She hadn't seen him this angry since their fight in the rain over three years ago, when they were fighting over the same exact thing. Brooke had been pushing him away, just like she was now.He was fighting for her then, just as she'd pleaded years before for him to do, and he was fighting for her now as they stood in the middle of the room no more than a foot away from each other in silence.
But as their eyes met, she realized that was why he was doing it. He loved her. He had loved her all this time, and he was finally owning up to it and making a decision, a decision of choosing her that he should've made all those years ago at the state championship when she had let him go. He had loved her every moment of every day, and she was finally seeing it.
Brooke could barely breathe as their lips collided again, her arms wrapping around him as his hands ran over her body. The shame, the guilt, the pain was all gone as he pressed wet kisses to her cheeks, brushing away her tears as she gazed into his eyes with the utmost love and devotion. But it was as her head fell back against her shoulders and he whispered the words she'd always longed to hear from him that she melted into his body as if she'd always belonged there.
"I love you so much, Brooke. I've always loved you…"
She squeezes her eyes shut tight, tears searing down her cheeks as she remembers the feeling of his hands upon her skin, the taste of his kiss, every emotion that had run through her. She feels dirty, impure in every way, like someone has doused her in the most gruesome material possible. It makes her want to rip her own skin off, just to be able to rid herself of it. She had showered immediately when she had found out he was marrying Peyton. But she still swears that she can still smell him on her skin, no amount of showers and scrubbing her skin raw able to make the memory of their bodies writhing together upon the sheets of his bed disappear from her mind.
The bed that he had shared with Peyton, who he had proposed to the very next day, only hours after he had kissed her goodbye and told her he would see her after he ended things once and for all with her once best friend.
Only hours after he'd told her that they'd be together again, and that he loved her more than life itself.
"Brooke?"
The voice startles her, looking up from the bed to find Chuck in her doorway. The expression is nothing short of concerned as he immediately rushes to her side, wiping at the tears she hadn't even noticed were pouring down her cheeks as he kneels beside her. She's utterly amazed at how good he had been about all of this as he strokes her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"I slept with Lucas."
The admission is stark and to the point as she looks up at Chuck with the saddest gaze he has ever seen in his life. The guilt is consuming her, and the hardest part is hiding it – something that she had never been able to do when it came to Chuck. He knows her best, he always had.
But it's the second confession that absolutely murders her heart, sobs escaping her lips as she chokes it out like it was poison.
"And he proposed to Peyton the morning after we did…and they're getting married…and I'm a fucking terrible person…"
Her silent weeping continues as he crawls into bed with her, finding sanctuary in his arms as they wrap around him. She feels so pitiful as he holds her, not used to keeping her feelings wide open to the world. Brooke's supposed to be strong. She's supposed to be the selfless and independent college student, not the permanent vacationer moping all over her brother's apartment.
"You're not a terrible person." He tells her as he strokes her hair lovingly. "In fact, you're quite the opposite, Miss Davis."
She wants to laugh at the way he speaks, maybe make a snide comment about how New York has made him so posh and uppity, but she can't find the strength as she clings to him for dear life. Every inch of her hurts and all she wants is to be comforted by someone who loves her unconditionally, even if it means holding her tongue.
And in a very Basshole mannerism, he continues, "Besides, Lucas is a prick anyways. You've always deserved so much more than that podunk, trailer trash ba-"
"Chuck." She interrupts him with a raised hand. Regardless of everything that has happened, she refuses to sink to Lucas's level. Speaking ill of him isn't going to do anything for her; it's just going to make her think of everything that could have been different between the two of them.
He sighs. "You know that you're too good hearted for your own good, correct?"
"Can you just shut up and hold me for a little while?"
Brooke's snappy comment silences him, his arms holding her close. I's been far too long since she's felt safe with someone and Chuck provides that and more. Safety, security, a family member she can actually count on. Though most had always seen the Bass heir as a complete and utter jackass, she had never seen him that way. He had always been there for her. No matter how many times she had screwed up, however many times her mother had threatened to cut her off, Chuck had always been the one waiting for her with open arms and a limitless American Express card so she could cushion the blow with however many pairs of Louboutin's she needed.
They sit like that for what seems like an eternity, him consoling her without making a single peep. Brooke finally breaks the silence, smiling to herself softly.
"So, are you ever going to tell me why Blair isn't here?"
Chuck sighs, running a hand through his perfectly groomed hair. "She got married. She's an official princess of Monaco now, and she popped out a little heir last year. How fitting, right?"
She can hear the bitter pain in his voice, biting down on her lower lip. "I'm sorry, Chuck. If it's any constellation, I never liked her."
"That's because she was rather like you."
"Don't you dare compare me to Blair Waldorf, the wicked bitch of the Upper East Side. We're nothing alike, and you know that. That's probably why Mother's always liked her so much than me." Brooke scoffs, sulking.
Chuck laughs softly, shaking his head. "Whatever you say, Little B. But it doesn't matter now, I've met someone else."
And as if on cue, they both turn their heads at the sound of the door unlocking and someone calling out to him.
"Chuck, I'm home! Traffic was a mess from JFK and London was even worse. I picked you up a suit from Gucci for the St. Jude's event next week, they still had your measurements on file. Remember I'm wearing an emerald dress so please do attempt to match me, I think the handkerchief that I've picked should do well. Oh and Jack called, he's still insisting that you go to your family's home for brunch next month, something about your sister dropping in from school..."
Brooke's eyebrows furrow, recognizing the lilting voice slightly, although she can't put a face or a name to it. Whoever it was, it's paused when the tip tapping of heels enter the tiled kitchen, and by the brunette's estimation it's right around the time she should have seen Brooke's coat laying on the dining room table.
A sign, which any of Chuck's conquests would recognize as him cheating on them
Her eyes turn to the door, which flies open immediately, revealing a screaming girlfriend that Brooke could have never expected to see again.
"Nine months, nine months and you go and chea-"
The voice ceases as Brooke and the girlfriend see each other for the first time in three years, the two freezing as they both recognize each other.
"Well I know I'm not in heaven cause they wouldn't have let Brooke Davis's kinky ass through the gates."
"And your ass wouldn't fit."
Because there's no way in hell that Brooke wouldn't recognize that auburn red hair and snappy tone anywhere on this earth, even if she hadn't of just witnessed the woman possessing both in years.
"Wait, who's dumb party is this?"
"It's mine, bitch, and your fat ass isn't invited!"
Rachel Virginia Gattina is hard to forget, to say the least.
"You're sleeping with her? Rachel Gattina is who you met, and you didn't bother to fucking call?!" Brooke practically screams in happiness, shoving Chuck off and jumping off of the bed.
"Your little sister is Brooke Davis?!" Rachel says in confusion as the brunette launches into her arms at full force. They haven't spoken since Rachel had gotten expelled on account of her - well, sort of expelled. It would be far too long of a story to explain in that moment as Brooke hears the redhead mumble a, "fuck, is it good to see you, slut."
"I missed you, whore." Brooke manages to choke out as the two laugh, holding onto each other tightly.
It's so good for her to see a somewhat familiar face, someone that hadn't betrayed her as Peyton and Lucas had. It's a face of pregnancy scares, of blow out parties, of cheerleading competitions gone awry. She's the arms that had held her when she'd first broken up with Lucas, arms that had comforted her when Rachel had been right about her cheating older boyfriend. Yes, they had hated each other at one point and Rachel had tried to sleep with her best friend's husband, but none of it matters in that moment. Rachel's alive, and more importantly, she's okay and she's not splayed out on some crackhead's couch like Mouth had predicted that she would be.
"Would someone care to fill me in..?"
The two girls turn to look at Chuck with the same mischievous look in their eyes, who's been left dumbstruck on the bed as they had shared their moment of excitement. Brooke giggles, a sound so foreign in the last four days that Chuck visibly relaxes from the melody of it, gazing at Rachel and then back at her brother.
"It turns out, brother, it's truly is a small, small world."
- - - - - x - - - - - -
"So tell me, how did the fabulous Brooke Davis wind up in New York City after living out her dreams at Duke?"
Brooke sits on a lush ottoman in a private dressing room in Chanel as Rachel tries on a dress, sans Chuck, who had gotten a call from his assistant to remind him about a board meeting at Bass Industries. He of course had asked Brooke if she would be okay without him, and she had just smiled with a nod and said that Rachel would be far better company than he could be anyway.
But the truth was, she probably wouldn't have been okay if he had stayed either.
And yet Rachel had somehow convinced her to come out shopping for her, going on and on about a dress she had seen at Saks that she just had to have or she'd die of fashion traumatization. But Saks had turned into all of Fifth Avenue faster than Brooke could say, "wow", which normally she would have been giddy over.
Too bad she's too depressed and broken to even give a fuck.
The brunette shrugs as she plays with one of the Louboutin heels that Rachel had bought for her (with Chuck's black American Express card, the one with no limits), running her fingers along the black leather lacing that went up the back of the five inch heel as she desperately avoids the question. "I needed a change in scenery, I guess."
Rachel scoffs as she pulls up a little black dress, zipping it up and looking at herself in the mirror. "Don't try to bullshit a bullshitter, Brooke."
She glares at her, a worthless stare because there's no energy to actually do anything about it. "What do you mean?"
"I'm saying that you can fool the fans all you want with your little game, but you can't fool the players. Let's not forget that I was the one that ran off to New York right I got expelled, shall we?"
Her tone is brutally honest, which Brooke should have expected. After all, this is Rachel Virginia Gattina she's talking to; the queen of mean, the sultan of spite, the rabid bitch who she had once hated with the utmost passion. Rachel has never been one to sugarcoat the unfortunate truth with rainbows and unicorns. She voices her opinion and damns the consequences, which is something that Brooke both admires and hates in that moment.
Sighing, Brooke sets her shoe down, as if symbolically waiving the white flag with her heel. "I ran away, okay? From Duke, from my future as Peyton's maid of honor, from everything. I just couldn't do it anymore." She says quietly, refusing to meet Rachel's ever bearing gaze.
But the red head doesn't falter from her pursuit of Brooke's twisted tale that has lead them to this moment as she pulls off the dress and tosses into the pile of no's. "So I should really be asking, what did Lucas do this time?"
Brooke's gaze falls faster than a comet, crashing to the floor as fast as her heart does at the mention of her least favorite Scott son. Of course Rachel would know. She had been there the first (or should she say the second) time that things had collapsed in her shaking hands, when Lucas had rode off into the sunset with Peyton and Rachel had given her a place to stay. She had seen the damage that Lucas Scott could inflict upon her heart.
Another sigh escapes her as she finally met Rachel's stare.
"Please...not now."
The feeble plea that falls from her lips is enough to made Rachel's gaze turn from interrogative and all knowing to compassionate and caring. With the drop of a hate, she knows that Brooke is heartbeats from breaking down into a million little pieces. One look is all it takes, all that's needed for her to understand every ounce of pain that her best friend is going through. It's as if they share the same mind, the same heart, the same soul. When one hurt, the other could feel it. When one cried, the other teared up. Gattina and Davis, best friends in conspiring, had always been essentially the same person. And it's then, more than any moment prior, that Brooke is ever so thankful for it.
"I'm going to kill him." Rachel murmurs under her breath.
Brooke cringes, partly because she can't stand the thought of Lucas being hurt but mostly because she can see his face in her mind as Rachel speaks. "Just stop, Rach." She begs, closing her hazel eyes as new tears form in their corners. "He's the last thing I want to think about right now. I can't..."
"Does this dress make me look fat?"
The blatant change of subject relieves Brooke more than she could have ever imagined, opening her eyes and wiping away the tears before she answers with a simple, "no".
Rachel frowns deeply, turning around. "Seriously, who the fuck are you and what have you done with my best friend."
Brooke rolls her eyes, silently processing the understanding that they had always been used to a more hostile relationship involving the banter of insults that never stopped, but Rachel keeps pushing.
"No, I'm not kidding, who the fuck are you, cause you're sure as hell not Brooke Davis."
Brooke's anger sparks slightly, but she keeps it in control, the sadness mellowing it out. "Rach, knock it off."
Rachel pushes the envelope as she edges a few steps closer, closing the space between them. "Cause I sure as fuck know that Brooke Davis wouldn't let some selfish dumbass like Lucas Scott," Brooke flinches again, but Rachel doesn't halt, "get to her. In fact, she wouldn't even allow herself to give a fuck about him after he had dumped her ass like last year's True Religion jeans."
"Back off, Rachel!" Brooke snaps. She can't do this. She can't face it. She wants to go back to Chuck's apartment and crawl back up under the comforter and let herself drift away again. She wants to feel nothing.
She sneers, shaking her head. "Fuck off, Davis. You should know better than to let him get under your skin, or at least I thought you did." Rachel takes a step closer, getting in her face. Brooke can feel her anger boiling, bubbling at the seams as her fists clench at her sides.
"But maybe you're still the weak little Brooke Davis that you were with him. In fact, I know you are! You're a weak, cowardly, insecure girl who's always going to be the footnote in someone else's love story! That's why he wrote that goddamn book, isn't it?! Because "
And just at that precise moment, a miracle happens right before her very eyes.
A volatile slap flies so fast that Rachel doesn't even see it coming, and neither does Brooke for that matter. Her palm collides with the the redhead's cheek so hard that the crack can be heard within the sales floor of the store, breaking the sound barrier as Rachel recoils in pain.
"Fuck you, Rachel! Fuck you and all your self righteous bullshit! You don't get to criticize me, nobody does! Not you, not Chuck, not anyone! And you know what, that dress does make you look fat. It makes you look just like the fucking whale of a pre-teen you were before the surgeries that your mommy and daddy took care of because they didn't love you enough! All you can do is sit there from your high horse and tell me I'm not the same? Well neither is your plastic coated ass and fake tits, so you may want to visit your plastic surgeon for a little pickup!"
Silence hangs in the air as Brooke pants, the anger flowing like a drug as Rachel turns to look at her with her hand clutching her cheek.
And then, suddenly, something happens that neither of them could have possibly expected.
They start laughing.
They laugh, and laugh, and laugh until tears come to their eyes and they wind up in a cackling heap amidst silk dresses and blouses, cracking up over the fact that Brooke has just exploded all over the prim and proper dressing room. They laugh because for just a moment, it's just like it had been three years ago, when everything had made sense and they were inseparable. For the first time since she'd left Tree Hill, Brooke feels something other than sadness.
She feels hope.
"Damn, you hit way harder than Tudor Wife does." Rachel gasps out as she sits up.
Brooke giggles, looking over at her with a smirk. "You asked for it."
"Anything to make you stop that pussy attitude."
"You let me hit you just to cheer me up?"
"Retail therapy didn't seem to be working, so I figured this would."
Brooke smiles, taking Rachel's hand. "You're pretty good at this best friend stuff, you know."
She shrugs smirking. "Just wait till you hear part two of cheering Brookie up."
Brooke lets out another laugh, shaking her head. "Let me guess, boys and booze?" She jokes, but knowing Rachel, that's probably what it was.
Rachel gives her a wicked smile as she finally picks out a blue number, zipping it up and giving herself a look of approval before handing Brooke a red v-neck dress for herself. "You don't even know the half of it."
- - - - - x - - - - - -
After purchasing the red dress and returning to the Bass penthouse, Brooke's finally convinced by Rachel and Chuck to attend a party somewhere in city. They're a stubborn pair, she has to admit that as they step into the elevator of the building they've entered off Park Avenue, but the bitch and the bastard seem perfect for each other. His calm demeanor balances her fiery temper, her snappy remarks are quipped by his snide returns; they're practically cut from the same cloth, and it's nice to see Chuck so unreasonably happy.
"Come on, Brooke. Put on a damn smile." Rachel says with a smirk, earning her a warning look from her boyfriend. But she simply continues with her lopsided grin and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Don't be a damper, babe." She chastises him playfully.
"I would, but that would require me to not be nauseous from you sleeping with my stepbrother." Brooke snaps back, glaring at her. Why'd she have to be so damn nice and agree to this? The last place she wants to be is a party considering her short fuse and even more mercurial moods.
But then again, a party always meant free booze, which meant she can drink until the room spins and she doesn't know if she's in New York or Bora Bora.
Perhaps this isn't such an awful idea after all.
Brooke tightens the ties of her trench coat as the three of them step out of the elevator. She can barely breathe as she takes pace like a death march down the hallway, following her friends as they lead the way. It's as if every step is a silent prayer that she can do this, that no one will see past her loosely curled hair, her devilishly smoky eyes, her perfectly goddess like facade that she and Rachel had crafted with make up and false confidence.
"Who's place is this anyway?" Brooke asks as they stop at the door.
Rachel smirks once more as Chuck opens the door, holding out her hand for the brunette to take. "Does it even matter?"
Even though she has to fake it, Brooke smiles mischievously, taking Rachel's hand. "Does it ever?"
They follow Chuck into the room - or at least, what most would have thought was a room. It's something completely different to her, a portal into a different world. For years, Brooke had simply been Chuck's little stepsister, left at home while he had partied into the night because she had been far too young, far too precious for him to risk with his world of sex, drugs, and debauchery.
And now, she's big girl who can handle herself, and she's been allowed into the magic room where bad things happen, and she can scarcely contain herself.
But it isn't just a room to her as her hazel eyes drink in every inch of the party, it's Wonderland to her. Of course Brooke had been to more than a few wild parties in her day, but nothing like this. The place is packed from wall to wall, leaving only a few feet to navigate through. Smoke coats the air like a haze and she breathes in gladly. She hasn't smoked since she used to steal Chuck's cigarettes during summer break, and she misses it dearly.
"This is nothing, Brookie." Rachel calls out over her shoulder as they lead her up a flight of winding stairs, the smoke only thickening as they rise higher and higher up the spiral. "The real party's upstairs; these are just the freaks that his sister invites over when she's bored..."
Brooke can barely hear her, but she notes that the freak part is more than true as she sees a guy hanging from the chandelier in nothing but a banana yellow thong. She smirks bemusedly, turning away as the door to the second level of her rabbit hole opens up and she's lead through like a parent would a child.
"Ready for your close-up?" Rachel murmurs as she drops Chuck's hand, hooking arms with Brooke as she shouts out to her boyfriend, who mentions something about finding someone for something or other, "I'm going to find someone for your stepsister to sleep with!" before they fall into another fit of giggles.
The luxury of the second floor mirrors the craziness of the first, the whole place coated in marble flooring and opulently decorated. It looks like something out of an interior designer's dream, halting all speech and ceasing all thoughts. Brooke wants to take it in, to memorize every last inch of this so she never forgets what a night out with the bored and wealthy of the Upper East Side looks and feels like, but Rachel's leading her through the crowd so fast that she can barely get a good look at it. It's all a blur of gold and white and black as she speeds by, the gorgeous scenery flying by as she passes it all by at full speed.
She has to remember tonight, she decides as they bob and weave to get to the bar, for tonight is a night that she plans on referring to as the beginning of the rest of her life.
It's the night that she'll rub elbows with the scoundrels and socialites of New York's young Upper East Side's monarchy.
And maybe, just maybe, it's the night that she'll remember the part of her soul that's long been forgotten.
Rachel mixes their drinks behind the bar; the sound of the bottles of various liquors clinking over the music that plays throughout the penthouse while Brooke leans against it, looking at herself in a mirror on the wall. The daringly low cut red dress that Rachel had picked out is stunning on her, hugging her curves in all of the right places. Red has always been her color, she notes with a solitary smile. She looks like the old Brooke, the one who would've never stepped down from a challenge, the one that confidence had radiated from like sunlight. Brooke resolves to play Alice in Wonderland and become that version of herself again, even if it takes all of the strength she's got left.
"Drink this."
Like the Mad Hatter in her version of Wonderland, Rachel hands her a glass of something pink. Without even thinking Brooke downs it, the bitter taste of tequila and some kind of sweet and hard liquor charring her throat.
Her counterpart just grins with amusement. "That's my girl."
Brooke rolls her eyes once more as a laughing Rachel hands her a larger glass of what she can easily recognize as a screaming orgasm. The two look out upon the party, the nostalgia floating in for a moment as Brooke is reminded of their queen bee days. She smiles to herself, taking a sip of her drink. Brooke had once ruled Tree Hill, and now as the little sister of Chuck Bass, she's the heir to the Upper East Side throne.
But there's a creeping up her spine, a shiver, as she feels like someone is watching her. Her eyes scan the room for her stepbrother, who's sure to be in tow somewhere, but he's nowhere to be found. Who on earth could have been watching her so intently that it gives her goosebumps?
As if a higher power's at work, her eyes lock upon a matching set of ones so dark and midnight blue that it makes Brooke's heart stop. She feels her entire body heat up as she catches his gaze, gulping as she feels her pulse begin race.
He's devastatingly handsome, dangerously even, with his light brown hair swooshing across his piercing eyes and his Adonis like features. A number of women have already gathered around to worship him; he pays little attention as he swirls his scotch. She feels her breath leave her as she gazes into his eyes; they draw her in like a magnet to metal, swallowing her whole with just one look. For a moment, she feels as if she's drowning in them, and it's the most alive she's felt in days.
"Rachel, who's the one with the groupies on the couch over there?" Brooke asks, gesturing over to him as his stare moves elsewhere.
Her friend frowns as she looks over at the man, shaking her head. "He's someone that you're not allowed to talk to, or sleep with for that matter."
Brooke's brow furrows, confused as ever. She feels like she's falling down the rabbit hole all over again, only getting bits and pieces of the world that her stepbrother has waltzed her into. "Why?"
Rachel sighs, glancing over to the man again before shaking her head. She doesn't understand why Rachel's being like this, so standoffish and blatantly refusing to give her information. Isn't the whole night about introducing Brooke to the world that they reside in so regally? Isn't tonight her mock coming out?
"Because he's bad news, alright? He's a no good heartless bastard, and I hate him almost as much as Chuck does." Rachel says bluntly.
"For fuck's sake, Rachel." Brooke heaves, pouting slightly. "What's his name? Or is that too bad for me to hear?"
"I'm more afraid that I'll wake the dead if I say it." Rachel mutters with a certain bite to it, taking a swig of her drink.
"If you don't tell me, I'll go over there and ask him." Brooke counters, folding her arms across her chest for good measure. She doesn't mind going to the mat to get what she wants, but she really doesn't want to put the effort into it.
Rachel glares at her, her eyes narrowing. "Bitch," she spits out viciously before giving in, letting out another angry sigh. "His name's Nate Archibald."
Brooke is more than surprised when the name doesn't toll a single bell of recognition in her head; she had always known Chuck's friends quite well. Of course, they had been a string of druggies, boozers and socialites, but she had been on a first name basis with them none the less. But for some reason, she can't quite remember where she knows him from.
"And this is...his party." Rachel continues on, frowning dramatically.
"How do you know him?" She asks without skipping a beat, more than curious.
Rachel smirks, looking over at him and waving slightly. He returns the gesture, giving her a nod before letting his focus wander back to Brooke once more. It sets her skin on fire all over again, biting her lower lip as she smiles.
"He and Ch-"
"Gattina!"
Brooke turns her head to see an unfamiliar male swooping Rachel, who's now screaming with laughter, into his arms and completely changing the subject.
God damn it all. She had been so close to getting every last bit of information that Rachel knew about her mystery man out of her, and then this guy had to show up.
"Baizen!" She squeals back in a very not Rachel Gattina like manner, causing Brooke to kink an eyebrow.
Baizen. Where does she know that name from? It seems so familiar, like she's so used to hearing it.
"Tell me, my favorite red haired vixen, where has your man been hiding you?" The man pauses as his eyes drifted over to Brooke, who's casually looking him over with a coy smile, and glaze over in desire as soon as he catches a good look of her. He's handsome, she'd admit that, with his gray-blue eyes and the way that he carries himself as if he owns the room.
She remembers as soon as he gives her a grin. Carter Baizen, trust fund brat and Chuck's number two when it had come to partying. He had always been running in and out of the house when she had come to stay for the summer, usually dropping off her drunk stepbrother and then raiding their fridge. He had been the apple of Bart's eye for his father's company, but the bane of Victoria's existence for his repugnant reputation as a wild child. There hadn't been a single moment that their mother hadn't bashed Chuck for his choice of company, and the one that had usually been the direct target for her words was Carter.
"And who is this intoxicating creature."
"This," Rachel says as she looked at her, "is Brooke Davis, Chuck's stepsister. She's come to stay with us for a few weeks."
He grins from ear to ear, laughing. "Little B that we always left at home by the ice queen's orders?"
Brooke's eyebrow kiks, taking a step closer to the pair. Her confidence, which is increasing with each sip of her liquid courage, shines through as she looks up at him. "Do I look little to you, Baizen?"
He eyes her up with a satisfied smirk, shaking his head as did so. "You, Brooke Davis, are anything but little in that dress." Carter practically purrs, releasing her counterpart as he takes another step towards her.
Giggling with happiness, Brooke beams with accomplishment, tossing back another swig of her drink. Rachel smirks at the man advancing towards the brunette for a moment, quite amused with her friends, before shaking her head.
"I'm going off to find Chuck!" She announces loudly with a suggestive look at Brooke, gesturing to the man with a raised eyebrow and a wink. "Don't hurt him too much, B."
And just as quick as the man had appeared, Rachel's gone, hunting for her boyfriend in the crowd of party goers.
"Brooke Davis…" Carter lets her name roll off of his tongue deliciously, taking a step closer to her as Brooke's eyes follow his. "You certainly grew up." He murmurs, his hand resting on the bar as he invades her personal space.
Her heart is screaming at her to bolt, that she loves Lucas and that she needs to go back to him, that Carter isn't looking for anything but a good romp in the sheets (which she knows for certain, per his reputation). But she remains where she is, downing the rest of her drink for a little more courage and handing it to him with a grin.
"Why in fact I did. You look the same, though. Nothing knew, nothing...special." Brooke says with a smirk. "And I'm also now a girl in need of another drink, if you don't mind." Brooke flirts back, her hand settling on the his bicep like it's the most natural thing in the world. "A screaming orgasm, please."
He smirks at her choice of poison, his eyes dragging up and down her figure like a predator eyeing up its prey. The part of her that's used to having a boyfriend feels violated, but single Brooke absolutely loves the attention. "How could I refuse?" Carter says in that seductive tone of his as he moves behind the bar, making her another drink.
But if she remembers the stories of Carter Baizen correctly, that's just his friendly tone. He hasn't even gotten to seduction yet.
She takes a breather as he does so, looking out upon the party. Chuck and Rachel are holding court on the other side of the room, her sitting upon his lap with a drink in her hand and his hand resting upon her thigh. They look content, like a real honest to God couple. It's hard to believe that just a few years ago he had been sending random sluts out of his room at all hours of the night, most of them having wound up running into Victoria and getting an earful.
"One screaming orgasm." Carter says as he hands her the concoction. "Now, how does an innocent Carolina girl like Little B wind up in a place like this?" He asks her as he resumes his position, caging her in against the wood with his debonair smile.
Brooke laughs, taking her drink. "Innocent? You amuse me, Carter." She croons, her hand resting on his chest as her head moves beside his, close enough to whisper into his ear. "We both know I've never be the innocent little girl Victoria's always wanted me to be..."
- - - - - x - - - - - -
Two hours later and Brooke had finally come up for air from Carter's lips so he could make her eighth drink after bumming a cigarette off of his friend - what's her name, Pippa? It's something like that, Brooke reassures herself, as she walks out onto the balcony of the place. The music from inside pours out of the doorway softly as she shivers in the New York air, cursing the weather. For a moment, she misses Durham, simply because it had always been warm.
And it's at that moment, as she's shaking like a junkie jonesing for its next fix, that she doesn't have a lighter.
"Fuck!" Brooke mutters to herself, turning to head back in. She could just ask Pippa, if that's even her name, for hers and all will be well.
But instead, she turns to find the one and only Nate Archibald standing in the doorway, staring her down as if she's the last woman on earth.
Brooke freezes immediately, paralyzed by his gaze in the middle of the balcony. Those eyes, those gorgeous eyes that give her shivers, seem to be looking right through her. It's as if her perfect appearance and slightly overkissed lips don't matter, simply because with one look Nate Archibald can see straight into the depths of her soul.
"Need a light?" He asks her carelessly.
Three words. Three simple, little commands and her heart is jack-hammering the walls of her chest.
"Yeah." She says back quietly, her hand reaching out for the lighter.
But like the gentleman he is, Nate flips open his zippo and lights it for her himself, because he's just that kind of man that lights up girls for his own pleasure, apparently.
Brooke wonders for a moment if she's even allowed to address the supposed dark prince of the Upper East Side by his first name, if she had to call him Mr. Archibald or Nathaniel or something. God, what's she thinking? This isn't some lord that had just walked off a flight from England, this is just Nate Archibald.
But then again, he may as well be a king in her eyes in that moment as his eyes cut through the smoke like knives and pierce through her already wounded front.
"So," he says as she inhales the nicotine laced smoke, pulling out his own cancer stick and lighting it for himself. "How does Chuck Bass's little stepsister wind up in my penthouse?" Nate asks with a smirk.
Brooke notices that his eyes never leave hers, not even to take in her appearance. His gaze is different than Carter's; it thrills her, interests her, excites her. There's nothing perverted or sleazy about it. For the first time that night, she actually feels like someone isn't trying to shimmy up her dress. And even though she's somewhat repulsed by the word little, Brooke refuses to let her own pride ruin her five minutes with Nate Archibald.
"You think you know me?" She counters, smugly smiling back. Brooke doesn't cower in front of him; why would she? If she could take on Victoria and Theodore Davis, then deal with Bart Bass on a daily basis and actually like him, then this would be a piece of cake.
Or at least, so she assumes for the sake of her sanity. She can't take anymore games, not tonight at least. She's had her fill for a few years.
Nate chuckles darkly, pulling in a drag of his cigarette. She observes the way that his lips press delicately to the filter, wondering if that's how he looks when he kisses someone. Her skin grows hot for a moment but she silences the fire that fills her, dousing the flames with the bitter notion that this is not a man to go ga-ga over. Nate Archibald, from what she has seen, is a man that many women fawned over, but none could claim.
He pulls away from her, slowly walking around her as he proceeds to answer her. "It doesn't take much to recognize the stepsister Chuck's been keeping hidden away from all of us." Nate says in a gravelly voice, smiling at her. It's an honest, true smile, and she decides right then and there that she enjoys his smile far more than the lopsided half-moon smirk she's seen prior.
He's circling her now, watching her intently. It feels as if he can see straight through her facade, that he knows her inside and out just from one look.
"Beautiful, fiercely independent, seductive as all hell...you're unmistakably Brooke Davis."
He halts his stride, his eyes latching onto hers. Brooke smiles back at him as he takes a step closer, silently gazing up at him as the very air around her seems to charge itself with his energy. She ponders the idea that Nate Archibald may be a god as she feels as if the wind had torn away her breath with absolutely no mercy.
"And you certainly don't disappoint." He murmurs, his eyes searching her face for something he's yet to find.
As he gets closer, she does the same, peering through the haze that their cigarettes have given off and studying his handsome features. His cheeks are prickled with stubble, his hair messily kept and his black suit wrinkled. He gives off the feeling that he cares about nothing, that none of this matters to him. Everything about Nate looks as if he's just risen from bed, like he'd put no effort into making himself look good. Not that he had to, anyway. He's perfect in his own undone right.
"I could say the same for you, Nate Archibald." She says huskily, her voice warm and lustful as she looks up at him.
His lips curl up into a smile, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge her.
She likesit.
"And what have you heard about me?"
Brooke shrugs effortlessly, pulling in a deep breath of her cigarette and flicking the ashes away. But her eyes meet his, their locked stares battling for dominance in that moment. They're two forces of nature, two intensely powerful souls colliding together. She doesn't doubt that the people stories and stories beneath them can see the sparks.
"I've heard that you're bad news." She says softly, her eyes falling upon his lips. They look soft, sweet even, and Brooke can't help but wonder how they taste. "That just by saying your name," Brooke pauses, a grin appearing on her lips, "I could conjure up the devil and all his friends."
He laughs darkly, shaking his head as he never drops her gaze. He leans in close, as if he's about to tell her his deepest and most protected secret and whispers, "that's because I am."
The sound of his voice sends shivers down her spine, the heat of his breath warming the skin of her neck. It makes her heart skip a beat, her entire body humming with excitement as she allows him to remain as close to her as possible. She swears she can feel his body's warmth through her dress, her chest just grazing his in their close proximity.
"Brooke?"
She silently curses as she hears Rachel's voice, turning her head to look at her as she walks up. "Rachel." She says through gritted teeth, smiling fakely. "I was just introducing myself to the host."
The redhead frowns, her judgmental eyes peering at them both. Brooke feels the urge to slap her again as Nate smirks over at Raye.
"Good to see you, Red." Nate says as he takes a step back from her.
"Fuck off, Archibald. We're leaving." Rachel says bluntly, glaring at him. The disapproval in her eyes is heavy, like she's aiming a set of knives right at his heart.
But Nate doesn't even falter as he turns to Brooke, a grin spreading across his lips. "I guess your keeper's here to whisk you away, huh?" He asks her with a light laugh.
Brooke smirks over at Rachel, who's so angry that it looks like her head's about to go full exorcist and start spinning around in circles. She can practically see the steam coming out of her ears.
"Rach, you mind giving us a second?" Brooke asks, even though it was really more of a demand than anything.
Rachel opens her mouth to say something, but slowly shuts it with a nod. It's as if there's been silent understanding made between them both that he's no good, but it doesn't matter. She's going to speak to whoever she wants, and there's nothing that Rachel, who calmly walks back into the party without another word to them both, can do.
"Yeah, I guess so." Brooke murmurs, turning away from the direction Rachel had left in and looking up at him with the softest of smiles.
"Can I see you again?" He asks her, and the hope in his voice makes butterflies flutter away in her stomach.
Of course he can. He's Nate Archibald. He can have the whole word with a snap of his fingers if he wants.
But Brooke knows better than to jump at the chance, shrugging gently. "If you're lucky." She says confidently.
He laughs, his head falling back against his shoulders as he shakes his head. It lowers as he takes a step closer, his hand slowly reaching up and pushing a stray strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. The action is so sweet, so kind, so out of character for the man Rachel had told her about.
Perhaps he isn't so satanic after all, as most assume him to be.
"It was nice to meet you, Nate Archibald." Brooke says as she holds out her hand for him to shake, polite and quaint in her actions.
He reaches out, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kisses it with the lightest touch she's ever felt, causing a pink to rise to her cheeks. Brooke Davis, blushing? No, that's impossible.
Or at least it had been before she'd met him by a happy accident.
"It was wonderful to meet you as well, Brooke Davis." Nate says as he pulls away from her, his eyes still chained to her for one last moment before he's gone, surrounded by his sea of followers as he dives into the deep ocean of people once more.
Brooke stands there for a moment, her hand on her chest as she tries to catch her breath. Had she even been breathing before that moment? Had she been alive? Of course, she knows the answer was no. She hasn't been alive since she had found out Lucas was getting married, but now...something's waking her up. Whether it be the vodka she's drank, the people she's met, or the undeserving slap that she's thrown, something is beginning to bring her back to life.
And maybe, just maybe, it's the wonder she's feeling from the beautiful blue eyed man she's encountered tonight.
"Can we go now?"
Rachel's voice calls her back from her moment of thought, turning back to her and nodding. "Yeah, I'm ready."
The two don't speak as they weave back through the party, finding Chuck at the bar with a pal and dragging him out of Nate's building before collapsing into the limo. They're quiet the whole way back home, Brooke gazing out the window at the New York lights and Rachel snuggling into her boyfriend's chest.
And as the city flies by her, Brooke feels something that she had feared that she'd never feel again after losing everything.
Hope.