A/N: Again, much thanks to all of you who have reviewed, you know who you are and you are awesome! So sorry for the delay on this, I'm working real hard trying to crank out new chapters so if you'll bear with me on the updates I so hope to not disappoint. Read, review, enjoy!
--Speak Darkly My Angel--
You're both sitting in her room now, neither speaking, not knowing quite what to say. You're trying to think of something, anything, to break this silence that has left in the wake of the comfort that was the first awakening moments. But that is gone now, it's been nearly twenty minutes and you haven't a clue as to how to start a conversation or anything for that matter, other than to just look at her.
And then there is her. She's sitting there as well, completely awake now, but seemingly lost in her own world. She has that classic brooding look; except now she seems more…you're not quite sure what it is. Maybe something more conflicting or confusing, you don't know. All you can see is that she is trapped in her mind for the moment, and even though she looks slightly troubled, you can't help but think of how gorgeous she looks sitting there. The sun is shining off of her hair making it glow and she just takes your breath away.
Sucking up a breath of air and hopefully some courage and guidance as well, you open your mouth to speak. And you do; only it takes you a few tries of saying her name before she finally snaps out of her reverie and realizes you are talking to her.
"P. Sawyer…we need to talk. You know that, and not just about what you said the other day. We need to talk about us, about where you've been, about what you are going to do now, about getting you through this. No more running okay? Please Peyton; I don't want to lose you again."
She stayed silent for a long time, just sitting there, staring down at her hands, as you look on pleadingly at her. You stand up and move closer to her, taking a seat right next to her on her bed. And you wait again to see if she'll speak, but still she just sits there. So finally, you gently hook a finger under her chin and bring her face up, look her in her eyes, showing her everything you're thinking and feeling, trying to read her as best you can as well. You think it's not as easy as it used to be, but you can still see her in those piercing eyes of hers.
Finally, she moves closer into you, resting her head on your shoulder, letting you hug her, hold her. And you just sit there, holding this girl in your arms. When she pulls away she wipes at her eyes, but you see no tears. Again, you look at her, concern plastered on your face. And as she looks at you, she shakes her head in the affirmative, once, twice for good measure.
"Okay."
There is more waiting before she finally opens her mouth and words start spewing out.
She tells you all about when she left Tree Hill and how she stayed up north, near Boston, for a while, while attending an art school. Not too long after she disappeared to her friends, after the funeral, when she was at school is when she really started drinking heavily. This is something you can't quite grasp, because you've known Peyton for a very long time, and have never known her to be much of a drinker, but you sit and listen patiently, openly, as she tells you of her downfall.
Just before the holiday breaks of that first year of college is when she dropped out, moved in with some not-so-friendly friends who liked to party – hard. Prior to this happening is when she found out about her brother who was declared MIA by the army. Someone had managed to track her down, informing her of the news, and that night she tried to drink herself into oblivion. Two days later she woke up in the hospital from alcohol poisoning, then left school and things only got worse from there.
She's telling you all about the drugs she went back to, that she promised you she would never touch again. And as she does this she is apologizing profusely just so you won't leave her. You reassure her you aren't going anywhere, and tell her to continue the story.
She says she doesn't remember most of the next year or two. She was either too high or too drunk most of the time. She tells you about things she's not proud of; 'boyfriends' that beat her, doing degrading things for the drugs, living on the streets on and off, getting kicked out of shelters, spending a few nights in jail, her so called friends letting her go home with people everyone knew where bad news. Stuff like that. The things she can recall from that time period, she wishes she could forget.
She talks some more of that time, the bits and pieces of being one step above a drunken whore. When she is rambling a bit you think it's cute, that is until you truly listen to what it is she is saying.
She is starting to cry a bit now, and has started pacing as well. She's telling you now about how she hit rock bottom, and you almost want to cover your ears because you don't want to believe your Peyton could have gone through this, been this person.
She's talking now about a little less than a year ago, she had been off of the various drugs for a few months by then, but was still drinking quite heavily. She was staying with this guy and a few of his friends, and one night he gave her to one of his buddies to pay off a drug debt. She says she barely had any idea what was going on, until it was too late. She couldn't stop it. And she tried; she's telling you now how she tried so hard, until finally, all the alcohol and his fists, just made her stop, and she gave up. She hates that she gave up.
She's crying so hard now, and has collapsed next to the wall. You're over there so fast, just cradling her, trying to calm her down and make her feel better. You don't know if you are helping, but you continue to do what you can, just comfort her as best you know how, and she calms.
She pulls herself together again, just barely, and leaves the room for a glass of water. When she comes back she sits next to you on the bed, and after another moment she begins speaking again.
She's telling you that after it was over, how she managed to get away from him, and then proceeded to try and drink herself to death. She went to every bar she could find, could make it to, and drank as much as she could before she finally passed out somewhere. She doesn't know what happened after that. When she woke up next she tells you at first she thought it was the day when she first woke up in the hospital nearly two years previous. But she wasn't that lucky. No, she remembered what little she could, and was told by the nurses and police that she had passed out just after getting in a cab, that she was lucky and he drove her to the hospital.
She tells you she was in a coma for two weeks. She says after seeing what she had become, what she had done, what had been done to her, she couldn't bare to even look at herself. The sober light of day, clear minded, she hated who she was. She had hit her rock bottom, and now she was stuck in the hospital for a while, then begrudgingly allowed the transfer to a rehab facility.
She looks up at you, cautiously looking to see if after all of that, you look at her any differently. But you don't. There is sympathy, and anger for those who hurt her, but you still look at her with all the love you have for her, like you always have, only now less guarded with your feelings for her. You gently stroke her cheek, assuring her it's alright, that she'll be okay, you'll both be okay. She rests her head down on your shoulder and speaks some more, her voice becoming a little horse from all the stress and emotion.
Now she's telling you how she spent three months in rehab, has been clean of drugs for a little over a year, alcohol free for around nine months. Those months in that hospital she tells you how she started to try and put her life back together. How even though she was living on the streets or in dives of apartments for all that time that she is actually quiet set financially due to what she inherited when her father passed. She says she knew all this, but absolutely refused to spend any of that money, or the money she had worked so hard to save for herself for school and the like, on drugs and alcohol. That through her haze in that time, she still kept to that. She tells you that she, with the help of counselors, had contacted the Army for news of Derek, and how she thought she might break all over again when they informed her that he had been found, but was later killed, and she was unreachable at the time.
And as she continues to tell you all of this you remain right by her side, one arm around her for support, just listening to her. You know that for her it must be in some way therapeutic to get this all out, and you are relieved that even though it is painful, that she is telling you, that you are filling in missing pieces so you both can eventually begin to heal.
She finishes telling you about what her life was up until she was released from rehab. You know there is more, but don't have it in you to push right now. Already this conversation, this spilling of her soul, has taken most of the day, and you are both tired.
So, after eating a little something, which you notice took some effort on her part, and getting ready for bed, you both relax into the mattress as best you can. You see her curled up on her side, looking so lonely and breakable. Carefully you move closer to her and cuddle up against her, wrapping your arms around her and holding her close. She turns into you and you notice that she is silently crying a little. You just hold her tighter, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as you run your fingers through her hair and down her back soothingly.
And together, holding onto one another, you fall asleep.
You sleep. And sleep, and sleep, for hours. Both of you, just resting and revitalizing your bodies and mind's. No nightmares, no what-ifs, no nothing plaguing your sleeping states.
You dream. You dream that you are happy, with her, and everything is good, great, and the way you think it should be. And most of all, she is happy, truly happy like you have never seen her before, and you know it's because of you. You have made her this happy in your dream.
Then suddenly you are not apart of the dream anymore, but watching those people from a distance. You see dream you and dream her, in pure bliss, and you think you want to make that reality, you want to give her that peace that just seems to be radiating off of her in waves. Peace and happiness. You're going to help her reach this place, the both of you.
And as you slowly open you're eyes to that bright bane of you're morning existence, you vow that you won't give up one her, that you will always be by her side, in whatever capacity she wants. Because you just want her to be that happy, you just want her here, safe, and happy.
You'll make it happen.
