Blind Leading The Blind

Author's note: Hey guys. I'm back. I'm really sorry that you had to wait again for such a long time for an update. But I promise you with the Christmas holidays starting in a week I'll have enough time to write. You can expect to get much more chapters till the end of the year.

If I do not update before Christmas I wish you all fantastic holidays and lots of presents…

This chapter is dedicated to Lynn. Thanks for everything hun…

Disclaimer: I don't own One Tree Hill. Sadly the TV-series is belonging to Mark Schwahn.

Chapter 4: On A String

My life's on a string
I'll do anything
to get myself back.
I hang by a thread,
oh let's go to bed
and get ourselves back.

Los Angeles, March 2011

"…I call myself a writer and therefore I should have the ability to express my thoughts and feelings in sophisticated and captivating phrases. But as of lately I haven't actually even tried to put some words onto a sheet of paper. I feel so empty and restless. I am awake at night staring on the screen of my notebook without typing down anything…I don't have a story to tell or any crappy notion to share. People tell me I should start writing sappy love novels or screenplays for TV and the big screen. They always remind me that this is L.A. and that after some time everybody would start to sell out. But this isn't really me. Sure I could use the money and for once satisfy the demands of my editor and publisher.

However there has to be more. There used to be more.

Damn it…I was the guy who memorized the ravishing quotes of Steinbeck, Hawthorne and Shakespeare.

I loved reading books in highschool. You did never see me sitting at the breakfast table or at lunch without a book in my hands. I devoured almost every famous and not so famous novel back then. Writing was always a dream of mine. Sure basketball was my top priority and it is still one of the most important things in my life. However writing was this special gift that made me understand myself so much more. How many times have I stood in front of somebody and couldn't say out loud what was rushing through my mind? Instead writing was the vent for the pain, the sorrow and the silence. Now I'm at a loss for words again.

Writing kept me alive all these years…after I got the positive results back regarding my heart condition and the news of Keith passing away it was the only thing that held me back from going insane. Every single word I wrote picked up a little piece of my shattered heart and slowly put it back together. I never believed it that writing could have this effect on me or even be my future.

She believed in me.

She was there all these nights.

She held my hand and caressed my hair.

She whispered sweet and soothing words into my ear.

With her support and unconditional love my life got a new perspective.

She gave me the strength and courage to get back on my feet and pursue my dream.

Without her I would not be a writer…

And I didn't even get the chance to thank her for that.

Why is it that we don't ever recognize the important things in our lives while they are happening? We are often too preoccupied with ideas, thoughts and ourselves to not take everything for granted. And it is usually the time when we loose everything that matters to us that we realize how wrong we have been…how much we need somebody.

The sad thing is that I have never seen Brooke again since highschool. We had this special bond back then and I don't understand it how we did not keep in touch. It pains me not to know how she is living her life.

Where she is residing.

Who she is spending her life with …and most importantly if she has achieved all her dreams and conquered the world…

Suddenly I got the chance tonight to look into this kind and comforting hazel eyes again.

Every little emotion and moment we shared crawled back into my mind…it was as if I stepped out of the dark into glistening light.

She gave me this small and almost invisible smile that calmed me down in an instant.

But despite all this newly awoken feelings I saw the deep sorrow still lingering in her eyes.

The sorrow I caused all these years ago.

And then she walked out of my life again."

New York, March 2011

"I said that I want this dress all ready and set when I come back from the premiere." Brooke says with a disgruntled look on her face.

She clenches her fists and exhales deeply watching Rachel shrug her shoulders and shooting her one of the famous death glares she exercised to perfection.

"Rachel what is there not to understand at all? I think it is pretty simple. When I say let the couturier tailor the dress over the weekend I sure as hell mean it. I don't care if he is not comprehending my sketches or in Cabo screwing my publicist." Brooke exclaims snidely.

Rachel shifts her weight from one foot to the other and folds her arms in front of her chest.

"Well if this ain't our always oh so charming and cheerful boss. Glad to have you back home Brookie. I hope the Californian sun hasn't fried your last remaining brain cells. We need your creative wit for the upcoming winter collection. Your coffee and the newspaper are on your desk in your office."

And with that the redheaded woman turns on her heels and leaves.

Brooke watches her storm off and glares furiously at the other employees eavesdropping.

She shakes her head in incomprehension and proceeds to step into her personal office.

It is one of these big offices with large windows facing the Central Park and its surroundings.

This is her own little safe zone. The place where she can escape from of all of the deadlines and the demands of the press or the other designers. Here she has her comfortable leather armchair, the huge wooden desk, her computer, a phone and most importantly her sketch-pad. She does not need much more except for maybe every now and then a hot cup of coffee and Caesars salad for lunch.

Brooke slips out of her cream colored Burberry trench coat and slumps down into the armchair. She kinks her eyebrows and takes a little sip from the steaming coffee mug placed next to her phone. Then she unfolds the newspaper and searches for the article Rachel has as always already highlighted.

"A stunning looking Reese Witherspoon shows up at the premiere of her new movie with latest conquest Jake Gyllenhaal".

Brooke chuckles and almost burns her bottom lip drinking the hot coffee as she remembers that Reese confidentially admitted that her relationship with Jake is nothing more than another publicity stunt. Poor girl still has to recover from her last horrible movie Rendition.

However Brooke is too impatient to read the whole article so she scans it for the lines Rachel highlighted.

"Miss Witherspoon revealed in our interview session on the red carpet that her dress for the premiere was designed by non other than hot and upcoming fashion designer Brooke Davis. Davis accompanied Reese to the premiere and was happy to confess that she is not anymore designing her clothes under the contract of Victoria's Secret but starting her own label this year called Clothes over Bros…" Brooke smiles contentedly and is about to turn over the page as another sentence catches her attention…

"Lucas Scott, the critically acclaimed novelist also attended the premiere screening. The movie is based on his latest book and therefore Mr. Scott was present to join the Q&A after the screening. Later that night we tried to talk Mr. Scott into commenting on his relationship with Brooke Davis as we were curious to find out why he mentioned her name in his book. Sadly Mr. Scott was close-lipped and refused to issue a statement."

Brooke frowns and quickly tosses the newspaper into the trash can. She mustn't think about him right now. There is too much work to do. She has to sketch out about 5 dresses today for the winter collection and the meeting with her former boss at Victoria's Secret is still scheduled for lunch. Furthermore her mother talked her into attending another movie premiere tonight. Victoria is keen on spreading the word on Brooke's launch of the Clothes over Bros fashion line this summer.

As Brooke starts to draw the first draft of a dark blue colored, strapless gown somebody knocks on the door.

Then the head of familiar redheaded woman peaks into the room. Brooke does not stir up or even lays down her pencil.

Rachel clears her throat while suspiciously eyeing the trash can.

"What! What is wrong again now Rachel? Has the couturier already started to tailor the dress?" Brooke barks keeping her eyes focused on the sketch-pad.

Rachel lets out an annoyed sigh and slams the door shut.

"Stop it right now slut. I know how much it sucks to be famous fashion designer Brooke Davis, earning a whole lot of money and screwing the most eligible bachelors in town. Tough luck, missy. But I swear if you ever humiliate me one more time in front of the whole office I'll rip out every single strand of your hair."

Brooke buries her face in her hands and stays silent for a moment.

"I'm really sorry Rach. This weekend was a mess. The trip to L.A. was a complete disaster." she barely whispers.

Rachel sighs and sits on the desk next to Brooke. She starts to rub circles on her back to calm her down. Then she says in a soothing voice "You did see him in L.A, right?"

Brooke stares into space and silently nods her head in agreement.

Los Angeles, September 2011

It is way past 10am and he is still in bed watching the recaps of last nights Lakers vs. Cavaliers game. The bed sheets are all messed up and his clothes are scattered on the floor. He is sipping a beer and eating waffles. The door to the patio is wide open and a chilly gust of wind hits his body. He has no intention to get up any time soon to write or to clean up his apartment. He just wants to stay all day in bed and wait for the sun to set. Then he can go out to search for another girl to screw.

He switches to another channel and proceeds to watch some stupid talk show.

All of a sudden the phone starts to ring. He not even flinches and tries to ignore the annoying sound distracting him from the TV.

The voice mail kicks in and then a familiar voice starts talking.

"Luke. It's me, Nate. Care to pick up the phone douchebag? I have to tell you something man. Come on pick up the damn phone! You know I wouldn't call if it isn't something serious…Damn it Luke…Whitey died last night. The funeral is on Saturday 2pm…"

He slowly averts his eyes from the TV screen and looks at the little red light blinking consistently on the answering machine. Then he presses a button and listens to the voice mail again.

Author's note:

whiters (Whitney???) – I'm so glad that you liked the previous chapter…I want to tell the story from both Lucas's and Brooke's point of view. Therefore I have to take you back to their past…to really understand what is going on..

photobooth romance – I'm really sorry that I have disappointed you…with the next chapter the story will move on and get going…

Chelsea – Thanks again for your kind review…it means a lot to me…hope you enjoy this chapter + don't be mad at me 

Chey - Luke has definitely still a soft spot for his Brooke…Peyton annoying??? …never did I say that 

B.P. Davis – Watch out for the next chapters…there will be much more Brucas interaction…