I would like to say thank you to bitterkidxsweety, belle1220, abercrombie 18, and Christina for taking the time out to leave me feedback. I always find them to be very useful, especially since I might take from it something and use in my next chapters. : ) This is dedicated to you, and for the girly who wrote "Surfin' on a Rocket" please write more Leyton, you are extremely talented and seeing such quality fics makes me want to contribute more!
Now to answer a question posed to me:
Don't makes us wait six weeks for an update, please ;). This story is good, but I have a question - at the end you have I always do Peyt. in italics - i'm assuming it's Nathan thinking it, but what does he always do? I'm sorry if i'm a bit of a moron, but could you explain that? Thanks. Can't wait for the next update. Hi, the italic phrase is actually Peyton thinking over Lucas' words to her in the bedroom scene, where he grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her closer. Thanks for taking the effort to ask! Sorry if it wasn't very clear.
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Previously…
And it was exactly when she finally manages to sound sincere in her laughter that Lucas stumbles upon them as he stands, halfway to her porch, hidden by the shadow shading of the tree.
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She puts on her war paint, a routine she formulated since she was fourteen and went on her first date with Nathan, aid courtesy of Seventeen magazine. First: lay the foundation, second: apply the mascara, then powder up and dap on the eye shadow, Clinique only, finally apply her lip-gloss.
Today, her routine is all wrong and messed up. Her eyes keep tearing up, and the mascara draws crude tar tracks on the sides of her face, and she figures she looks like the sad little clown at the circus whose only purpose is to fall and be laughed at by the cruel unfeeling crowd. She gets it, the sporadic bouts of depression. And she can't say this was unexpected.
The memory of the tummy kisses, coupled with the jilted feeling when she remembers everything after that…Nikki, Brooke, Lucas, Brooke and Lucas…she is all alone really, aside from the constant presence of Nathan recently. Haley had her own life, her own dreams to chase after, and Brooke had Lucas –somewhat- and she was left with her pencils and sketchbook, and imaginary people to talk to.
Lucas would always be there if she called him, but right now, she couldn't. They were weird again. And she still remembers a time when she was a dyke and potential druggie, and he was chasing after his own dreams, his cheerleader girl, her best friend. She can still see herself, on the floor, green frock crumpled, tear tracks and mascara, sees herself in her own room, with the solace of empty hurtful words of Lesbo and Dyke. And he was busy. With his Brooke sham!Friendship fiasco.
It's hard to forget that no one was there to help her pick up the pieces, until all was said and done, and she was fixed, haphazardly, again.
And so she uses a tissue to wipe the black L'oreal mascara track off her face and begins to start over.
She tries on her smile, and hopes Ty wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'll be what she needed. And if not, then what she wants, for the time being.
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