Chapter Seven
Bruised
Hours
pass, and she still counts the minutes
That I am not there, I
swear I didn't mean
For it to feel like this
Like every inch of
me is bruised, bruised
And don't fly fast. Oh, pilot can you help
me?
Can you make this last? This plane is all I got
So keep it
steady, now
Cause every inch you see is bruised
Jacks Mannequin, Bruised
Brooke was sitting on the porch in the driveway when Haley and Nathan's car pulled up in the driveway. Within seconds, the back door flew open and Jamie slid out. "Aunt Brooke!"
Brooke grinned. "Hey, buddy!"
Nathan was hot on his son's heels. "Jimmy-Jam, c'mon back in the car, I told you, we're just picking Uncle Lucas up."
Brooke smiled wryly at Nathan. "Actually, I don't know if he's done yet."
Nathan sighed, then turned to the car and waved for Haley and Lindsey to get out. The driver's door immediately opened, but Lindsey seemed to be taking her time.
Nathan and Brooke exchanged knowing looks as Haley and finally Lindsey walked toward them, Lindsey looking none too pleased. "He's had plenty of time by now. We have a flight to catch."
"Don't worry, Linds, we have plenty of time before the flight leaves," Nathan assured her, even though he knew that wasn't truly what concerned her.
For the next few minutes, they sat around awkwardly making small talk, asking Lindsey about their new apartment and other moving details. Finally, though, the adults gave in the Jamie's begging for a game of hide and seek, if only to distract themselves from the elephant in the room.
The adults took turns searching for Jamie, and during her turn, Lindsey was half-heartedly looking for Jamie in the garage (she'd noticed him peeking out from behind Peyton's car).
"Hmmmm, I wonder if he could be in here?" She mused aloud, walking around the front of the car.
Suddenly she stopped moving, staring down at something she had never noticed before.
Comet.
She had a flash of memory from Lucas' first book. The first day he and Peyton had spoken, something he had referred to several times in the novel: her car had broken down.
She was still standing in shock as Haley followed her into the garage. "Hey, Lindsey, did you find him yet? I hope he didn't hide too well, or we'll have to leave him here while we go see the planes…" Haley stopped as she took in the look on Lindsey's face. "What's wrong?"
Her voice was faint as she quoted, "The boy saw the comet and suddenly his life had meaning."
"What…" Haley followed Lindsey's gaze to the lettering on Peyton's car and her eyes widened. "Oh, my God…"
Her voice still dazed, Lindsey continued, "It was more than just a comet because of what it brought to his life. Direction, beauty, meaning. There were many who couldn't understand, and sometimes he walked among them. But even in his darkest hours, he knew in his heart that someday it would return to him. And his world would be whole again. And his belief in God and love and art would be reawakened in his heart." She looked up at Haley. "The comet."
Recovering her shock, Haley tried to protest, "Lindsey, it's just a book-"
"Did you read the book, Haley?"
Haley sighed. The truth was, she had assumed it was about Peyton without even connecting it with her car. Now, it made even more sense. "Yeah. I read the book."
"Boo!" Jamie leaped out from behind the car. "You didn't find me, Mama!"
Haley smiled at her son. "I guess you win, then, huh? Go tell Daddy, maybe he'll play with you again."
Jamie ran off, as Lindsey groaned. "He couldn't think of a thing to write for months, until she came back, and then he comes up with that…" She paused. "Oh, God, what are we doing?"
LPLPLPLPLP
"Peyton, open the door. Peyton, please." He paused, listening, hoping. "Peyton, I am not leaving it like this, please open the door. Peyton…." He pressed his forehead against the door, defeated. "Please."
The door swung open and Lucas stumbled as he barely remained upright. Peyton's eyes were red and swollen, her face soaked with tears.
"Stop." She begged weakly.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, his voice trembling. "God, I'm sorry…" There were tears on his cheeks, and Peyton hated that. So she gave in and, against her better judgment, she wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him.
He hugged back, hard, his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her. Peyton's tears soaked through his shirt.
If I say I love you right now would you hold it against me?
Lucas pulled back, just a little, his eyes boring into hers, and suddenly he moved closer to her, eyes closed. Peyton knew he was moving to kiss her, and she also knew she no longer had the strength the stop him, to pretend she wasn't desperate for it.
But he stopped himself, his lips inches from hers, and they were frozen like that for what seemed like an endless moment, but finally he ducked his head instead, leaning it against her chest.
"Please don't hate me," He begged.
Peyton closed her eyes and held on for another moment. "I kinda wish I could."
He drew back, letting go, and so did she.
They looked at each other for a few seconds, then Peyton said quietly, "Bye, Lucas."
He nodded. "I'll be seein' you." He tried to smile, but it wouldn't hold. Peyton looked away. "Bye, Peyton."
And then he was gone.
LPLPLPLPLP
"Finally." Lindsey said coolly as Lucas exited the house and went to the car.
"Sorry." He muttered.
"Luke, listen…" She paused, looking at her husband. He looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice hoarse.
She didn't understand him.
It clearly pained him to say goodbye to Peyton. Yet he had been the one to mention moving. He had clearly been fighting conflicting feelings, yet he had proposed. He had married her.
It wasn't as though Peyton was not an option for him. She would quite obviously take him back the second he wanted. Yet he chose Lindsey.
It had to mean something, right?
"…let's just go."
LPLPLPLPLP
The faceless form was pulling him back. He thrashed wildly, doing whatever he could to resist the grip. Peyton was so close, and she was hurt. He could save her, he'd broken the window, if only it would let him go…
He was being dragged further from the car, still fighting. Then, suddenly, he wrenched hard and was startled to find himself free of the grip. He began to run again, back to the car. The window had repaired, the doors re-locked, but it didn't matter.
His fist collided with the glass, and he reached in. Lifting her easily, he removed her from the car.
He collapsed on the road, holding her in his arms. He whispered her name, over and over, but her eyes wouldn't open. His fingers fumbled with her wrist, searching for a pulse, a heartbeat.
There was none.
He was too late. Tears dripped down his face; he held her body close, and her name tore from his throat.
When Lucas opened his eyes this time, something was different. He was experiencing his usual reaction of terror: racing heart, cold sweat, trembling body, difficulty breathing. That wasn't different.
But instead of Lindsey bent over him, concerned and pressing him for details, she was sitting up, leaning away from him, and staring at him with something like anger.
"You don't remember what they're about?"
He stared at her. He didn't need this. They had been living in New York for three weeks, and in spite of his hopes, the dreams had not stopped; if anything, they had worsened.
He hated the city. He hated the noise and the traffic, the crowds. He hated Lindsey's super sophisticated intellectual friends. He hated the impersonal feel of the newly decorated apartment.
And most of all, he hated it because it wasn't making him forget her.
Now, Lindsey stared at him, expression cold, waiting for an answer.
"No," he rasped. "I've told you that."
"You yelled her name."
Lucas' insides went cold. Feigning confusion, he stared at his wife. "Whose?"
Lindsey laughed humorlessly. "Whose do you think?"
Not trusting himself to speak, Lucas plastered a confused expression on his face and held it, until Lindsey snapped, "Peyton. You yelled 'Peyton'. " She faced him accusingly.
Lucas flopped back into the bed, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was desperately trying to force his mind away from the nightmare, into the here and now, so he could properly participate in a conversation with his wife.
"Lucas. Let's try this again. What have you been dreaming about?!"
"I don't remember!"
"Try!"
Lucas closed his eyes. He could still feel the dead weight of Peyton's body, as though he'd really been holding her. "Lindsey, just because I said a name doesn't make me remember any better. I've just…never remembered dreams."
Lindsey finally lowered her voice, suddenly sounding very, very tired. "These aren't just any dreams, Luke. " She paused. She couldn't find a rational way to get angry at him for dreaming of Peyton, for dreaming something horrible and terrifying that he refused to share. They were just dreams, after all. It would be stupid to get upset about a dream, or a book.
The problem was, they were giving her a lot more insight into Lucas than the real-life version of him would.
Lindsey finally spoke quietly, "I think you should see someone."
"No chance."
"This isn't normal, Luke!"
He stared at her, unwavering. "It's going to stop."
LPLPLPLPLP
Peyton felt disoriented.
She had left Los Angeles to come home. It didn't take long, however, for it to become apparent that home was more than a place. More than anything else, home was Lucas, and Tree Hill without him was nothing more than echoes and shadows of what used to be.
She had thought nothing could cut her more deeply than his 'I do', his promise to love, honor and cherish another woman. But somehow she was having even more difficulty absorbing his declaration that loving her was not enough.
When they were together, and Lucas told her he loved her, Peyton had savored it, each and every time. A part of her had still felt like the terrified girl standing in her bedroom, those three words spilling out after being kept inside for too long.
She had believed in their love, and she had trusted it, never questioning or doubting.
Until, somewhere in between being left in a hotel room and watching him get married, Peyton had had to confront the fact that Lucas no longer loved her.
When he first said it, words she'd never thought he'd say to her again, Peyton had thought everything could change.
But he'd said it wasn't enough.
She didn't understand that. Did it mean she wasn't enough, that they weren't enough? Weren't enough for what? To make him happy? To make him leave Lindsey? To erase the years of heartache?
LPLPLPLPLP
After the night he'd screamed Peyton's name, Lucas began to reuse the strategy he'd discovered during his last few nights in Tree Hill; he snuck out to the guest room every night after Lindsey fell asleep.
For hours he would lay awake, fighting sleep and the inevitable nightmare. He tried imagining the scene himself, tried to picture himself saving Peyton, imagine her being alright. Nothing worked.
Lindsey discovered him a week after he'd begun sleeping in the guest room.
"What are you so afraid of me hearing?!" She demanded as soon as he entered the kitchen that morning.
"God, Linds, it's not that. Paranoid much?"
"Then why sleep in the guest room?"
"Because I'm tired of waking you up! I don't want you to keep talking about some damn therapist…"
Lindsey sighed. "I'm just trying to help you."
"Well, stop it!" He snapped. "I don't need help, not from you and definitely not from some shrink…"
Voice shaking with anger now, Lindsey practically snarled, "Well, why don't you just call your precious comet to come help you? Then maybe you can stop dreaming about her!"
Lucas froze, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"
Lindsey stared at him, tears welling in her eyes, her chin trembling. "Like you don't know."
His heart thumping in his ears, Lucas struggled to maintain an expression of confusion. " I don't. What does the book have to do with any of this? Or with Peyton?"
Lindsey's eyes were squeezed shut, but the tears were somehow managing to slip out. Her voice was quiet and shaky when she finally answered, "Her car's a comet, Luke."
"Wh…what?"
"The first day you and Peyton spoke you fixed her car. Her car is a comet." She opened her eyes and stared at him. "The boy saw the comet and suddenly his life had meaning…you couldn't write a thing for months until she came back, and then you came up with that….she's your comet, Luke. And now you're dreaming God knows what about her-"
"Hey, hey, hey." He sat down in the chair next to her at the table, taking her hand. "I honestly don't know what the dreams are about, okay? And as for the book…God, Linds, it's just a story. It wasn't even supposed to be romantic-"
"But it is."
"But I didn't think of it that way. It's just a story." He didn't know where this instinct came from. What was so hard about saying You're right, it's about Peyton. I still love her. But these words wouldn't come.
LPLPLPLPLPLP
Peyton sat alone in her office, her fingers poised over the keyboard of her laptop. She had a blank email message up on the screen, an email that she honestly knew would probably never be sent.
The cursor blinked at her mockingly. She couldn't figure out how to put into words what she wanted to say to him. The questions, the anger, the pleas…all of it got tangled up somehow.
She typed three words: I miss you. They remained for mere moments before she erased them. She typed again I love you. They were gone even faster; after all, he had managed to drain meaning from the word 'love'; what did it matter if it wasn't enough?
She typed again, quickly: I can't be here without you. She stared at them, rereading the sentence again and again until the words lost their meaning. She erased them, then closed the message.
Closing her eyes, Peyton turned the volume on her computer up. She had spent weeks burying herself in music, hoping to be healed. But in every line of loss or heartache, in every chord change that twisted her heart, she heard Lucas.
She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a new blank CD, inserting it into the drive.
LPLPLPLPLPLP
After the first comet fight, Lucas went to the doctor under the pretense of insomnia. The 'light' sleeping pills he was given did nothing to stop the dreams, but he no longer woke up in the middle of the night from them.
Instead, he woke up every morning with the momentary terror of forgetting it was all a dream, and he moved through his days plagued by the memory of the dream or, more often than he wanted to admit, his longing for her.
During one of his first catch up phone calls back, a few weeks after he moved, Haley said, apropos to nothing, "Luke, listen. I saw Peyton the other day-"
He quickly interrupted, "Haley, don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't…I didn't ask about Peyton, okay? I don't need to be updated on her, I don't want to know."
"Fine."
He had felt like an ass, but the truth was that he could tell from Haley's tone that whatever she was going to say about Peyton was not positive; it was probably just going to reinforce the fact that he had broken her heart, and Lucas couldn't hear that.
More than that, he needed to remember his purpose for the move. A clean break. So he went through phone calls willing himself not to ask about Peyton.
The truth was, he could feel every painful minute that had passed since they'd said goodbye.
