Narcissistic Cannibal
Seven
'I'm No Knight in Shining Armor, but I'm No Pair of Dancing Shoes'
If there was one thing Nathan had never expected to happen, it was this: a Saturday that would usually hold the excitement of a basketball game, totally obliterated—replaced by an eerie void that would not dull any of his pain. The alarm clock displayed red numbers somewhere around eleven, but he didn't really care about the time. Bound to his bed by the weightiness of absolutely no enthusiasm, Nathan stared at his ceiling, dreading the coming events of the day. If only he hadn't hurt his damn ankle… then all of his problems would be solved. Clenching his eyes shut, he couldn't think about the 'what ifs'. The unchangeable truth was that he was indeed hurt, and would not play in one of the biggest rivalry games of the year.
Brushing his hand over his dark hair, Nathan began to reminisce about facing the South Park Eagles as a child. Bartok Ramses had been (and still was) the shooting guard for the Eagles. The kid was a fast little demon, with a jump shot that could kill. Even in his oversized blue Eagles t-shirt, Bartok had had a knack for intimidating everyone around him. Laughing to himself at the determined little boy, Nathan was sure all of the referees had gotten to know Bartok on a first name basis. The Ramses boy always found himself in foul trouble by at least the end of the second quarter. Nathan usually taunted and tempted the opposing kid once he got to this point, just daring him to foul him. Most times, Nathan got his wish, and Bartok had to sit out the fourth quarter for surpassing five fouls. The quiet power Nate had had over the little Eagle could not be denied, and the majestic twenty-three could not have wanted it any other way.
Now, sometimes, he thought that was part of the reason for his controlling ways and power-lust. Nathan would never admit it aloud, but he was insecure about his dominating demeanor. He often wondered if that was what drove everyone he loved away...
Shaking the demising thoughts out of his head, Nathan returned to Bartok Ramses. Although he and Bartok had such different playing styles and tactics (even to this day), they were very similar. Both driven by determination, desire, and love for the game, they'd be willing to sacrifice anything in the name of basketball. Whether it was busting up a new pair of basketball shoes, or breaking the skin on their faces trying to win a rebound, Nathan and Bartok were there.
Nate wouldn't be on the court today, though.
Sighing, Nathan brought himself back to reality. He was never one to linger in the 'glory days', because honestly, he was living those moments of his life now. But as of recent, Nate found himself spending more time in the past, and less, thriving in the present as he usually did. It seemed to be too quick of a downfall for him. Nathan had been out not even a week, but he'd already lost his position of shooting guard to Lucas, had driven Peyton away by his own stupidity, and was swiftly finding himself out of Dan's good graces.
Was basketball all Nathan had to offer to the world? Well, it was all he ever showed. Turning his head to look out the window, the blue sky smiled kindly in return. Breathing in, he figured sadly that no one really knew him. They didn't know he was passionate about history, or that he was an Edgar Allen Poe and William Shakespeare junkie, or that his favorite singer was James Taylor. Basketball, popularity, and parties were all that people thought of when the name Nathan Scott was brought up.
He wished he could break that affiliation, and display to the world what he really was under all of the petty perks of high school. Nathan wanted to talk art, or debate causes of World War I. But if he gave into those desires, what would that make him? With basketball, he knew what to expect. He was Nathan Scott; more importantly, number twenty-three for the Tree Hill Ravens. He was a jock, decked out in school gear, promoting TH proudly on his chest. He dated and ran around with cheerleaders, and was praised for his naughty tricks in the bedroom. But was that what he wanted to be? Is that what Peyton really wanted him to be? No. There was no way to easily change it, though.
"Nathan," his mother's voice rang harmoniously from the bottom of the stairs, "it's eleven-thirty. You may want to get up and get ready soon; you don't want to be late." Nathan could just picture Deb's sleek and perfectly tailored black suit forming to her body, and her feet firmly in high heels that made her posture that much straighter. Her style of dress told more about her than her deceivingly sweet face. Deborah Scott was a business woman above all else; it did not matter if she was at the office or at home.
"Alright," Nathan called down in return. He couldn't even tack a simple 'mom' to the end of his sentence. She didn't deserve the name. A mother nurtures her child; protects them from harm, while loving and supporting them. Deb had scarcely been there as he had grown up, and had done one messy job at keeping him from Dan's wrath. Nathan didn't even believe his mother knew him well enough to justifiably love or support him. Deborah had just returned home last night, and Nate could hardly wait for her to leave again. He was sure his prayer would be answered soon enough.
Sliding off of his bed, Nate made his way to his nightstand, picking up his phone from the wooden piece of furniture. Cradling the object in his hand, he wanted so badly to dial Peyton's number. He hadn't realized just how much he needed her, until she was gone. Biting his lip, Nate decided to take a leap of faith and pressed speed dial two. His hand wrapped around the silver piece of technology tightly as he listened to the rings.
After about a minute, Nathan was sure it would go to voice mail; not that he could blame Peyton for avoiding him. But to his surprise, the ringing stopped, and no mechanical voice began to speak.
"What do you want, Nathan," Peyton answered dryly. Truth be told, she was ecstatic to have him call her.
"I don't know, Peyton," he replied weakly, "to talk I guess." He waited for her to come back with some snarky response, but she stayed silent. Nathan continued. "Look, I know I was awful to you. Not just last night, but all of those other times I did some dumb thing to you. You deserve better, Peyton, and I want to try and show you that I can be that better guy. Tell me that it's okay, Peyt; that you'll forgive me. You told me once that you believed in second chances…" he was uneasy about exposing this much to her, but the last time, he had kept back too much. Nate was willing to show her his softer side; she deserved that much.
"I do believe that, but your second chance happened a while ago. I don't go for thirty-fifth chances. Even if I did, you're well beyond that too." Peyton pinched the bridge of her nose. Of course she wanted to take him back, but she wouldn't—not this easily at least. "Telling me you're sorry now doesn't cut it. Promises don't mean anything coming from you, they haven't in a while. Nathan, you were right saying I deserve better. But you can't be that guy, Nate. It's just not who you are." Peyton wanted to scream when she said that. Nathan certainly could be that better man; he could do a hell of a job. She knew Nathan was so much more, and she wanted to experience and love that. But fear kept her from diving into his arms once more. Would he really change?
"It can be me. If you're mad because I couldn't say I love you, I'm sorry. Truth is, I—I do love… you, Peyton. I really do." Nathan felt his heart shattering into pieces he'd never be able to put back together. She hated him; he didn't know if he could live with that. It felt good to admit the truth, though. Whether she was his biggest fan or not, Peyton now knew how he felt. That's all he could ask for.
"Saying it over the phone now, doesn't count. I gave you a shot last night to be good; to be genuine. You blew it, Nate, okay? I get that you're not big on the whole showing emotions thing, but neither am I. I was willing to say that I loved you, but I wanted to hear you say it."
"I just did though, Peyt…"
"It's not enough this time to just say something this important while you're hidden behind your phone. The best you can give me is a hesitant 'I love you', not even able to say it to my face? That's not even as romantic as Terminator." Peyton's voice was dead. He knew it was because of him that she was like this. Nathan had eaten her alive, and left nothing but scraps and shards of bone for her to put back together. He had sucked Peyton dry of everything that he loved about her.
"Peyton," he pleaded.
"No. I can't—I can't do this Nathan." He heard the phone click, and she was gone; just like that. Throwing his phone onto his bed, he kicked himself mentally for allowing her to slip from his grasp for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.
"Finally decided to get your lazy ass up," Dan commented sarcastically when Nathan entered into the living room. He wasn't hungry for lunch, and he didn't need the energy anyways. No matter what he did, Nathan still couldn't believe he couldn't be a star today, excelling in his favorite part of life. He watched as Dan stared at the jersey he was wearing; today though, it was with lackluster instead of pride.
"Yeah, I did," Nathan returned. He'd usually fight his dad on being so harsh, but Nate found himself needing his father's support. If he thought about it, Dan was the only true parent he had known—and that was certainly saying something. Yes he was overbearing and saw Nathan sometimes as a potential check instead of a human being, but he was there. "So are you coming to the game?" Nathan had really just asked that… he was so desperate.
Dan only supplied him with a look of death. "Tree Hill better keep their undefeated record." Nate knew that Dan meant that if the Ravens win, it will be no thanks to him, and if they were to lose, it would all be his fault. Nathan resisted the urge to leap at his father. Dan Scott definitely knew how to drive him into the dirt.
"They will," Nate returned. He hoped to god that the team could pull it off: for the sake of states, Whitey, their own integrity, and his own ass.
"With Lucas at shooting guard?" Dan's tone was that of an unforgiving harshness. He seemed almost amused at the prospect of his eldest son failing on the battle grounds of the Eagle's court.
"I don't know. I mean, he can hit the three…" Nathan shrugged. Yeah, that spot should be his, and yes, he still had no liking for his half brother, but Nathan somehow found it within himself to have a touch of faith in Lucas.
"He's getting to you, Nathan," Dan bit out. "He's messing with your mind. Keep your eyes on the prize, and make sure Lucas doesn't steal what you've worked all your life for." Somehow, Dan helped calm Nate. It was a strange sensation, but he kind of liked it.
"He won't even make it through the season," Nate told his father, his voice winding of tendrils of threats and coldness. And just like that, Dan Scott had revived the Nathan he had raised; forcing the softer side back into its tiny cell.
"Boys," Deb said as she entered the living room, "we should go. It's twelve-thirty, and I don't think Nathan wants to be late for the bus." Nate nodded slightly, looking to the floor as he got up from his seat. Seeing the black brace tightly around his ankle, almost made him melt into the Persian rug he stood on. He needed out of the thing, so he could regain his life from Lucas. And he would… whatever it took.
Entering the locker room, it was entirely vacant save for one player: Lucas. Nate smirked in tainted delight, and he slithered his way over to his locker. Walking past Luke as he went, Nate shoved his older brother into the locker he had just closed. Luke hit the blue painted metal with a crisp thud, and it was a symphony to Nathan's ears.
"What the hell was that for," Lucas demanded harshly, turning his head sharply to face his brother. Nate's blue eyes danced with a conceited mischief, and his lips taunted with a knowing smirk. Nate had such delicate features, but they went unnoticed, drowned in the narcissistic coldness Dan had repeatedly poured over him throughout his life.
"It's just a little nudge, fragile little Roe." Nathan took great pleasure in angering Lucas. It soothed his paranoid thoughts about no longer having his power.
"You really are a jackass," Luke shot back, hoping to spur some sort of self conscious reaction from Nathan.
"Is that supposed to mean something to me…?" Nate had been called a jackass so often; it didn't even faze him now.
"I'm surprised you still have a heart that even beats," Lucas commented plainly. Maybe Nate responded when there was no emotion at all. He liked the attention; that's what kept him going. If Lucas didn't give him that, then maybe Nathan would actually react.
"Ooo," Nathan returned in fake hurt, "you really know how to hurt a guy." His features didn't match his words though. They were free, snide, and still got to Lucas. Why was it so hard for the elder Scott to break down his brother? Based on the way he was brought up, Nate should be fragile when it comes to emotions, and delicate about what people thought of him. Alas, it was Luke who always ended up angry.
"You're impossible," Luke muttered, holding up his metaphorical white flag. Again, he had lost to Nate.
"Tell me something, Roe," Nate began tightly, "why are you here? Because I distinctly remember telling you three cardinal rules to never break." He began to put his gym bag in his locker, taking out his uniform he had left in the school overnight.
"Guess I didn't have a pen," Luke returned coolly. He could see Nathan's jaw twitch and tighten at his words. Maybe he was finally getting to his brother.
"Well allow me to refresh your memory. Never join my team, take my life, or steal my girl. You've got two strikes, man. You're walking on some really thin ice."
"And what are you gonna do, Nathan, huh? Drown me in threats? Or no! Stab me with snide remarks. Yeah, that's what you'll do." Luke laughed to himself. "Nathan, you're never going to do anything. You're all talk. I have joined the team, I am playing, and I'll be in your… well now my, position. It is what it is. Deal." Lucas gave Nathan a smirk, and then turned back to his locker, removing his blue shirt.
"I will show you just how much you're going to regret saying that when I crack your shin in half." Nathan had never considered himself a physically abusive person. Emotionally, maybe so—but he rarely used his fist unless it was during a game. But with Lucas, it was so hard to get to him emotionally. A part of Nate didn't want to hurt him. Bones can break and hurt, but they heal. Emotions though, they can be scarred and damaged for life. Something kept Nathan from being a reason for Lucas' scars.
"Brutal," Luke replied sarcastically, "I'd like to see you try."
Other players began to flood into the locker room, and Nathan soon forgot about his bickering episode with Lucas. A small little segment of Luke was actually disappointed that his brother had so quickly forgotten his existence once his friends came. Nathan had friends; and a full family to fill the stereotypical family photos that were probably cluttered all throughout his house. Nate had confidence that no one could deny, and he was actually praised for it. What did Lucas have? A devoted mother who loved him more than herself, and an uncle he sometimes imagined to be his father. That counted as a complete family, didn't it? He hoped so, because if not, he'd been deceiving himself all his life. Breathing in, he still felt incomplete. Lucas wanted more than a crumbled atypical home life. Was it too much to ask for the basics? He shouldn't want the normal—he had people that loved him.
Closing his locker, and dressed in his black Ravens uniform, Luke felt pleased in his dream world. In his mind, he belonged with the Tree Hill Ravens, and felt pride in sporting the number three on his back. It was a lovely illusion, and he hoped it wouldn't end.
"Daydreaming is just going to get you killed on this team," Jake told him softly, closing his locker as well. Luke jumped at the voice next to him, meeting Jake's eyes in shock. The kid had a real knack for randomly appearing when Lucas found himself most lost.
"Maybe that's my elaborate plan for committing suicide. It'll be an original way, huh?" Luke laughed, smiling brightly at Jake. The talk with Nathan had put Lucas' actions in perspective. He was just as cocky and proud as Nathan—the one person he had vowed never to be like. Tapping his hand on his locker, Luke promised himself that he would never let the exhilaration of being on varsity get to him again.
"Well that's a pleasant thought to have," Jake returned sarcastically. "But hey, you might actually get your wish today." Jake shrugged his shoulders, slipping on a jacket. It was an uncharacteristically chilly October day, and a perfect set up for the storm brewing between the Ravens and Eagles.
"Why do you say that?" Luke gave a look of confusion. He had never paid much attention to the basketball team in freshman or sophomore year—he had never seen the point. But now, he was paying for it. Luke didn't know who they were supposed to hate and be rivals with, or what teams were always a joke to play. All he did know was the game, and the basic instincts on the court to make up for his lack of knowledge of the plays.
"South Park's our biggest rival," Jake said in all seriousness. "It's always hell playing them, but now we don't have the twisted angel to save us from Lucifer."
"Who are the twisted angel and Lucifer?" The analogy was completely lost to Luke.
"Nathan's the angel. Since he's on our side, he can't be a devil… pity, huh? And Lucifer is Bartok Ramses: the biggest and baddest guy in the state." It was interesting to Lucas how Jake could be so into this rivalry, when he usually ranted about the stupid dedication the players had to the team.
"Don't you think that's a little overdramatic?" Luke tilted his head to the side. Whitey still hadn't come into the locker room to usher the team to the buses; he hoped everything was alright.
"I wish, Luke. But seriously, I put it lightly for you. Just know: Bartok's one physical bastard out there. I'd watch your back."
"Yeah, okay, will do." Luke crossed his arms. "Hey, where's Whitey? It's almost one-thirty."
Jake looked around the locker room, not seeming to notice the absence of their coach before Luke had pointed it out. "Oh, uh, I don't know. He's usually right on time."
Nathan looked at Jake and Lucas, envy silently creeping into his veins. The one thing he had always longed for was a friend to confide in; not to just talk sports, parties, and girls. The closest thing he had had to that was Peyton, but now she couldn't even talk to him for more than ten minutes. Nathan Scott didn't even have his parents to vent to. Sighing, Nathan felt lost—more than he had in a long time. What was the point of having a family and sharing their last name, if he couldn't even connect to them? There was no point. It had to be a lie. Dan and Deborah loved Nathan; they'd love him no matter what… that's what family does. But would they really? His mother wasn't there enough to have a say, and his father was temperamental with his devotion to Nathan. He hated the emotional webs he wrapped around himself.
"Dude," he could hear Tim say behind him. Tim's voice seemed distant, though. Turning around to face his friend, Nate looked to him blandly.
"What," he drawled, in the same aloofness Dan had taught him so well over the years. It had become second nature to be outrageously proud and cold. Thanks, dad.
"Where's Whitey, man? We're gonna be late." Tim leaned his shoulder against the locker next to Nate's, waiting for an answer. It was common knowledge that Nathan Scott ran the team… and somehow that translated into him knowing all the answers, too.
"Oh, cry me a river, will ya? I don't know where the bullfrog is. Just chill, okay?" Nathan felt himself becoming stone. Everything was wrong it seemed. Did he really deserve this much karma?
"What's got your ass so tight today, Scott?" Even Tim could see through Nate.
"It has something to do with a black material wrapped around my ankle," he replied blandly. His injury had become his excuse. Dan had always told him never to hide behind an injury. But here was Nathan, in his silent defiance against his father.
"No one's stopping you from playing. Dude, just say it feels better. We need your jump shot for this game."
"Yeah, well, Whitey won't let me even touch the court. I'm screwed for this one, man." Nathan shook his head.
"When had that stopped you? Just warm up, and not let the pain show. Whitey can't deny you your spot." Tim made it sound so easy; and normally Nathan would agree. But today, inhibitions consumed him.
"The guy's a Nazi, Tim. No way in hell will I be playing."
"I'm Polish, Scott," Whitey said from behind the two boys. Tim and Nathan tightened their muscles, saying nothing in reply. Their coach walked past them with a warning look, and stopped when he got to the front of the room.
"Why are you still standing here, ladies? Get on the bus!" Whitey guided his players from the locker room, and out the doors and towards the buses.
"Hey best friend," Brooke greeted feebly when she found Peyton, "how are you feeling today?" Brooke bit her lip. She knew that Peyton would fight her on this subject, but they had to talk.
"I woke up this morning, still possibly pregnant. How do you think I am?" Peyton crossed her arms. Her elbows grazed her stomach, and she shuttered. There could be a living little person in her right now. It would be completely dependent on her… would she be able to live up to the responsibility?
"I think it's one of those feelings you can never really know unless you experience it," Brooke told her friend with a shrug.
"Someone took their philosophical pills this morning," Peyton drawled, still keeping her arms tightly around her body. Somehow it felt like if she did this, all the issues would go away.
"Yeah, well, I have my moments. But are you sure—"
"Can we not talk about this now? Especially not here. High school already has too many problems to add this to the mix."
"Whatever you want, Peyt," Brooke mumbled. Hearing deep voices echoing from the locker room hallway, the two girls watched as the Ravens varsity made their way out of the school and into the cool outdoors where the cheerleaders stood by the buses.
Peyton quickly caught Nathan's eye, and she tried to look away. But those compelling navy eyes kept her mystified. It was amazing to her how even after so long, her heart could still flutter at seeing him. Crossing her arms tighter, she remembered that her break up wasn't the only thing to worry about. If she really was pregnant, then that meant that the baby was Nathan's too. Their son or daughter would be linked to a family known notoriously for its men running from their responsibilities. Maybe Nathan wouldn't end up like his father. He could raise the baby with her then. They'd pick names, and bicker about who their child looked more like. It all seemed like a fantasy; and fantasies rarely become anything much more than that.
Nate veered off from the straight path to the bus, and went left slightly, headed right for Peyton. She dug her nails into her sides, and she felt her heart beat quicker. It was astounding how much influence he had over her.
"Peyton, can we please talk?" Nathan looked to his ex-girlfriend, pleading for a chance. She wanted to give him it. He didn't deserve it though, so she stayed silent. "I've apologized, said I loved you—what else do you want from me?"
"What do I want?" Peyton's words were ice. "I want the truth."
"About what?" Nathan loosely wrapped his arms around his chest.
"Us! What are we, Nathan? What am I to you?" Peyton wanted to cry. Stress and loneliness had always consumed her. This time was worse though. She was so close to finally keeping someone forever, but not close enough to reach. It seemed better to be in total despair rather than a hint of hope lurking toxically within.
"We're Nathan and Peyton. You're the girl that brings out the… softer parts in me, and I let you live a little. That's how it's always worked. Since September 28th of freshmen year, that's how it's worked." Nathan gave her a shy but brilliant smile. It was the same one he had given her the first day they met.
"I—Nathan, I want to say that that's enough. A part of me thinks it is. But I need time. You have to show me you've really changed. I'm not getting sucked into a dysfunctional relationship with you again."
Nathan stared at Peyton, trying to find an answer. But Tim called him from his window seat, and Nathan was pulled into the bus.
Peyton watched as he left, numbness taking over. He'd really just described their relationship… just the way she had always seen it. There was so much more to Nathan Scott, and even after two years, Peyton was just starting to figure it all out.
I love Nathan. That's the only excuse I have for this chapter. (And I know some characters are a little OOC. This is an AU story, so please don't be too rough!) I promise the game will be in the next chapter.
Your thoughts are much appreciated.
