A/N Thanks to those of you reading and following :)

For a blissful moment she can't remember anything.

She's groggy. Her mouth feels like sandpaper.

She blinks and rubs her eyes and then it comes back, jarring through her.

And she knows why she feels like this, why she feels like she's been on a plane for a long-haul flight and the air con has dried up her airways. She knows it's because her sleep was enforced, that he'd jabbed a needle into her arm yet again.

She rubs the spot, it feels bruised.

She'd welcomed the drug, whatever it was at the time, because she couldn't calm down, couldn't get it together. She'd spiralled. She'd flitted back and forth from denial to anger and had quickly become more hysterical.

And for a short while she'd been able to escape but now she's conscious once more and she doesn't want to be. Because consciousness brings the knowledge of her brother's attack. Shot. Dead or alive, she's left to wonder. And it's gnawing at her insides. Because she's praying it's the latter, of course she is but she has little optimism.

And it's her fault. If she'd just kept her god damn mouth shut. If she'd just been everything he wanted. If she'd just been compliant from day one. If she'd just been a good girl.

And now...death had surrounded her life for too long. Family member after family member kept slipping through her finger tips and a part of her wonders if it's just a matter of time before she joins them.

She sits up slowly, a whining noise sounding from deep in her chest because she's strained her muscles in the last twenty four hours; a combination of her hysterical crying and thrashing her limbs around in anger.

She notices the box instantly. It's poised at the end of the bed, its shiny red ribbon drawing attention to it.

She scowls at it. Because there's no doubt in her mind that it's for her and she doesn't want to know what it holds. Because she doesn't want anything from him, whether it's something nice or some calculated gesture that will no doubt make her want to throw up. Neither prospect is appealing.

Her curiosity gets the better of her though and she migrates to it just the same, the perfectly tied bow begging her to be undone.

She tugs at it uncaringly, unlike her usual behaviour when it comes to gifts. She's never really liked it, she's more of a giver, she doesn't like the attention that comes with receiving presents, she doesn't like all eyes being on her. That being said, she usually refrains from opening it too quickly, prefers to drag it out so her audience gives up on waiting for the big reveal of whatever is inside. She hasn't got anyone watching her today though.

The ribbon falls away from the cream box and she pulls the lid off.

I'm sorry we quarrelled is scrawled across a gift tag, laying on a bed of tissue.

She's no longer astounded by his words but that doesn't mean they don't sicken her any less. Because since when did quarrel equate to murder.

She pulls the tissue away and a set of racy underwear stares up at her and she can feel bile rising in the back of her throat because this is the last gift she could ever want and it makes nothing better, only worse.

And the thought of having to be with him in that way, now, after this, after he's done this, after he's potentially ended her sibling's life, she didn't think it was possible to be any more repulsed.

And she's more scared now of saying no than she has been since being here. She's managed to evade him touching her properly since that first night; the result of his own temper keeping her out of bounds but she's recovered now and knows he'll be hesitant to cause her so much damage again because he wants her, he wants her, all of her and she can try and fend him off, can yell and scream but all she's achieved through being wilful so far is endangering the ones she holds closest to her heart.

'Do you like it?'

Her eyes venture up wearily to find him watching her from the doorway. She wonders how long he's been stood there, is pretty sure if he's ben lurking there for long that it must be clear how much she does not like his oh so thoughtful gift.

'It doesn't really matter if I like it does it?' She mumbles tiredly. She grimaces and shakes her head more or less as soon as the words pass her lips. Because she isn't being a good girl. 'I'm sorry. I like it. I do...thankyou'

'You're still mad at me' He notes.

Her nostrils flare as she summons all her strength not to cry because "mad" isn't quite the right word.

'No..I-I'm just, you can't..you can't expect me to be able to just shut this out Ian- I- I mean I don't even know anything. Do you? Has it been on the news? Is he a-alive or- or d-dead?' She stammers.

'Sweetheart you need to forget about it hmm?'

'I just want to know' She murmurs softly. 'I-I-'

'Nothing has been confirmed' He relents. 'Just that there was a shooting'

She swallows thickly and nods silently in answer and he's suddenly directly before her. He sits down and pulls her close and hugs her to his chest and she grudgingly stays put. 'I know you're feeling sad baby but it's not like you'll see him again either way so it really doesn't matter' His voice is placating but it soothes her in no way shape or form. 'I can think of a couple of ways I can distract you'

Her eyes scrunch shut and she represses a shudder because that, that most definitely won't distract her.

She stiffens as his hand trails up and down her back in a calming manner but it's just making her more and more on edge because she's waiting for it to descend to places she doesn't want his fingers going and she can't believe she's doing this, letting his blood covered hands touch her at all.

'Why don't you put your new present on baby and I'll make it up to you. I'll make you forget all about our silly fight' He husks.

She doesn't react because she's striving for a response, a correct response, one that he'll be happy to hear, one that will exempt her from what he's proposing...she fears their is no answer.

'You'll feel so much better once you've gone and freshened up and got dressed all nicely' He retrieves his boxed gift and places it in her arms.

She looks up at him meekly. 'Are you sure you don't know anything Ian? About Derek, if I know I can work on moving past this if you just tell me-'

'Peyton I answered you already didn't I? Go on. Go get changed' He urges her and she looks down at the box and wonders what he'll do if she says no outright. She doesn't want to find out so she slowly vacates the room.

She's gone for a good while. He's patient though. He'll go and get her if need be but he's confident she'll return because the reasoning for her distressing heartache is fresh in her mind and she won't want to risk anything else. He's right in his assumptions.

She does return eventually.

'Fuck' He curses as his eyes lock on her stood awkwardly in the doorway.

She watches his fingers at his sides clench and flex, itching to touch her.

She doesn't like the way he's surveying her one tiny bit, like she's a piece of meat that he wants to devour.

'You're so sexy'

She bites the inside of her cheek and gives a curt nod. The last thing she feels is sexy. Dirty. Corrupted. Everything but.

She's just been staring at herself in the mirror, studying the way the crimson material emphasises her chest. She'd fleetingly wondered if Lucas would like it. She'd been quick to dismiss that thought, she couldn't be thinking of him, especially when she was about to be unfaithful to him again because that is how she viewed it. Adultery.

'Come here'

She takes a shaky breath before hesitantly walking toward him.

'Mm you have no idea how long I had to look and not touch these' He remarks as she becomes within his reach and his hands eagerly reach out to grope her legs. She has an idea. The pictures he'd covered her bedroom wall with still stick in her mind. They gave her a good idea of how long he'd been watching her. 'And now I can touch you whenever I want. I can't believe we've had to wait so long before doing this again. I'm never going to let that happen again baby'

His fingers slide upward until they slip beneath the band of material at the tops of her legs and then he's jerking her panties down.

She gasps as she's jolted forward and her own hands instinctively fly out, finding contact with his shoulders as she tries to steady herself. And she wasn't prepared for his hasty action, she's barely been in the room five seconds and he's already ridding her of the gift he'd so desired seeing her in.

'Fuck' He hisses and licks his lips as he pulls the fabric down to her knees. He lets go then and it falls the rest of the way to the floor by itself.

And she feels horribly exposed and violated already. Her hands have hastily left his shoulders now and she doesn't know what to do with them because all they want to be doing is assisting her in breaking free from his hold.

He kisses her hip and his hands migrate around her to cup her bare backside and she doesn't like how quickly this is moving. 'Can-can we j-just go s-slow Ian'

'Mm we can go slow' He smiles accommodatingly. 'Come lay down' She swallows thickly because she doesn't want to lay down, doesn't want him on top of her, doesn't want to feel claustrophobic and trapped beneath him. But she lays down just the same.

He doesn't situate himself on top of her as she dreads, not at first anyway. He pulls his shirt over his head and scrambles up her side coaxing her mouth to his. And his bare skin touches her own flesh and in a second everything feels more sordid.

It's different this time. Not better, how could it be better? Just different. Different because not the slightest bit of her is naive to what is going to happen here, no hope or optimism that it'll end before it even starts. No, unlike last time she knows this is happening one way or another. It's that mental preparation and awareness that perhaps makes it a little easier on her body. Because she's trying to make her limbs compliant; he urges them to move she abides.

His promise of slow quickly dwindles and his kisses become more hungry and when his fingers slip beneath her bra a noise sounds at the back of her throat, a mixture of surprise and loathing.

'You like that don't you baby?' He decides as he continues to manipulate the sensitive skin beneath his fingertips.

She doesn't answer. She takes action instead because she can't do this. She's changed her mind. Slow isn't good. She can't lay here and let him touch her like this because it's not right and she might not be able to stop it but she can speed it up. At least that's her intention when her hands seek out his pants and begin to hurriedly work the button free.

He smirks. 'For someone that wanted slow, someone is very eager'

She manages a slight smile because her endeavours have worked; his hand has abruptly stopped it's ministrations and left the crimson bra and for a second she's relieved. But it's short lived because speeding this up means actually doing this.

Unlike him, she avoids looking at what her hand is doing. He's watching eagerly as she frees him from his pants.

'See what you do to me baby' He grunts and shifts her legs further apart and as he rolls atop of her her panic flares because the inevitible is looming and something has just dawned on her.

'Wait, wait...we need...I was on the pill, I've not taken it since I've been here and I could...we need protection-'

'Baby that's in God's hands'

Her face is one of horror as she digests his reply. 'What? No' She shakes her head in disagreement. 'It's the 21st century! I can't, I'm not ready to have a child! I still feel like a kid myself-'

'Peyton God will decide when we're ready-'

'Ian!' She shrilly cries in alarm. 'Please you're not thinking!- A baby- a baby, you can't bring up a baby down here, it's, it's not right. A baby should, should be bought up anywhere but here, like this. A baby needs a-a mother and father that- that wants them, they should be born out of love-'

'Our child will be born out of love though won't it sweetheart?'

She closes her eyes, because she's spoken out of turn, something that sparks yet more dread.

'Baby?'

She inhales a shuddery breath before reluctantly answering. 'Yes'

His lips find the skin at her neck and she tenses but forces herself to stay put because she's already pushed his buttons, one more could be the last straw. He peppers wet kisses as he speaks. 'I want to be able to feel you, all of you. You want that too don't you baby?' He murmurs deeply in her ear and she's glad his face is buried in her neck because she can't disguise the revulsion that paints her face. 'I understand your reservations about children but it's not up to us, hm? Condoms go against nature'

She digs her nails into her legs then to stop herself from screaming because she wants to yell a thousand things at him. But she won't. She doesn't win this conversation. She knows that.

'You want to be able to feel all of me don't you baby? hm? You don't want me to go and find some contraception do you?'

She knows all too well by his condescending tone that he doesn't even have any. That he just wants to hear her defeated answer.

She can't force herself to give it though. But she doesn't pull away, doesn't shrug him off as he directs her hand to his arousal.

Her chest aches though and her desperate plea can't be contained. 'Please-'

'Have you not learnt your lesson?' He cruelly questions.

'Yes-Yes' She hurriedly agrees. 'I'm sorry' Her hand grasps him firmly and he grunts. 'I want you. I do. I want to feel you' She strokes him and tries to disregard the self hate that swells in the back of her throat.

She banishes all thoughts of pregnancy and a child with this man's features from her mind. Has to because if she lingers on it for a moment more, if she considers the ramifications of allowing him to go where she's guiding him she'll be fighting to escape him. And she can't do that. She's learnt her lesson. She really has. No more blood will be shed. Not because of her.

The discomfort as he pushes into her isn't as foreign this time round, she's now versed in how awful this can be, but that doesn't mean it's easier. She's finding it hard to remember that this act, being intimate with someone in this way, it can be oh so wonderful, it can be the very opposite of everything this is.

His invasion is slow at first but then his excitement gets the better of him and she yelps as he rocks into her swiftly. It's worse because she's somehow more aware this time, is aware of things she was too worked up to notice last time. Like his heavy breathing and grunting noises that sound ever so loudly in her ear.

And this time he's not having to work as hard at keeping her beneath him which is giving his hands more choices and he's making the most of this and she's not sure she can be submissive for much longer. She wishes she was dressed. She wishes it was more like last time because in retrospect the last time, albeit, it hadn't seemed quick at the time, but it was over sooner than this she's sure and she wants quick and rough over this slow dance he's playing.

His mouth seeks her own and her face twists away from his probing tongue because she can't breathe as it is.

He makes do with her neck but her disobedience has clearly bothered him because his teeth graze her flesh a little harder than necessary and he's taunting her mere seconds later. 'He won't want you now baby. No one will. Not now. You're all mine' His breathy words sound.

And she can't not think of Lucas then.

And her hands instinctively shoot out, pressing against his shoulders.

'You've just been pretending haven't you baby' He grunts and his fingertips dig into her thighs as he hoists them higher.

'N-no' She gasps.

'You still want him' His thrusts become rougher with his accusation. 'You're mine'

And her tears come abruptly because she doesn't want to be his and she needs him to hurry up and finish and she's panicking because she's managed to anger him yet again and she fears what action he'll take and it's that fear that fuels her words.

'Y-yes. I love you. I love you' She declares and she grapples for his face and presses her mouth to his. And she doesn't know if it's her words or her tongue pressing against his that has him falling over the edge. She doesn't care. She's only grateful he's finished.

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'She's going to hate me'

'Lucas this wasn't your fault' Larry grips the traumatised boys shoulders. 'You didn't do this'

'It should have been me-'

'And you think she'd be alright with that?' Larry shakes his head. 'Lucas I know I've not been here often but I've seen the way my daughter looks at you and she lights up when she's talking about you, believe me, I've had many a sleepless night over it' He admits. 'It was absolutely no surprise to me when she told me she was officially dating you. And I have to say, despite fretting over what you two would get up to alone in my house while I was away...'

Lucas feels his cheek flush.

'Well I was also relieved because I know how much you've looked out for her over the years and you're a good kid. And I know you'd do anything for her- I know because I've seen everything you've done- you're meant to be enjoying your summer before going off to college and you've put your whole life on hold-'

'I don't see how my life will be mine until she comes back. I can't...I need...I just want her to come home'

'Yes and you've spent day after day assuring me that that is going to happen son. You've not faltered once, you've instilled hope in me when I've been at breaking point. And she's going to need you even more after this tragedy'

'She loved him Larry. I know you didn't really know him but they clicked. They really did. God this is going to kill her...he didn't deserve...he...it was meant to be me'

'Lucas loosing you would kill her. I'm not saying she won't be devastated but you complete her in a way Derek couldn't have' Larry blinks away the tears that have gathered in his eyes.

'He saw him Larry, he saw him and I- I didn't react quick enough. Maybe if I had I would have caught up to him and we would be sat with her right now and it would be over and Derek, his death would have been for something. B-but I-I didn't'

'Lucas you could not of done anymore than you did. The police have got someone watching your mother's house as a precaution and they want to take you to a safe house-'

'No. I can't do anything of any use if I'm hiding'

'Lucas the outcome of today could have so easily been different. And I will not have you putting your life on the line. Peyton, your mother, your sister, your family and friends, Lucas you can't be so selfish as to not think about what loosing you will do to them'

Lucas grits his teeth.

'The police have been talking with psychologists and they're convinced that his behaviour today indicates that there's an ever greater chance that Peyton is alive- why would he seek you out otherwise? They believe, that given his state of mind, you're still a threat, especially if Peyton isn't... reciprocating..his feelings' He swallows thickly.

'Well I want him to act again Larry, maybe we can lure him in. Make him come after me'

'Son I love that you care so much but that's not an option. You're going to do as the police say and I, I'm going to continue everything Derek started' He firmly announces.

'Well that means you need to pack your bags Larry because the answers could all be in Louisiana'

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The blood trickles down her arm. She watches it inquisitively and then she slowly lets her leg submerge into the luke warm water and the crimson substance disperses, turning the surrounding water a rosy pink. It crosses her mind that not so long ago she'd been unable to fathom how people found relief in harming themselves. She had sympathy, she did, but the certain stereotypical down and out teenager that resorts to slashing themselves had a way of making her roll her eyes. Because half the time she was sure it was just attention seeking. But suddenly it makes the most of sense. It is avoidance, she's distracting herself; the sting is welcomed because anything is better than the consistent ache of her heart. She'd welcome physical pain over emotional turmoil any day. Because emotional wounds are harder to heal; they can't be physically seen on the surface of her skin, can't scab over and fade in the same predictable way. It's all more complicated and beyond her understanding.

And she'd not been thinking per say, she'd been holding the razor innocently enough one moment and then... She'd not even thought about it, it had not been a conscious decision. But it's relief. She's surprised by how much calmer she feels after.

But as days blur together it becomes more than that, it becomes more about control than relief. It's avoidance. It's anger and sorrow. It's self hate. It illustrates her fragmented state of mind. And most troublingly, it's addictive.

Her isolation has him growing irritable and it's his impatience that fuels him walking into the bathroom one day to catch her in the act. She's sat in the empty bath, her skirt bunched up and she's dragging the razor blade across her thigh.

She's been in the bathroom an unnecessary amount of time lately. She'd thought it amusing when he'd assured her she was of course entitled to her own privacy. Because she has none. Even when she's shut away from him he's still there, lurking in her mind and the lack of locks doesn't give her the safe sanctuary she desires.

She doesn't look up at his intrusion.

She's learning not to flinch every time she hears his footsteps. She's learning to block him out.

This helps her block him out; She's too consumed by the prickling sensation.

He snatches her weapon from her hand and she sighs and lays back in the tub, trying to focus on the pain she's just inflicted upon herself because it's nicer here, nicer than the alternative. Nicer than wondering about her family and friends. Nicer than having to deal with the mental turmoil that being with him entails.

'What the fuck are you doing?' He barks.

She doesn't answer. She closes her eyes and tries her best to ignore his riled voice.

He returns and he's dabbing a damp face cloth at the bloodied mark on her thigh and she stays perfectly still, relishes in how his attentions send another pang of pain through the wounded area. Because this pain is so much more welcome because it's her doing, it's not him. It's her, she's in control.

'Fuck Peyton' He's inspecting her more closely now.

She's surprised he hasn't caught on before now. Because she's got cut marks running up the inside of her thigh.

He's too self absorbed to have noticed sooner though and anyway, it's easy not to see when his own fingerprints mar her legs. He likes holding them around him, she always concentrates on the friction against her most recent artwork, she welcomes the sting because she deserves it, deserves all of it.

'You can't do that' He's stern. 'Why're you doing that?'

She opens her eyes then and he sees the darkness. But her resignation doesn't bring him joy as he'd anticipated. She'd been so well behaved since he'd taken action against her misdemeanours, since he'd shot her brother, since she was left to wonder of his fate. He was saving that little piece of information to teach her a lesson when the time came. But her bleak expression worries him because he wants her to be submissive and obedient, but this isn't that. This is just another form of escape. This is her not only trying to leave him but leave the world completely.

'You're not to do that, you hear?'

She doesn't answer and he doesn't push her because she's absent, looks almost like she's on drugs as she stares through him and up to the ceiling.

Any potential instruments that can assist in her self harming are suddenly confiscated.

Razors are locked away, only to be used under his watchful eye. Cutlery too. He even goes so far as to pull the laces from her shoes.

She doesn't know why he doesn't just throw the shoes out all together, it's not as though she has a reason to wear them.

The securing of all weapons doesn't stop her for long though.

Her hands have a mind of their own. She scratches her arms. She just needs her nails. She scratches until her skin is raw in places.

It burns when his hands later touch her. Those spots sting as though he's the one that's inflicting the wounds. He might not be physically causing them but he is responsible for her growing self destruction. And she hates him more.

And her mind recedes into an even darker place.

And soon her self harming isn't just an addictive game. It's a plot. It's practice. Because she doesn't want to live here, with him any more. She wants to be back home. She wants her Dad. She wants Lucas. But there's no way out. She can't find an escape to get to them. And even if she could, she's finding it harder and harder to find the optimism to believe she could ever be the girl they loved and wanted. Not after this.

Death is inviting.

It's freedom. It's an end to this, to the pain. But he won't even allow her to make that choice. He's the chooser and he won't let her go. Not in life or death.