He was making it up, Brooke decided. He was drunk; there was a gun to his head; he'd lost his mind completely and thought this would be a joke… A sick, twisted, ungodly joke. But Lucas, as good of an actor as he could be, could never project that pain. Ever. That feeling, that absence in his voice… It couldn't have been more raw.
Brooke dropped her phone, letting it fall to the floor, mindlessly leaving the house to get into her car. She knew where she'd end up. Of course she'd drive out there. But she was fighting the whole way. It was as if she were trapped inside her own body. Like she was having a stroke and sending vain messages to her limbs. Even when she saw red lights, she was unable to respond to them. She hoped, in actuality, that she'd get hit. But with her luck she made it all the way to Lucas' house in one piece.
She knocked weakly on the door, finding it to be unlocked, and walked through Lucas' bedroom. In the hallway, she hardly noticed how violently she was shaking… She was focused more on the blood on the floor. There was so much blood, so much. Blood in Brooke's eyes, hot and deafening in her ears. Everything in her vision was tinted a crimson red.
"Lucas…" Her own voice frightened her, breaking her trance. It was foreign, not her own. The brunette swallowed thickly, continuing and finding Lucas standing alone in the kitchen. He couldn't stand to be in the room with her anymore, Brooke concluded absentmindedly. He couldn't stand to see her. And even though his back was turned to Brooke, the brunette could see the blood on him. But she couldn't get herself to step closer, trapped again in her body, and turned mindlessly around to follow the blood trail she had tried to ignore earlier.
When she got in the room, she was paralyzed. She wasn't prisoner in her body this time, but it was simply that she had no response to an image like this. For a long moment she couldn't even feel shock, let alone the crippling pain that could only come with this. It didn't take long, however, as her mind slowly regained consciousness and the ability the think, the void of her thoughts filled in rapidly like a river on the other end of a breaking levee. In a wave, the brunette collapsed under the assault. Brooke was in a heap on her knees on the floor, not a foot away from Peyton, all tears, anger and pain. She tried to rip out her hair, to break the floor she sat on with her fists, to shatter the windows with her cries. At once she was raw and numb, but her autopilot left her aware enough to be conscious of what she was doing. She reached out, timidly at first, to touch Peyton's shoulder. The blonde gave to the touch, moving towards Brooke without resistance. Her head in turn lulled to the side, her big green eyes now dull and lifeless. They bore into Brooke and the brunette shivered violently.
Her body took over again, seizing all control for several minutes, before Brooke was aware of herself again. She had Peyton in her lap now, the blonde's head cradled in her arm. She brushed hair from Peyton's face, closing her eyes gently, and blinked to try and clear the ever-present tears from her eyes. Taking Peyton's hand gently in her own, she breathed shallowly, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood on the inside. But the sting went unnoticed. It meant nothing, less than nothing, compared to this.
"Peyton…" She breathed, tears blinding her again. The fingers of her free hand lightly touched the blonde's swollen belly, feeling anger towards the unborn child within it for taking Peyton's life like this. Of course, the child was dead now too, and as Brooke flattened her palm firmly but gently against Peyton's stomach, she felt a glint of satisfaction in this realization. The pleasure was short-lived, though, and Brooke felt tears press against her eyes once more.
There were footsteps in the hall then. A slow gate; A pained, heavy, but steady one all the same. When the footfalls ceased, Brooke saw legs in her peripheral vision, but did not turn to look at whose they were. She of course already knew, and looking away from Peyton was an impossible feat.
"It wasn't the baby." Brooke's head snapped up, startled. Even the soft edge of Lucas' voice, especially in sorrowful agony, sliced easily through the weighty silence of the room.
"What are you talking about?" Brooke asked accusingly. This voice she still could not recognize, but it was closer to her own than the one she had heard herself utter earlier.
"The baby didn't kill Peyton." Lucas elaborated. "It was Peyton." The young father was incredibly calm considering himself and the situation. Brooke only shook her head, blinking hard to try and see past her tears. The hand that had rested on Peyton's round stomach now passed beneath her chin, lifting her face up and towards Brooke. The brunette examined that gorgeous face, nothing in her own mind computing. "She killed herself, Brooke." Lucas said. Brooke wasn't watching him, but she sense he was crying too.
"No…" She said finally. And her voice broke into it's own natural tone then. Recognizable as Brooke's Davis' and no one else's. Her true pain finally rang through. She hugged Peyton closer to her. "It can't be-" Brooke cut herself off, looking up to Lucas briefly. Her eyes were back on Peyton immediately, pain stabbing her heart again, and she closed her eyes.
A single tear passed beneath her lashes.