Brooke Davis took a deep breath as she began her most treacherous task…laundry! Deb had showed her but it was still a project she had to talk out in her head to make sure she got everything right. Laundry soap? Check. Two baskets to separate the coloreds and the whites? Check. Dryer sheets? Check. And last but not least where was that list Deb had left for her that had all the hints and rules about what water temperature to wash the different fabric types and colors in? Brooke frantically searched the cluttered mess in front of her looking for it until she found the crumpled piece of white notebook paper with Deb's neat instructions penned on them. She smiled. Check! Now she was finally ready to go.
Brooke looked at the pile to the left of her. It contained the last of the items she had pulled from the bag she had brought into town with her. Most of that stuff hadn't been worn in Tree Hill and Brooke wondered why she had even bothered to bring it. Still as she sorted through each piece, it seemed that ever article of clothing had its own little story and memory.
Ah, the silver jacket! It was Gucci. She had got that one right off the runway from a show at New York's infamous fashion week. Brooke had died to have it as it looked absolutely fabulous on the model but she'd only worn it once or twice. At the time it was "to die for". Taking a second glance, it looked like something that had come from the wardrobe set of The Jetsons. And the black dress from Prada. Now that was pretty. She had ordered that from their website to attend a party. Then she remembered the party itself and any smile was quickly replaced with a frown. Brooke quickly stuffed it back in the bag. It was all the same. All the major designer labels…Gucci, Prada, Versace, Valentino, Marc Jacobs…the list went on and on. And at one time or another Brooke had been the proud owner of their shoes, handbags, suits, gowns and blouses. At the time that meant everything. It was what she thought an orgasmic feeling must have felt like as she would slip on the overpriced clothes. They defined her. They made Brooke Davis. But a new Brooke had emerged. A new Brooke with a new life and a new perspective. Now it all just seemed silly.
Sighing, she put them all back on the bag and tossed it aside before preparing to wash her new clothes whose most expensive, recognizable or fancy "label" was the comfortable yet affordable Old Navy. Walking over to the washing machine, she opened the top to pour in the soap and realized there was none except for a half drop. Remembering Deb had purchased some in bulk at the local Sam's Club, she knew the unopened containers were kept in the upstairs pantry. Brooke bounded up the stairs to borrow some as she knew the matriarch of the house wouldn't mind.
As she opened the door and read the label on the Tide with Bleach, she tried to remember whether or not that would be okay for what she was washing. Then there was a key in the front lock and after a lot of fumbling and shuffling, it finally pushed open and a disheveled, disoriented Lucas entered.
"Hey", she said cheerily as he ignored her.
It was obvious someone had had a rough night. He looked like ass.
"Gotta take a shower", he muttered, stumbling.
Brooke walked over to him.
"You okay, Lucas?"
"Shower", he mumbled again.
Brooke caught a whiff and readily agreed.
"Oh yeah", she laughed. "You could definitely stand one of those. Are you still drunk?"
She asked because she needed to know how to help him. It was clear he needed some kind of help and she didn't mind but the last thing she wanted was to actually help him disrobe.
"I've got to get out of these clothes", he said, starting to take them off.
"Whoa! Hold the phone, cowboy. Not in here."
She tried to guide him into his room but he was making too much noise. The last thing she wanted was to disturb Deb so she helped him down the stairs to the basement. He could shower there.
Lucas fell back on Brooke's bed, kicking out of his shoes, socks and jeans. He was shaking and he had a wild, disoriented look in his eyes. Maybe it was more than alcohol.
"It's bullshit", he murmured to no one in particular. "I'm sick of this shit!"
"Lucas, are you okay?"
He stood, wearing only his underwear, but still unsteady on his feet.
"It's all the same. Nothing ever changes."
"Lucas…"
"I'm tired of dealing with this."
Brooke stood as well.
"Okay, Luke. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and pray you just had one too many shots of something really potent as opposed to the scary feeling you're actually giving me that makes me think you're having a post Glitter Mariah Carey moment. So I'll tell you what, you stay here and I'm gonna go right in there to the bathroom and I'm gonna start your shower. In the meantime, you're gonna stand out here like a good little boy and you're not going to touch anything and you're not going to go anywhere and you're definitely gonna keep your underwear on. When I get back, you go in the shower and maybe, hopefully the hot water will do you good. Okay?"
He did not answer as Brooke hurried to her bathroom. She pulled back the shower curtain and turned on the faucet looking for an acceptable temperature. When the water wasn't too hot or too cold, she called Lucas inside. He walked in like a scared little boy. Brooke turned her back as he dropped his drawers but she wanted to make sure he made it inside the tub without falling and breaking his neck. When he was safely inside, she walked back out and sat on her bed. She took a deep breath and tried to figure exactly what the hell had just happened.
She had never seen Lucas like that. Come to think of it, she had never seen anyone act like that. It was weird and a tad bit frightening. Maybe he wasn't okay. Maybe she should call someone. She thought about Deb who was just upstairs. Of course she would know what to do but she was supposed to be resting without stress or disturbances. Lucas was definitely a ball of stressful disturbance so that issue was out. Then there was Nathan but he was hard at work at the Den. His parents probably weren't a good idea and the only other person Brooke could think of was Haley and that was probably the worst idea of all. She nervously chewed on her lip as she glanced over at the bathroom again with its door slightly ajar. She was in it on her own. The only thing she could do was wait out his shower and hope that he would be okay when it was over.
A few feet away Lucas stood, using one hand against the wall to balance his weight. He felt like shit. He was in a literal state of disbelief. It was about everything…what had happened the night before with Kim, what had happened several nights before over at Haley's, his marriage, his failures, his shortcomings, the fact that he was too old to be living the non directional frat boy existence with Tim, his family, his past and most of all, himself.
He was losing it. He could feel what was left of his sanity slowly slipping away. The anger, sadness, shame and confusion were building. Why did he keep screwing up? He wished he could be somewhere else, hell, be someone else.
The hot water poured over his body. Lucas closed his eyes. That felt good as it relaxed his aching, tired and tense muscles. But it only pulled him from the dream like state he had lapsed into and back to the harsh sobering reality that unfortunately was his life.
So he stood there and when he felt he could position himself vertically without falling, he reached for the soap and a washrag. He lathered the cloth up and ran it over his body. Lucas scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin until it turned bright red and raw. But he didn't care. He didn't feel a thing. The physical pain didn't compare to the torment he'd been feeling inside.
Right outside the door Brooke sat waiting anxiously. She was nervous. It had been a while, enough time had passed even for a leisurely shower but Lucas was still in there not making a peep. That was another thing that bothered her. He was being way too quiet. After pondering her next move for a moment or two, Brooke abruptly jumped to her feet and headed for the bathroom.
"Lucas?" she knocked.
No answer. Brooke pushed the door opened and slowly walked in. Her heart pounded as she dared to slide back the curtain. Finally, she did and gasped at what she saw. Lucas was naked and shivering still scrubbing himself with the washcloth. His skin had been rubbed so hard, it looked like he might start bleeding at any given second. She reached in but recoiled when she felt how ice cold the water had turned. A minute longer and it might be a case of hypothermia. Brooke turned off the water supply and handed him some towels. Then she led his ice cold body out of the bathroom and sat him on her bed.
They were silent for a while. Tears filled her eyes as she watched him continue to tremble. He leaned over and put his tired head in her hands. Finally he calmed down.
"I'm alright", he said.
"Lucas", she began gently. "What happened?"
He shook his head.
"Nothing. I just screwed up…again. What else is new, right?"
She took her own hand and let it rest tenderly on his shoulder.
"It's okay. You're safe now. And whatever it is, you can tell me. You can talk to me about it, Lucas."
He turned and looked and in her eyes and he saw compassion, truth and sincerity. She cared, she was concerned about him. She would talk and listen and she truly cared. He could be honest and let go and be vulnerable.
"No!" he slapped her hand away.
It was freaking him out. He couldn't handle that. Not yet.
"Lucas…"
"I'm alright now, okay? I just…I don't know. I was being stupid with Tim and we got plastered and I don't know."
"Okay but it just seemed like something more than being drunk. You scared me."
"I said I'm okay! Now where are my clothes?"
"Over there", she pointed. "But maybe you should sit down for a minute. I'll make tea or something and we could talk, figure this out together."
Lucas laughed bitterly as he dropped the towel right in front of her face causing her to blush a deep crimson. He put on his jeans without the underwear and picked up his socks and shoes.
"I was drunk, I was a babbling idiot and you helped me out. Big fucking deal. What, you want a thank you or something?"
Brooke couldn't believe it. Talk about your Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde.
"Lucas…"
"No", she stammered. "I…I, I just want to help you."
"Help me? That's nice. Whatever. Thanks but no thanks. I don't need anybody's help, especially yours."
She swallowed hard.
"Lucas…"
"Look, I need to get the hell out of here. I'm tired. It's been a long night and I need to crash so…"
"Lucas", she went after him.
"What? What the hell is your deal? Get off my back, Brooke!"
"But I…"
"But you what?" he spat, his blue eyes darkening with rage.
She shook her head and bit her lip, fighting back tears.
"Fine. Fine, Lucas. Have it your way."
"I always do", he smirked.
"You're a real ass, you know that?"
"So I've been told and by you a couple of times."
"You're sad. This goes more than just going out getting drunk, which you do an awful lot, might I add. But it's more than that. Your problems are a whole lot deeper than some bottle but from what I can see, the beer and everything else is just making it worse. And you come home stumbling on the verge of some nervous breakdown and I try to help you and take care of you and the minute you snap back, you go to being an asshole again. Well, I'm done, Lucas! I don't care anymore! Why should I when you don't?"
"Whatever…"
"Whatever? Is that all you have to say to me? You know what? Screw you! And just when I was beginning to think there was a halfway decent human being underneath all that brooding and angst, you go and prove me wrong. And just when I felt bad for you and when I was trying to make sense out of your mess with Haley, you go and turn back into the world's biggest son of a bitch. Well, now it's my turn to say whatever. I don't care if you're upset or pissed or hurting or stone cold drunk, I'm staying out of it. And you can self destruct or fall apart or rot in hell for all I care but as far as I'm concerned, you deserve whatever you get from this moment on!"
He gave her a final look before solemnly heading back upstairs. He said nothing. Pride and ego wouldn't allow him to. But none of it mattered. Deep down in the back of his brain, the pit of his stomach and the bottom of his heart, he knew Brooke was exactly right.
She watched him go and she was fuming. How dare he! She was done…done helping, done caring, done trying to be nice. And she was done trying to help Lucas Scott deal with his past when she couldn't escape her own. So much for that. Fuck the past! And fuck Lucas too! Brooke screamed out loud. In a frenzy she grabbed up what was left of her expensive bag and designer clothes. She opened the basement door and tossed them out where Deb liked to burn the leaves that had fallen from trees. She grabbed the bottle of lighter fluid and doused the items before lighting a match. Taking a deep breath in the early morning cold, Brooke watched the clothes burn. It felt good, liberating even. And she didn't have a hint of remorse. They were evil and they represented a part of her past she desperately wanted to forget. Yes, the clothes were evil but so was Lucas Scott. And as far as Brooke was concerned, he was the only thing missing from her fire.