This chapter is for Ange, who pretty much told me to get a move on it. Sorry about the lack of naley, but this story isn't just about the couple. Everybody has an impact, and this chapter is crucial.

Winds of Change

Seven

Vaguely, she wondered how it was possible to have everything under the sun, and the money to buy even more, and still feel like something's missing.

She was brilliant, everyone knew it. She'd maintained a flawless 4.0, earned an A+ in each subject from kindergarten forward. She knew enough to impress even the most avid intellectuals North Carolina society had to offer, and further proved her genius by knowing to down play it. She possessed an infamous charm, seemingly passed on from her grandmother to her mother, and becoming her own birthright. She could be witty and pleasant…

And she could turn it off just as quickly. Her father was a shrewd business man, and she could be just as ruthless. While most of her friends possessed an inner softness, making them weak and sometimes crumbled, a strip of steel ran within her. She could cut with a glare, or kill in conversation, without even batting an eyelash at it. It was just another day in her life. It was just another reason not to cross her.

To say she was pretty was an understatement. It was one of those unwritten things that everyone seems to know. She wasn't pretty or hot, she was beautiful in a way that words tended to escape. Her skin was flawless, a light tan taking over at times. Her long blonde hair was silky, hanging down her back in long loose curls. Her eyes, a light brown, could seem warm and welcoming or smoky and mysterious, all depending on her mood. While short, she was thin and toned, and her presence made her seem much larger than her meager height.

It was fairly safe to say that Haley James was on the road to perfection.

So one might wonder why she still wasn't happy.

Haley herself was pondering this exact topic as she found herself alone in bed. Her state-of-the-art alarm clock displayed the time as 3:45, and she groaned. The glaring red numbers reinforced the point that she had been laying there, restless, for five hours. It was a Saturday night, and she knew that she had probably reached a whole new level of pathetic, as she heard the familiar stumbling she had been waiting for.

It definitely wasn't the first time this week that Chris Keller had slid into bed behind her. It was the reason why she had been staying home, staying up—to wait for him. It was the reason why she had turned down all requests for her to party tonight, despite the groveling done by Brooke and Peyton. But it was nearly four o'clock in the morning, and a sleep-deprived Haley was a grumpy Haley.

"Hey baby," he whispered, his voice low and gravelly in her ear. Instead of her heart flip-flopping within her chest, swirls of lust tingling at the sound as they had always done, she felt nothing but irritation. It was way too late, or too early technically, for the scent of alcohol to be permeating her senses. He reeked of booze and smoke and a horrendously flowery perfume. Wrinkling her pert nose in distaste, she knew that he hadn't come from Tric, the area's hottest spot, because Karen Roe ran a tight ship. This meant that her long-term boyfriend had crawled out from some seedy bar and into her bed, and who knows where he had stopped in between?

"Get out," she said coldly, surprising even herself. It was another one of those unwritten rules that Haley didn't stand up for herself. She would get in anyone's face, but generally only when provoked. When it came to people she cared about, she let others sail her ship. It explained why she accepted the "Happy Sweet Sixteen!" card from her father this past summer, on the same day as she accepted her driver's license in celebration of her 17th birthday. The same logic followed why she kept letting Chris in, into her head and her heart and her bed. Tonight though, she felt like something was different. She wasn't going to be timid, polite, well-manner, crisp Haley. She was going to be Haley, the outrageous bitch, and she didn't really care what anyone had to say about it.

"What?" he sputtered, her words shocking him as they did her. But she didn't withdraw them, leaving them to hang uncomfortably in the darkness of her massive bedroom. His scrawny arm made to latch around her as she made to get up, and she ploughed forward, leaving him dazed in the middle of the king-sized bed more suited for a princess.

"I said to get out," she gestured wildly, her vision blurring, beginning in the corners of her eyes. Whether she was tired or tearing, she didn't really care.

"I've come over every other night this week. Why's this different?" confusion evident in both voice and eyes was displayed brilliantly as Chris peered beseechingly up at her. Instead of melting her, she felt something within her harden, and she glared down at him. Daddy would be proud.

"It's different because I'm different. It just occurred to me that there's no reason why I have to put my life on hold for someone who doesn't care about me at all."

"I care about you Haley!" he protested, and she wondered how many other girls had ever been fed that line. Had he said it to the girl whose perfume he still smelt of? Had he used it to coax her into bed, or to make her feel less dirty afterwards? Because right now, Haley James, who had always been a few steps sort of full-on O.C.D., as Brooke liked to tease, felt as if a thousand showers couldn't wash him from her skin.

"Really? Because, you know, that's what I've been trying to tell myself. But then I check out my phone records for the last month, and not a single call is from you. You don't say anything for weeks at a time, and then you show up just like everything's fine!"

"I don't get what's going on with you…" he said slowly. Clearly the alcohol and God knows what else were taking their toll on him.

"I'm just… tired of hearing the same stupid lines. Why am I so stupid?" she asked, a wry self-deprecating smile curling her lips as she plopped onto the far end of the bed. "You… you treat me like I'm this," she said, hysteria edging its way into her voice as she fingered the down-comforter. "I keep you warm, but don't ask you where you've been."

"Haley—"

"Don't! You always do this! And you know what, I want to stand here and scream like a jealous harpy and demand where the hell you've been, but you know what? I don't want to know! It hurts too much! So just do me a favor, and get the hell out."

"Why don't you call me when you're not so P.M.S.?" he asked scathingly as he stumbled towards the door.

"I don't have P.M.S., I just really don't like you," she hissed, knowing Brooke and Peyton would be proud.

Chris Keller didn't respond though, the heavy wood of her bedroom door swinging shut with an irritated thump. Haley knew she wouldn't be getting to sleep that night, and she couldn't help but wonder if he didn't hear her… or he just didn't care.

"If what you wanted was to sulk, I could've brought my records," Peyton suggested helpfully, but the sunlight glinting off her tight curls was too bright for Haley's tired eyes, and she merely groaned in response, burying her head beneath a massive pillow.

"I think the last thing any of us need are P. Sawyer Misery Mixes," Brooke chirped from the corner, unnaturally perky as always. "Those are guaranteed to make you want to shoot up and die."

"Must not be strong enough then, because I could've sworn I was blaring them at home, and the parentals are still standing," the blonde grumbled, and received sympathetic looks from her two best friends. Long ago, Peyton had lumped her father and stepmother into one—"the parentals". It was a grudging transition, made agonizingly over time, but it was just less painful than acknowledging them individually.

"Well, we all know that they each must be lacking in one or more of the five senses in order to make that couple work. Must be hearing," quipped Brooke, and Peyton half-smiled in her direction.

"I wouldn't rule out sight either," Haley added dryly, and both laughed in appreciation.

"She speaks! Oh, speak again, bright angel," teased Brooke, drawing back old memories of Shakespearean obsessions that had passed long ago. Haley's preoccupation with the world's greatest love story had lasted an entire year, and she had a name change to show for it. She was now permanently, in the eyes of her religion, Haley Elise Juliet James. Her friends would never let her live it down.

"Fuck off, B. Davis," she whined, her exhaustion the equivalent of a level 10 hangover. Haley was so tired she could barely see straight, but her thoughts had kept her up all night.

"We should probably get back to the task at hand," Peyton pacified, noting Brooke's hackles rise.

"Which would be what?"

"Dissecting Haley's life, so that we can all go back to sleep," she swiped irritably at the corners of her burning, tired eyes as she look at the clock. 8:12. If a morning person had ever lived, she was most certainly not named Peyton Sawyer.

On the other hand, there was Brooke Davis—perky at all hours, and in all states. "Previously on The Life of Haley James, our heroine's weeks of teen angst bullshit seemed to be drawing to a close as her long-lost wannabe rock star boyfriend came back to town. However, instead of re-consummating the relationship, sparks flew between her and a sexy newcomer, while she was topless. It was a short-exchange, but lusty nonetheless. Now, Haley begins to regain her pride as she tosses asshole boyfriend to the curb, finally heeding the advice of her beautiful and wise best friends," she continued in her best announcer voice. Lately, things between Haley and Brooke had been strained. A deep weight seemed to have been placed upon the relationship, pushing lightly at its seams as if to test just how much it could take. But knowing that the brunette had been slightly off-kilter since The Party Incident, Haley just brushed it off. There were many more important issues to handle, in her mind.

"Well thank you for that synopsis," she spat irritably.

"WHAT? What the hell? When was Haley topless in front of Nathan? He is the sexy newcomer right? Because I'm fairly certain that there's currently nobody around sexier than Nathan," Peyton explained, the most delicate of blushes painting her porcelain cheeks as she realized how she'd babbled on.

"Nathan is the sexy newcomer," Brooke nodded happily.

"Haley—topless? That is so not you, Hales," Peyton murmured, amusement chasing confusion across her face.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked defensively, effectively avoiding the real topic.

"Hello, Haley and Miss Modesty are like synonymous," Brooke said.

"Are you kidding? Did you not see the dental floss I passed off as a shirt on Friday?" the blonde replied incredulously, but Peyton shook her head.

"No, that's Haley James, Queen Bee. Haley is very modest. You'll do anything your image requires, but that doesn't mean it's you, Hales. Whereas Brookie over here can walk around town naked, and it would be both a Brooke Davis and a Brooke thing to do."

"I'd try to muster up some indignance if that wasn't so true," Brooke giggled.

"Is indignance a real word?" Peyton puzzled, her forehead crinkling in the middle.

"Nope," Haley released the words with a loud POP on the p.

"And the tutor in her strikes again," Brooke teased, her dimples deepening.

"I still don't know why you quit that," Peyton mumbled.

That was a lie. They all know why Haley had quit her position as head tutor. Somewhere along the line, Haley Elise James had lost herself. For a stretch, she was a mousy brunette eager to hide in the shadows. The tutoring center provided her with just the place for that. It was a place to feel good about what you did for others, a place to feel accomplished. But Tree Hill was no place for a James to hide, especially when none but two knew what she was running from. Soon after that, she was a loud and arrogant redhead, then a brassy and bitchy blonde. The times where she gave a damn about others seemed to be long gone, as some time ago she had morphed from Tutor Girl to Queen Haley yet again, until it was just a moment in time.

Brooke flashed a message with her eyes, and Peyton looked properly chastised. She was the only one out of the three who ever saw fit to be apologetic. When Brooke made mistakes, she breezed past them. When Haley fucked up, she would glare and scream and stop, but it would never be held against her. Only Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer, the heiress who most certainly didn't need forgiveness, would be one to ask for it.

"Oh, come off it, Brooke," Haley sneered, and a dark eyebrow risen in silent question was the response she got. "No need to leave it unsaid. We all know that you thought tutoring was below me."

"I'm sorry, was I the one that quit once I decided to be popular again?" Brooke asked. She screwed up her face to look deep in thought, but the hard, angry glint in her bright green eyes that was becoming more and more familiar was present.

"You implied that I should," Haley responded, feeling anger bubble below the surface and wondering where it had come from. She was usually somewhat reserved, leaving all her emotions bottled up beneath her flawless veneer. Lately, it seemed she has just reached the end of her tether, flying off at only a moment's notice.

"Please Haley, we all knew you wouldn't last there," Brooke laid it out simply. She didn't hiss the words, the way she had when she'd caught Haley's seventh grade boyfriend playing Seven Minutes in Heaven in the closet with Theresa Miller. She didn't spit them either, the way she'd told off Bevin for making an L with her fingers before doing a move in their halftime routine for cheerleading. They weren't even drenched in malice, the tone she had used on Peyton's stepmother when it had finally all gotten to be too much for her curly blonde friend and she just couldn't watch it anymore. Instead, calm seemed to settle over her. A deadly calm that was possibly more frightening than any other "fuck you" tone she'd ever used.

"And why is that?" Haley asked, her voice quivering, but forcing the question through. She wasn't sure why she was picking a fight with Brooke, of all people. She wasn't mad at her for anything in particular. If she just wanted someone to blow off steam at, they had plenty of hired help, and any random at school would gladly take shit from her if it meant she'd consent to speak to them for a minute or two. Instead, she was fuming at Brooke Davis, one of the only people on that side of the country who didn't give a damn what she or her trust fund looked like.

Haley James was a glutton for punishment.

"Guys…" Peyton started. The tone of her voice was a warning. The Mother Hen of the group thought this was getting way out of hand, but Brooke wouldn't be pacified, and Haley couldn't bring herself to speak.

"Because tutoring is about helping others, and you're a self-centered bitch. It was never about trying to get other people to do well; it was about the praise you got when they succeeded. You're smart, everybody knows it, and it was just another opportunity for you to horde it over everybody. Not even that could keep you around the social misfits though, huh Hales?"

The way 'Hales' slipped from Brooke's glossed lips caused a shiver to run down Haley's spine. The tone was familiar in a way, the shiver not just one of fear and hurt but of déjà vu. It struck her suddenly, her light brown eyes widening. She'd heard it before, but not directed towards her. Another endearment, made horrific in only the way Brooke Davis could.

"Go ahead, tell yourself that this isn't your fault. This was an accident, this was a mistake, this was a tragedy. But we both know the truth, don't we? Everybody that's ever known her will know what really happened, and nobody will say a damn thing about it! Not even me… because I know that she wouldn't want me to. She loved you. She loved you so much she would die for you. And she did. I hope you're proud of her, mommy, it was all she ever wanted."

The memories were still painful. Two years had passed and she could still feel the black silk rubbing against her, the friction anything but wanted. The pale upon their cheeks, the absence of sound all around them. She felt like she was back in the Davises' massive den, privy to a family meeting for God knows why, Brooke mercifully breaking the silence previously punctured only by sobs. It would be an official two years in four days.

Haley James was the world's biggest bitch, she thought with a mental smack to her forehead. The look Peyton was sending in her direction did nothing to refute it, only reinforcing it, even. The giant calendar Brooke had bought her at the beginning of the year, joking that she had been too busy even for her best friends and needed to be penciled in, faced her from behind the storming brunette, the date glaring at her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

So deeply immersed in her self-deprecation, she barely noticed Brooke gathering her things, a whirlwind of brown and green and palest white and pink cotton with purple stripes.

"Where are you going?" she asked slowly, the fog clearing in her brain, leaving only panic. She had no idea why it was Brooke she was lashing out at, and now of all times. This was the worst time of the year. Her timing had always been for shit, but she had always remembered how hard this was for her best friend. Why she was taking her angst out on her, she had no idea.

"Nathan's," she replied scathingly. "At least he's pleasant in the mornings."

Aha. That was it, right there. Brooke's newfound… whatever with the boy next door had Haley all shook up, and with no clue why. Normally it would be the brunette's idea to psychoanalyze that, but Brooke herself was hurting and lost, and she didn't have enough in her to help everybody. She couldn't help anybody, because she was still so lost herself.

"You think I'm terrible," Haley let out a shaky sigh, feeling Peyton's unwavering hazel gaze on her long after Brooke had left. It was the second time this morning someone had stormed out on her for being a bitch, and she was waiting for number three. What she got instead surprised her, a little.

"I think you're broken. I think we're all broken," the quiet words escaped the blonde, and Haley was astonished to see a few tears slide down her friend's smooth cheek. Peyton hadn't cried in years, not for anything. Dragging Peyton onto the bed with her, they hugged tightly, and she could feel the hot tears on her skin beginning to mingle with her own. She could feel Peyton's Ramones t-shirt, almost at the end of its days, soft beneath her fingers, and cried just a little bit harder, knowing that Brooke was next door being comforted (she cringed at the connotation) when she should be there with them. Her blonde friend's breath evened out somewhat, and she knew Peyton was drifting off to sleep. It was her best comfort and her greatest fear, to be left alone in the giant bedroom where the walls knew too much.

We're all broken.