Disclaimer: Don't own OTH.
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Chapter Nine: Fall Away
Blood red roses on grey stone. Petals dripping down the sides like the spilling of the vein of life. Gushing down, melding into a mass of pale grey speckled in white. Patches of purity in the blur of good meshing with evil. Right and wrong. The collision making it harder to distinguish one from another. A constant battle, but never won. Only raising more questions without answers.
Peyton touched the cold stone with the tips of her fingernails, pressing into it until the tips of her fingers lost color. Maybe for an instant she could be those white blobs. Something good amidst the world she lived in. But her heart and soul would always be stained with grey patches. Stuck between the life she had the and the one she wished was hers to grab. To hold. To take. The one she could see in Lucas' eyes every time they settled on her. Glowing with a secret knowledge of something she had never had. Something pure. Innocent. But real. Intense. Asking not only to take, but also to give. To share.
She had tasted it in his lips that night, his kiss dragging her into a dream of sweet promise. Luring in that part of her that craved that lightness of soul. Wanting to surrender and take the things contained in his words. But knowing that in the end she always had to leave. Because everything he offered wasn't hers to take. It was too good. Demanding her heart. Something she had never given to anyone. It was just too much for her to handle. Not when everything in her life was so fragile. Delicate like the rose petal that fell on her hand before sliding off and hitting the edge of the tombstone. Beautiful but fleeting.
Their eyes had carefully avoided the others as they had passed in the halls that day. The first time since that night she had been in his room. Her arms curved around him as her lips collided with his. Taking what she wanted. Crushing that goodness in him. That part of him that wanted that world with her. Not using him, but tasting it for a moment. Letting herself feel. Before ripping away, wanting to give but not take. Because she would inject black poison into his pristine heart.
A tear slid down her cheek and hit the back of the hand she still had pressed against her mother's grave. Anna Elizabeth Sawyer. Beloved wife and mother. Never forgotten. She traced the words with her fingernail, soaking in the words, the reminders. Who her mother had been. The smiling cheerleader in the faded photographs she kept under her mattress. The gentle mother who had held her baby girl when she fell. The woman who had expected her to have the same life she did. Asking for nothing but still met with resistance.
The daughter who shared her middle name. The same blonde curls. Slight frame. Trying to fit the image her mother had worn her whole life. But falling short. Lacking something her mother had. A kindness of heart. A softness of soul. Eyes that radiated warmth. A hand that turned everything it touched into something good. Something pure. Instead wearing a cloak of darkness around her bony shoulders. A cloud of grey yesterdays hanging over her head. A hard rock in her chest that stabbed whoever got close. Making them bleed.
Lucas reminded her of her mother. Everything he touched turned to gold. Becoming better. A ball that always glided through the net with ease. A mother with a gentleness born in him. Friends, who cared, really cared about him. Everything in his life glowing except her. She just pressed down on him. Making him insecure. Unsure. Rejecting him time and time again, but his heart still sitting there for her to dig her claws into.
What he saw inside her she didn't know. Why he kept trying. Why he wanted to. He could have anyone. Girls without issues. Without pain. Baggage hanging around her neck. The thought of him with someone else was like a knot tied in her stomach. Tightening everything inside into a painful pinch. She knew she should just let it go, but something in her kept hanging onto him. Onto the look in his eyes. The way he looked down at her, into her soul. Seeing emotions and feelings she had buried. Without words. But a passing of understanding and knowledge existing between them.
She had stood unmoving in front of her mother's grave as thoughts and emotions poured through her. Crashing into each other until nothing was clear. It was just a giant mass that sat in one spot in the center of her body. Nothing registering in her mind anymore. Forgetting about cheerleading practice. Unwilling to force herself to wear a smile that she didn't feel. To shake pom poms she didn't want to hold. To live in that world. A world that she despised, but was hers. Wanting to forget everything for a while, but with no success.
Everything just running and colliding until nothing made sense anymore. The only thing that pricked at her mind and heart was the knowledge that she did, in fact, want the exact same things Lucas wanted. No longer denying the truth. The only thing she wasn't running from. Fleeing from moments that would hurt them both. Because of her. She was the only reason it hurt. Not realizing how much they were both hurting already.
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Lucas stabbed the pepperoni pizza sitting on the plate in front of him. The cheese was hard, a dark hue of brown. The pepperoni curled up, almost disintegrated. Barely recognizable. The pizza fell apart around his fork. Crumbling when penetrated by the metal spikes. He must have left it in the oven too long. He was tempted to throw it into the trashcan, but he had to eat something. As unappetizing as it was, at least it was food. Everything tasted like cardboard to him lately. His stomach unwilling to accept the nutrition he offered it. Tied into endless knots as the events of the past few days played over and over in his mind. Stealing not only his appetite but also his sleep.
"This place is a mess," Haley piped, appearing out of nowhere. He frowned down at the pizza, not bothering to watch her enter the tiny kitchen. He hadn't heard the door open. "Soda can, soda can, soda can, empty take out box, empty pizza box," she pointed to the objects littering the counter. "And a sink full of dishes. Your mom has been gone three days and this place is already looking unlivable."
"Hey Hales, nice day isn't?" He said wryly, an edge of anger lining his tone.
"Oh, hi Luke," she nodded and plopped into the chair across from his. Oblivious to his harsh tone and fowl expression. "What are we having?"
"I'm having what is supposed to be pepperoni pizza, but instead I'm eating this." He indicated the pizza in the center of the table with his fork. She was his best friend and usually he would have wanted to enjoy her company, but today didn't. He wanted to be alone. There was too much clogging his mind.
"You eat your pizza with a fork?" She laughed.
"You've been my best friend oh," he frowned in feigned concentration, "all my life and you're just now noticing that?"
"Hey I only thought that was during your 'table manners' phase. Guess you didn't grow out of it." She shrugged.
"Nothing wrong with not wanting to make a mess when I eat," he snapped, instantly regretting the edge to his voice.
"Calm down pissy," she rolled her eyes and looked at the pizza for the first time. She scrunched up her nose, "Ewww, what did you cook that in? A coal heated oven?"
"Haha, funny Hales."
"Your lack of culinary skills will stay just between us." She winked. Ignoring the anger that he had been throwing her way since she had come into the house. "So why are you here anyway? Shouldn't you be at practice?"
"I would be if I hadn't been suspended." He spat bitterly, not wanting to talk about it.
"Suspended…why?"
Her curiosity grated on his nerves. Rubbing salt into the wounds in his heart. At losing everything in one night. His spot on the team and Peyton. Everything was coming out harshly. All the little things piling on top of each other until he felt like a ball of stress, fury, and misery. "That great brother I have," his voice leaked with sarcasm.
"What did he do now?" She raised her eyebrows.
"He decided to be a ball hog and Whitey said until the two of us learn to play together we will become the official bench warmers." Reality finally sinking in with the words. Losing the game he had been playing all his life just because Nathan had to be an ass. Ruining everything. His game. Peyton. Taking away two things that meant the most to him. Knotting Peyton up so badly she couldn't accept him in her life. Expecting another Nathan. Used to the way he treated her. Lucas knew that was part of it. Why she pushed. Why she expected nothing when she could have everything. With him.
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
He shrugged, "I've had a lot on my mind."
"Like Peyton?" she teased lightly.
"And my mom leaving," He challenged, unwilling to talk about her. To feel the pain shoot up through his heart again. Realizing it was too late because it was there. Sitting like a hard weight on the center of his chest. Feeling her loss cutting into him.
"Right, how's that going?"
"She got to Italy yesterday, she loves it." He was glad his mom was happy, but at the same time he envied her. For following her dreams and being allowed happiness along with it.
"Good, she deserves it."
"Yeah she does," he said distractedly, his mind a million miles away.
"Luke you okay?"
"Not really." He sighed in admittance, knowing he couldn't hide anything from his best friend.
"What is it?"
"Peyton and I kissed Friday night." A shaft of pain ripped through his heart. The moment replaying in his head. The feel of her lips against his, her breath on his face. The stricken look in her eyes as she had backed away. Running from him. Again.
"Oh my god!" she squealed, missing the pained expression on his face.
"No not good. She left again." He said as matter-of-factly as he could muster.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Me too." He said quietly, the tines of his fork pressed into the forgotten piece of pizza, destroying everything beneath it.
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"Bevin your form is all wrong." Brooke barked, agitated by the shitty job the squad was doing. Unenthusiastic kicks, limp limbs, and crooked movements. Bevin took in Brooke's harsh tone with a smile plastered on her face. Always smiling. Like me, Brooke thought wryly. Hiding the world behind a smile. But they all did it. It was part of the game. The demands of popularity. Everything was an act.
"Rachoe," She smirked at the tall redhead. Her rival since middle school. They had competed over everything. Clothes. Boys. The squad. Peyton. A constant battle neither ever won. Or could. One action proved to be better than the last and it never ended. The amount of boys they slept with piling up until they had lost track. No morals. No scruples. Just driven. By different forces, but the end result was the same. It always was. "You should keep your legs together when you're on top of the triangle, this isn't your bedroom." She smirked as the other girls on the squad giggled. Empowered by the low laughter.
"Actually it's Rachel, Brohoe." She cocked her head to the side and squinted at her in boredom, "And the revolving door is in your room not mine."
The squad cackled at Rachel's retort, but quickly shut up when Brooke glared at them. Brooke was in charge. She was the captain of the squad. No one but Rachel had ever dared to cross her. "Whatever," she shrugged her shoulder indifferently and tossed her long, red-brown hair over her shoulder. The brush off only worked for her. If any other girl had done that, she would have received scorn for her actions. But in this school Brooke was like a goddess. People respected her as much as they were disgusted by her blatant sexuality. She heard them snicker sometimes. Talking about her in the girl's bathroom when they didn't realize she was there. It never bothered her. This was her life.
She scanned the large gymnasium for the hundredth time since practice had started. Where was Peyton? She had never missed before. She had been at school earlier that day, they had sat alone, crouching together, making everyone else feel outside them. It was what they did. They owned the school; no one could touch them. It had always been that way. There was no other way for them. Why hadn't she mentioned her intended skipping? She could have at least prepared her. To brace herself against the angry stares and barbs of their fellow cheerleaders. They both had status in the school, but without the other they became weaker. More openly scorned. The girls were still afraid though. They knew that with a word from Brooke they could be ruined. Crushed like an unwanted bug.
Her eyes moved to the boys doing suicides across the gym floor. Shoes squeaking as they slid across the slick hardwood floor. Sweat pooling down their faces as Whitey's whistle shrieked across the hollow room. The team. All of them save two. The Scotts absent. Brooke furrowed her brow in confusion. Where the hell were they? Lucas had been known to miss practice, but never Nathan. She looked at the empty spot where Peyton usually stood. They were both gone. Were they…together? A prickle of jealousy inched along her stomach, coaxing it to curl up into a knot. Nathan and Peyton together. In his car. His hands moving across her bare back as she moaned into his mouth…
She shook her head, ridding the image from her mind. What did it matter if they were together? They were both single and there was a lot of history there. What they did was their problem. Their issue. She was just in it for sex so what he did with Peyton was his own deal. She didn't want or need more from him than that. The knot in her stomach tightened, rejecting the thoughts she was shoving into her mind. Forcing them the to be true. To not care. She had never cared before, no need to start now. Especially not with Nathan. Neither of them were monogamous creatures.
A few weeks ago she had been throwing the two of them together, now she wanted them apart. Far away from each other. Only until I'm done with him, she told herself, then she can have him back. Her stomach clenched once again as she turned back to the squad, putting all her energy into them.
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Tap. Tap. Tap. Backspace. Delete. Undo. Tap. Tap. Tap. Nathan groaned, staring at the paragraph blinking in front of him. An unfinished English assignment that had been due last week. Getting an extension due to his status. He knew why teachers let him turn in homework late. They knew without him the Tree Hill Ravens would be just another High School basketball team. He had obligations and duties to fulfill outside the realm of the classroom. So they were lenient. But his English teacher was getting tired of it. Especially after finding out he had been suspended. His extension suddenly becoming shorter.
The paper was due tomorrow.
He couldn't get his mind off the game. The practice he was missing because of Lucas and Whitey. Depriving him of honing his skills. Sending him into the library instead. To hide from his father who still didn't know he was suspended. In the Scott household there was no such thing as volunteered information. Everything had to be pried out of them. Backed into a corner until confession was the only option. It was survival of the fittest between him and his father. And this time he wouldn't win the round.
He grit his teeth against the thought. Forcing his mind back on the task at hand. It was just a journal; all he had to do was state his opinion. But to tell the truth or make up bullshit was the tricky part. Describe your typical day. Who cares? Wake up, get bitched at, go to school, get bitched at, and go to practice. . .
His days tended to cycle. Even the parties had become routine. Predictable.
His thoughts drifted to Brooke of their own accord. A flash of her breasts flitted through his mind. He couldn't deny the attraction he felt towards her. The body his hands ached to touch, to drive into her. Possessing her. Hearing her moans of desire while clawing his back. She was a hellcat. She could handle his preferred sexual positions. Made clear long ago. Even when he was with Peyton there had been a chord of desire and sexual innuendo vibrating between them.
Simply put Brooke Davis screamed sex.
But he had seen another side, if only briefly. A moment of quiet vulnerability hidden behind vague language. Only exposed when she had been drunk off her ass. Bitter by the way her parents treated her. He knew what that was like, to get stomped on by people who are supposed to love you. He shook his head. Where the hell had that come from? That stab of…understanding? Not pity. There was no room for that in his life. Lust he could relate to, but this was foreign. And unneeded. He pushed it back and turned back to his essay. Pushing Brooke and all the confused feelings she inspired within him away.
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Peyton dug through the mass of papers and plastic containers that cluttered the shelves of her shining blue locker. Gum wrapper. Old English notes. A tin full of moldy cookies. Ew. She'd have to throw those out later. A blue and red notebook peeked between the papers on the bottom shelf. She grabbed it and pulled it out, sheets of snow white paper fell away, taking the space that had just been emptied. She shoved the notebook in her leather book bag. Ready for another day of dull classes and notes she'd rather not take. Instead sketching in the margins as her teachers rambled on about subjects she had little to no interest in.
She stared unblinkingly into the small space, the events of the past few days wrapping around her mind. Blind rage spilled through her body at all the reminders she found inside. An old note Lucas had sent her sitting in plain view. A sketch of her looking in the mirror, but seeing her mother's reflection instead of her own. Little flashes of memory blinding her. Fear holding her back. Feeling the loss of her mother all over again. Making herself let him ago. The only person who could really see her. All of it rolling into a tight ball of anger. At herself. Falling out of her body and affecting anyone and anything that rubbed along her nerves.
"P. Sawyer," Brooke bounced up beside her, seemingly out of nowhere. Her nauseatingly cheerful voice hit Peyton's raw ears. She cringed involuntarily as the brunette linked her arm through hers. Their daily morning routine suddenly too much for the curly haired blonde to handle. She just wanted to be left alone. Her friendship with her suddenly felt meaningless. Always feeling misunderstood. Judged. Held to a standard she didn't want to fit. The scowl on Peyton's face went unnoticed, "Missed you at practice yesterday."
"Mmmm," she hummed disinterestedly and continued to dig through the cluttered locker in front of her. Extracting her arm away from Brooke's as she pulled away. Her history book had to be in here somewhere. Maybe if she ignored her she'd get the hint or change the subject. Unwilling to talk about cheerleading, still struggling with all the issues the position brought her. What it took away from her and never gave back. A piece of her soul.
Brooke leaned against the locker beside Peyton's and took in the unkempt appearance of her best friend. Her mud brown shirt was torn on the right sleeve and hung around her bony hips. A gaping hole spanning the knees of her faded jeans. Her usually unruly hair in even more disarray than usual. Her eyes outlined in black with no other makeup to be found on her face. "Did you get dressed in the dark this morning?"
The words grated along Peyton's nerves. She slammed her locker shut and spun on her heel, "I'm not in the mood today, Brooke." Her voice was low, but deadly.
"Okay Peyton Marie," she rolled her eyes, bringing up the old nickname. PMS. Before Brooke could say anything else Peyton was gone, dragging her old, worn bookbag with her down the hallway.
"What was that about?" Nathan raised his eyebrows in curiosity. Watching Peyton stalk down the hallway, recognizing the fury that flowed from her body and crackled in the air. They had fought so much he was able to detect the signs of when she was pissed. But this time it wasn't at him, it was directed at the brunette standing by her shut locker.
Brooke spun around, her heart slamming against her ribs and jumping up into her throat at the sight of him. He had thrown her off guard, showing up like that. Without her asking. "Like you don't know," she snapped, the jealously she had experienced at practice the day before rising back to the surface as his eyes followed the blonde.
"How the hell would I know?" he scowled, the edge to her tone running along his nerves. What was her problem anyway?
"You were with her yesterday," she accused with a flash of boldness cutting across her eyes. Suddenly wanting to hurt him, but knowing she couldn't. They didn't have anything, anyway. Nothing outside mutual lust and attraction. A craving for the physical needs they could fulfill in one another.
"Like hell I was," he scoffed, taking notice of the prick of jealousy that had filled her eyes for even a brief moment. Brooke Davis jealous? Hell must have frozen over.
"Then where were you?" sounding casual no longer being important, something inside her slipping. The mask falling down, exposing something real. True. Not asking to play games, but really wanting to know the answer. In some ways needing it. She shoved the feelings away and shifted her weight to her left foot, her body lowering as she moved. For once unaware of the way her shirt fell down to expose skin.
Nathan's eyes automatically followed the movement of the fabric; surprised her clothes were so modest. Covering her chest, except that peek of flesh that had been revealed as she moved. Maybe he had been wrong about her. He shook his head, "I don't know where she was, but I was…" he paused, trying to come up with a lie, not wanting to reveal his real whereabouts, but something in the way she was looking at him, a spark of real emotion in her eyes, made him tell the truth, "In the library."
"The library?" she laughed at the obvious joke, but when her eyes caught his she realized it hadn't been false. It was serious. "Oh."
"Yeah," he shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "So there's this Halloween party Friday night, you going?"
Her mask rose up and in settled back in place, "Yes," she touched his arm flirtatiously, her voice almost like silk, "Maybe I'll see you there." Her lips twitched to the side, in a practiced smile, but there was a twinge of something genuine there. For the first time. She let the words hang between them for a few seconds before turning away, feeling his eyes on her back as she walked away.
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Haley watched Peyton stalk down the hallway, concern lighting her eyes. She pressed down the fear and hesitation that had kept her from approaching Peyton for all these weeks. She needed a friend. They both did. If she meant so much to Lucas she had to be special person. She had thought the same thing and despite how much her best friend was hurting she suspected Peyton was feeling the same way. She cautiously walked up beside her.
Peyton's eyes saw nothing but what was in front of her. A hallway full of people talking about nothing that mattered. Absorbed in their petty problems and conversations. The voices buzzed in her ears, all melding into one hum of sound. Even with all the people around she felt alone. Misunderstood. He was the only one who knew. Who got it. And she had messed everything up. Again. They had been carefully avoiding each other since that night. When she had kissed him. Running again. Anger jumped up into her head, directed at herself once again. Torn between pushing him away and dragging him closer. Forgetting her decision to let go. Both options felt dangerous, but at this juncture it didn't matter. It was too late.
"Hey, Peyton," she cleared her throat when the silence wavered on.
The blonde stopped and shook her head, becoming aware of the girl who had been walking beside her. "Hey, Haley," shame cut through her stomach. Avoiding another person who had never treated her with nothing but kindness. Pushing her away too because of her own issues. But befriending Haley was less complicated. Less painful. "Look I know I haven't…"
"It's okay," she cut her off, understanding without words.
"No it isn't, I was really bitchy to you at that party…"
Sympathy and understanding filled her face. Taking note of the shame and guilt that radiated from the cheerleader. Her words and body language explaining the avoidance. "You were drinking, it's okay."
"That isn't an excuse for my behavior," her anger seeming to melt away in an instant. Building in her stomach but no longer directed at other people. At least not at Haley. Her lack of catty comments and ignorance helped soothe her raw nerves. At least slightly. Forgetting the agitation that Brooke had lit within her by judging her. With those eyes, calculating and harsh. Always critiquing, never accepting.
"I know you and Luke…" she stopped at the glimpse of pain that registered on Peyton's face for a brief instant before fading once again. "Anyway…I just wanted you to know that I'm around. Okay?"
Peyton frowned at her and continued walking, knowing Haley would follow. She just didn't understand how easily Haley forgave. Like Luke. No wonder they were best friends. "Why are you so nice to me?"
A smile broke across her face, genuine and full of understanding. "You've never given me a reason not to be," she stopped at her classroom door and so did Peyton. Watching a small hint of a smile lift the corners of Peyton's mouth.
"Listen," she leaned forward and lowered her voice as if they were discussing something of vital importance. Making everyone around them curious. Tutor girl and cheerleader talking about something. In the middle of the hall. Not caring who saw. "there's this lame ass Halloween party Friday night. I don't even know why I'm going, but Brooke twisted my arm and well…" she shrugged, "you like to come?"
"Brooke?" Haley shook her head and laughed, not able to contain it. Her mind settling on those brief barbs they had exchanged at the party last month. Her lips twitched up in sarcasm, "I don't think she likes me very much and the feeling is definitely mutual. No offense."
"None taken, Brooke is a lot to handle." She laughed, "Anyway it's not about her."
"You sure?"
"Definitely."
"Then you can count me in."
"Count you in what?" Jake siddled up beside her as Peyton walked away.
"This Halloween party on Friday, Peyton asked me to go."
"And I asked Luke to go."
They exchanged a look, both breaking into a smile in the same instant. Thinking of the same thing, but never having to say the words.
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Peyton stared into the unkind mirror that hung behind her door. Cracked from the collision it had had with her web cam last month. A mess she had never cleaned up. Her eyes splintered into ten through the cracked web. Outlined in heavy black mascara and eyeliner. Making the irises of her eyes darker. Almost black. Her lips painted bright red. Exaggerated blush filled her tight cheekbones. Her mass of blonde curls pulled up and to the side of her head. Secured by a scrunchie. Tight black leggings wrapped around her legs and an oversized grey sweatshirt rested along her bare shoulders. The hem cut in a diagonal.
She grinned, baring her teeth. 80's rocker chick? Not quite. But it was all she could find in her mom's old stuff. For a night wanting to try on her mother's life outside cheerleading. Had she gone to parties like this or had she stayed home, studying on Friday nights? Logic told her the former was correct, but the insecure, little girl inside her told her that her mother was nothing like her. Perfect. Always knowing what to say and how to act. Would she have pushed Lucas away? Of course not. Her mother would have been good enough for him. The golden girl and the golden boy. She turned away from the flawed mirror, suddenly feeling just as damaged.
"I want to be good enough for you," she whispered to the empty room. The words echoing off the walls. Truth. Confession had only made her ache more at each avoidance she made. Hiding from him. From her feelings. Afraid she would kiss him, telling him everything that was in her heart. Had been there. Then having to live with the fact that she would lead to his ruin.
"Am I good enough?" Lucas said to his reflection. Oil smudged across his forehead, seeping into his hairline. His thoughts moving in different directions, but the question applying to them all. Basketball. Peyton. Were they both games? Was she just screwing with his mind out of boredom? Her avoidance told him yes. He wouldn't participate in her mind games so there was no use.
Maybe everything he thought he knew wasn't true. That she was different. That being on the team would fill the void in his heart. To prove to the father who was never there that he was good enough to play. To bear his name. That his father was, in fact, the one unworthy of him. And maybe Peyton would see him too. If he was there she would notice him. She had, but now his heart felt sick. Beaten down so many times he didn't know what to do anymore. What to say. To her or to anyone else.
He needed his mom. Now more than ever, but she was gone. He couldn't bother her with his problems. As juvenile and petty as they felt. He'd just have to learn how to deal with this on his own. Maybe the party tonight would help. He looked down at the light blue overalls he had borrowed from Keith. Stained in oil and two sizes too big. Gaping around his hips. Swallowing him the way his life seemed to be consuming him lately.
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"Slut," Brooke's mom hissed from her position beside the door. Watching her daughter fluff her long brown hair up in front of the mirror. A tight red, corset pressing against her daughter's ribs, pushing her breasts up and out. A fluffy white tail attatched to the back and a pair of bunny ears sticking up through her hair.
Brooke turned, her crimson red lips turned down, "Mom, you should be in bed." A twinge of pain pounding into her heart at the vicious word. A word she heard often, but never from her drunk, but quiet mother. The disgust that filled her mother's eyes, full of addiction and cruelty. Seeping out for the first time. Cutting into the heart she tried so hard to bury beneath the surface.
"Whore!" she screamed and rushed into the room, flinging all the bottles off Brooke's vanity. Hitting the floor with splinters of broken sound. Soaking the room in perfume.
"Mom!" she grabbed the gnarled hands that flung out at her. Fingernails that pierced into her cheekbones. She flinched at the pain but pushed it down as she drug her mother back towards the door. Limbs flailing out at her in resistance. "Lets get you back to your…"
"You'll never be good enough," she growled, her eyes glazed over in a drunken stupor. A sneer pulling back her lips. Wanting to hurt her daughter. The person who kept her medication away. Thinking she knew best. Like she knew what it was like for her. Always out fucking random guys. She knew what her daughter did. Everyone did. "Your father thinks that too."
Something sharp hit the middle of Brooke's chest at the words, a twinge of old pain. She didn't respond and shoved her mother into her bedroom and locked it from the outside. She leaned against the shut door, never realizing that the wetness flowing down her cheeks were tears.
"You'll never live up to my name," Dan said, satisfaction twisting his lips up. Throwing another barb into his son.
"Whatever Dad." Nathan shook his head, refusing to look at him, continuing to search for his car keys. Wanting to leave this house as soon as possible. To drink it all away.
"You look ridiculous," he gestured to the blue bandana wrapped around his head and the gold chains that hung from his neck. "You think you're some big shot rap star now? That's shit Nathan and you know it."
He ignored his dad's comments and dug his keys out of a jar on the kitchen counter, "Nice try," he held the jingling keys up for his dad to see, "I'm leaving."
"You let Whitey walk all over you and now you're going out like nothing happened." He scoffed. "You can't leave every time something gets hard."
"I learned from the best," he smirked before slamming the door shut behind him.
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Peyton tore through the mass of people that crowded the living room of Rachel's house. The noise almost deafening. Suffocating her. She had to get out of here despite the fact that she had only arrived here half an hour ago. Jake had quickly whisked Haley away and Brooke had abandoned her at the doorstep. Per usual, but things were still tense between them. They hadn't really talked since she had blown up at her at school earlier that week. Not thrilled that she had also invited Haley to come with them.
A mistake. Coming here had been a mistake. Once her eyes had landed on Luke she had had the urge to run. To tear away as quickly as possible. Remembering the last time she had been at a party. Pissed and drunk as hell, almost drowning until he had come to her aid. Saving her from herself. All the feelings she had been suppressing all week rising to the surface and spilling out and away from her.
She burst through a balcony door on the second floor of the spacious house. More like a mansion really. The crisp late October air hit her lungs. A pack of cigarettes sat on the railing. Abandoned but tempting her. She hadn't smoked in a long time. Trying it only once, but now feeling drawn to try it again. She dug the lighter she always carried out of her pocket and lit one up. Dragging it up to her lips and pressing it between her teeth with ease. Like it was the most natural thing for her to be doing.
She heard the balcony doors open behind her. It was him. She could almost feel him standing there behind her. Watching. Waiting.
Tension crackled through the air. He didn't know why he had followed her. He had vowed to leave her alone, but he had been drawn here. Something in her eyes when they had connected with his across the crowded living room. Beckoning him closer, but at the same time wanting to flee. They couldn't live this way forever. He needed to know. Something. All his insecurities and doubts at the surface, but packed down with an easy smile. Buried.
"Ever think about that night?" She turned to him, her heavily outlined eyes pierced into his. Inquisitive. Wary.
"What night?" His mouth twitched up in amusement when she shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't going to make this easy on her. He wanted her to squirm. To admit it. To feel something. He knew it was there, he could sense it inside of her. She just wouldn't let it out. Let him in.
Her pink tongue darted out, running over her exaggerated red lips. "The night at the….uh…basketball party."
"Yeah," he nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as they shifted away from his. The smoke from the cigarette she had been smoking spiraling up into the cool night air. Touching the stars. A pale grey screen traced along the almost black sky. Weaving between the stars. Never reaching the moon, always fading before it got there.
She brought the white stick to her lips and took a long, slow drag on it, slowly exhaling more smoke into the sky. The tip glowing red in the darkness. It was harsh and disgusting. She could taste the ash in her mouth. Silence settled between them. He wasn't going to offer her anything else and she wasn't going to give. They were at a standstill.
"Why are you smoking?" He finally sighed into the quiet. Unwilling to let the awkwardness take hold of them both.
"This is me, Lucas." she blew smoke out the side of her mouth, emphasizing her point. Always opting to push away when she could draw him closer. It was easier this way. For both of them.
"I've never seen you smoke before now," he leaned against the balcony railing casually.
"It's a bad habit I rarely partake in, but when I do it brings me a lot of pleasure," she flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette, "Like sex."
"Peyton…"
"God, Luke, it's a joke. You need to lighten up." Her words were quick and compacted. Punching through the air.
"Why do you do this?" He sighed in exasperation, not willing to play her mind games. Not tonight. Not when his heart was raw from her avoidance. Her rejection.
"Did you hear me? It makes me feel good. And I'll be able to drive home at the end of the night," she sidestepped the real question. Her sarcasm cutting into her. Into him. Into whatever it was they had. The intense emotion that lay between them. Wanting to crush it beneath her unforgiving feet.
"You know what I mean." His body was tense. Aggravated. Tired of fighting, but not able to stop. To want to drag her out of her anger. "Why do you do this to us?"
She paused, her heart lurching at his words. Crashing into her chest. She shook her head against the stab of feeling that had galloped through her heart. She lifted her shoulder slightly, causing the grey t-shirt she was wearing to fall down, exposing a creamy white shoulder. "This me, Lucas. You wanted to see me. You wanted to know me. This is me. The hard bitch. You think there's more to me. But underneath this layer is another bitch."
"I don't believe that."
"Believe it or not, your choice." She turned away from him, blocking him again. She flung her dead cigarette off the balcony into the yard below.
His hand flashed out, gripping her fragile wrist between his fingers. "I won't let you do this."
Her heart sped up at his words. She wished she could continue the faÁade. To pretend his words meant nothing to her. To keep on pushing him away, like dirt out of her fingernails. But she couldn't. "Let me go," her voice no longer angry, but sad. Defeated.
"Am I a game to you Peyton? Just someone to toy around with out of boredom to amuse yourself?" his tone was harsh, sharp jabs hitting the night air and her already raw heart.
"No,"
"Then what is it Peyton? I can't read your mind."
"I don't know," her body sagged against the railing. "I don't know," she said again, this time more softly.
"I care about you, I think we both know that. Whatever it is you're going through, I want to help you, but you have to let me. You can't shut people out your whole life. Your life would be empty that way."
"I know," she closed her eyes against his words. Knowing they were true.
"Please, let me be part of your life." His words no longer angry, soft now like whispers of the wind. Pleading with her to stop hiding from him.
She turned her body and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He settled his arms around her torso and pulled her closer. Letting her weight rest against his. Reveling in the warmth of her body and the heavy scent of hairspray emitting from her curls. "I'm sorry," she mumbled into his shoulder. She felt small. Delicate for the first time. Her heart fluttering at the feel of him against her. No longer just desire, but more.
"It's okay," he rested his chin in the space between her neck and shoulder. Her skin warm beneath his chin.
"You've been a good…friend." She stumbled over the last word. Knowing what they had could never be that simple.
"You too," he sighed into her hair. Accepting her words with a twinge of sadness. She still wanted to be friends. If that's what she wanted, then he would be what she needed him to be. He would just have to push away his feelings for her. "But you can't avoid me every time there's a problem."
"It's just how I deal with things," Her voice full of regret. Shame. She could feel the pain she had caused him radiating from his heart into hers.
"You don't have to do it alone," Now understanding the aching loneliness she dealt with everyday. No matter how much she had hurt him he couldn't turn away. To not want to help. To be in her life.
"I know," she felt her heart leaning into his along with her body. She felt safe. Protected. Warm. Heat spilling into her heart for the first time. Ignited by his touch. His concern.
-----------------
"Jake," Haley giggled as he pulled her into an empty bedroom. "What are you doing?"
"We have to hide from them," he smiled and looked down at their joined hands, her small fingers curled around his wide palms. His heart stopped when she looked up at him with wide, brown eyes. So innocent. Unlike him. He quickly let go and stepped away. Trying to resist the emotion he had been fighting. A battle he was quickly losing.
A twinge of disappointment flitted through her stomach, but she quickly pushed it away. "Think they've made up yet?"
"I don't know," He grinned, "angel." He moved towards her once again, pulling on the silver halo around her brown locks.
"Hey!" she laughed and smacked his hand away, "You're going to bend it."
"Like it wasn't already," he teased.
"Whatever," poked him in the chest, "Zorro." She tried to rip off the black mask around his eyes, but he quickly grabbed her wrist, stilling her movements. "No fair."
He leaned down, his lips a mere inch from hers. "I can't reveal my true identity," his costume oddly resembling his life. He walked around with a mask to hide his real life. The daughter he loved more than anything else.
"Come on, I won't tell," she wiggled her hand.
"Nope, but you know," he lowered his voice, "You pretending to be an angel is cute."
The words hung in the air between them, stealing her breath. Her heart pounded against her chest. She opened her mouth and the words she had been keeping in spilled out, "Okay you keep sending me all these mixed signals. One minute I think you like me. Then I think you're going to kiss me. But you don't. I really, really like you and yeah I've thought about it. Of course I thought about it. But if you don't feel that way about me we can pretend like I never sai—"
Before she could finish his lips were touching hers, all words evaporating as she melted into his chest. His lips gentle as the moved against hers. Not wanting to scare her. Or him. It had been a long time and the last time he had kissed someone he had been different. But kissing her felt right.
----------------------
Wasted. She was wasted right? The world around her began to tilt. Yeah definitely drunk off her ass. Bunny tail. The words popped into her groggy head and she burst out into laughter. "You like this baby," some random guy began to nibble on her neck. He had followed her into this abounded room on her search for more hard liquor. He was cute in an unobvious sort of way. She was drunk and horny so he would do. For now. Something inside burning for Nathan. Her head full of him. Imagining it was his lips that touched her.
"Mmmmm," Nice . It felt good. Really good. But at the same time wrong.
He pushed her back onto a bed. At least she thought it was a bed. Felt like one. He shoved his tongue in her mouth and everything in her froze. Breaking through the fog she had been in. Slut. Her mother's words filtered through the haze. Her stomach began to roll in disgust. She pushed at the guy's chest, but his hands pinned her down. Unhooking the back of her costume. "Get off," she screamed as loud as she could, knowing the sounds of the party downstairs would mute her cries for help. She tried to bring her knee up to hit him in the groin, but he blocked the motion.
"You like that?" he rammed the palm of his hand against her pelvis and she whimpered in pain.
The alcohol settled back in her brain, liquefying her limbs. She wanted to fight, but she was too wasted. Maybe even a little high though she couldn't remember doing any drugs. She sunk into the mattress, uselessly pushing up against his chest. Suddenly he was gone, flung away from her.
She opened her eyes. Nathan's face entered her field of vision, "You okay?"
If she had been any other girl she would have wept in relief, but she just carefully studied him and nodded. "I'm fine." He looked like a rap star gone bad. Gaudy gold chains hung around his neck, almost touching her chest. He was closer than she had realized. She recognized the baggy jeans and white shirt he was wearing. Nothing new. She wanted to reach up and pull him down on top of her. He was the one she wanted to do this with. But something stopped her. The utter look of hate on her mother's face as she flung nasty words at her head filled her mind once again. It affected her more than she wanted it to. She had tried to dull it with alcohol, but it was still there.
"Where's your costume?" she smiled up at him, her lips trembling a little.
"This is my costume."
"Hmmm looks like what you usually wear."
"Could say the same for you." He smirked, "I didn't want to dress up for this stupid party, I just came to drink."
"Mmm me too."
"I'm kind of drunk," he swayed to the side. "Wanna fuck?"
Here was her chance. Her opportunity, but she let it slip by. "No."
"Me either." He rested the palm of his hand on her stomach for a second before pulling it away, "You look hot."
"You're drunk,"
"So are you." He fell onto the bed beside her. The sides of their bodies lightly touched, sending a spark of electric current through them both. Not entirely sexual, the realization jolting them both.
"My mom was right," she mumbled miserably.
"What for….or about…"
"I'm a slut." Her head ached, she just wanted to sleep this off.
"Coulda been worse," he didn't know why he was saying this. His head was spinning and for once it didn't matter.
"How?"
"She could pay attention all the time." Silence settled between them, through their drunken haze laid a current of understanding. Something real admist the games they played.
"I should get Peyton to take us home.." her words slurred together. He nodded, but neither moved, just laying there, not speaking again until Peyton found them.
----------------
Click. Click. Click.
Peyton shook the blue lighter that she held in her right hand loosely. She hadn't used her lighter in weeks, not since the anniversary of her mother's death.
Click. Click. Click. Flame.
She inhaled the nicotine into her lungs and slowly expelled it through her lips into the musty air of her bedroom.
The smoke almost alive. Curling through the dim room. Wrapping around her bedposts. Moving through the curtains and through the mussed bedclothes. Sliding across the empty walls. They had been blank since she had broken up with Nathan. Various stray pencil marks on each wall. Bold black against soft brown. Harsh lines corrupting the softness of the walls. Incomplete drawings. Left unfinished. Ones she couldn't paint over. To get rid of the potential.
She stood up, away from the chair she had been sitting in and walked to her door. Broken glass littering the hardwood floor. A reminder of that night. Him begging her for everything. The terror that had clutched her chest at the words. The confusion. The anger. The insecurity. The loathing. The feelings that had been born that night extending into the future. Still swirling through her chest. Eating at her. Preying on her mind.
She had never cleaned it up. Letting her web cam sit in the pile of broken dreams. Shattered emotions. Exploding out of her body. Consuming her life. Ripping into his.
It was time to put the camera back. An unspoken invitation back into her life. Ashes fell off the end of her cigarette onto the shards of glass. Time to clean it up. The nicotine filled her with calm. Swishing through her body, relaxing every muscle, soothing every nerve. She flicked the cigarette onto the floor and smashed it beneath her foot into the glass. It crunched beneath the shoes.
Twenty minutes later the glass was gone and the old, broken web cam was gone. In its place a new one her dad had sent her with his last package. She was back in her chair, the web cam winking at her with its red eye. On, but not connected. Not inviting in the world again. All it took was a ….click. On again. After so many weeks. People could watch her again. He could. She knew he would. Always watching. The thought settled in her chest, warm.
She leaned forward, hazel eyes flashing back at her. She blinked. "I'm Peyton Sawyer," her voice was quiet. Barely audible. She moved her face, distorted colors filled the window. Her face bare, stripped of anything but honesty. Flashing peach across the screen. Blurry.
She moved back until her upper body was visible. Her curls flat. Her face drawn, tired. The makeup she had worn at the party earlier wiped off, faint traces of it tinged her lips and cheeks. Her shoulders jutted out as the ill fitting grey t-shirt slid down her arms. Arms skinny and long. Bony. Her collarbone cut across her skin. Nothing out of the ordinary. She was average. Maybe below that. Why anyone found her attractive she didn't know. She was too scrawny. Too gaunt. Too harsh. Too stark.
She leaned forward again. "I know you're watching." She could feel him on the other side, boring holes into her body. Every movement. Every word. Reaching his eyes and ears. "Why do you watch?" She squinted into the red eye, trying to find him on the other side. Hear his answer.
An IM popped up on her screen and she jumped back in surprise. "You're beautiful." It was from him. He was there. Listening. Watching. She suddenly felt exposed. Vulnerable. It was one thing to assume he was out there somewhere, seeing her, but the actual proof was unnerving.
She didn't answer; just let the words glow on her screen. Cutting into her heart. No one had ever called her that before. She had been called all sorts of things. A bitch. A slut. Hot piece of ass. Fuckable. Words that had no meaning. Just more words that pressed into her and never left. Labels she wore. But his stripped all that away. They shimmered. He meant them.
"Beautiful," she touched one of the curls that fell over her shoulder. "You think I'm beautiful. Why?" Words she could never ask him face to face. Now made easier. The answer just as risky. The question not as much. It seemed more private. More contained.
"You just are." Simplicity. Avoidance. A real answer. His words came with no expectations. If he had wanted sex it would have happened. He could have it. He knew it. She knew it. But it hadn't. Because she was beautiful. Her heart shifted, swelled. Opening. Slightly.
"Do you want this?" Her voice angry despite the warmth. Spurred by fear. Her own self-disgust. Forgetting the hug and conversation at the party. Easier to be this way when he wasn't close by. Easier to hurt him. Hurt herself. She grabbed the rim of her shirt and started to lift it.
"Stop. You're better than this."
She let go of her shirt and gaped into the cam. Her eyes hard, unreadable. Her heart moving. Thawing. "This is me," Resistance. Denial.
"It isn't, you just think it is." Firm. Clear. Determined.
How did he know? She felt he had climbed into her head, reading her thoughts. Touching her emotions. That's me inside your head. His words from long ago rose to her mind. Simple lyrics had turned into truth. She wanted to turn it off, to block him again. To push him away. To close the door she had opened. But she found she didn't want to. Not again. She shrugged and stood up. Nonchalant as she could muster. "You should take what is offered, it may be all you get."
She looked at the computer expectantly. Hoping for a response. Waiting for the dig to sink in. To splinter and bruise him. But there was nothing. Only silence. "Goodnight Lucas," she leaned over to turn the cam off when another IM popped onto the screen. "Night Peyton,"
She switched the cam off and smiled, whispering into the silent room, "Maybe…" she paused thoughtfully, a small smile curling her lips, "I like that you're watching."
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A/N: This wasn't exactly my favorite chapter, but everything that happened is setting up what is to come. I know this was really LP oriented, but Jaley will get a bigger role in it since they've reached the point I've been building up. They all have in essence. Their guards are starting to crumble and the masks they wear are falling away. Also I know Peyton was kind of all over the place in this update, but I was trying to depict the emotional struggle she is facing and her gradual acceptance of him. Sorry these updates are taking so long to crank out, with school starting up for me next week I don't know when the next will be, but I will finish this fic. Don't worry about that. If you read please review.