I'm tempted to call Brooke again, just to see if she's gotten herself into any trouble yet. And then my subconscious reminds me of the new, less naughty version of my best friend. But she still is Brooke Davis, personality makeover or not. Her priorities might have changed, but she still has that devious little devil lurking on her shoulder on occasion. Which is actually one of the reasons I love her, she's not afraid to say or do what the rest of us would never have the guts to.
I really shouldn't bother making up excuses though. The simple truth is that I miss her.
My hand is halfway to my cell phone before I hesitate, my arm hanging limply off the side of my bed towards my nightstand.
Do I really want to do this?
She's going to be gone for at least three months, I remind myself for what must be the dozenth time in the last twelve hours. She's probably on the beach soaking up the sun, the last thing she'd want is for me bug her. I mentally slap myself for that thought as soon as it enters my mind though, because I know the last thing Brooke would think is that I'm bugging her.
After all, she's the one who waltzes into my bedroom completely unannounced at any given time of the day.
My hand is still hanging in the air, waiting for my brain to finally make up it's overcomplicated mind. Instead of grabbing my cell, I open the drawer below it, reaching inside for my familiar leather bound journal. It's something that I've taken comfort in over the years. As much as I love Brooke, and I trust her implicitly, there are just some things that I can't share, even with her. But I can write them all down in my journal, knowing that my mind won't be plagued by silencing the thoughts and I don't need to worry about someone else twisting them around by interpretation.
Instead of wrapping my fingers around the leather binding, my knuckles hit against the bottom of the wooden drawer. I sit up, suddenly panicked, wondering why it's not where I left it. My nightstand is empty, save for a few charcoal pencils and a spare piece of sketch paper.
Where the hell is it? It stays in my drawer unconditionally, I never move it someplace else, for fear of my father or even Brooke finding it. But they both never cross that boundary into my nightstand, and I've been grateful for that. I don't like the idea of hiding something from them, but I'm certainly not ready to share the years worth of drabbles that I've built up in it. Maybe a decade from now I can hand it to Brooke and let her finally know ALL of me, but not now, not when she can still break my heart if she doesn't like or even understand what she finds out.
But the last place my journal could possibly is with Brooke, so my panic is slightly abating. The question still remains, if I didn't move it, then who did?
I apologize for the tiny size of this update, but this was the best ending place, I just wanted a small little Peyton POV before starting to delve into the real meat of the story, which of course is the B/P relationship. So far I've just been kinda teasing. I promise in the next couple parts we'll finally get at least ONE of them to come to grips with their feelings. ;) Thanks again for the incredible support. I think I'm doing a decent job of updating pretty quick, which is REALLY odd for me. So if it starts slowing down, please just be patient with me. Thanks again, sorry for rambling on!
