Peyton Sawyer sat on the floor of her red bedroom, as luscious, blonde curls cascaded her face. Paper covering the ground, a glance of hard wood floor was visible. Art was her life, and anyone important to her knew that. So, why didn't he know that. She stared at the sketches, so many atleast fifty surrounding her body.
She was wearing light blue boxers and a white cami, it was a hot, summer night and surprisingly her hair hadn't begun to frizz. She looked at the drawings, some of Brooke, Haley, most of her, and some of him. He didn't know that he toiled with her feelings, that even though she wouldn't show him, he made her vulnerable. He made her cry at night, and to this very day, she's jealous of one of her best friends. That same friend had him; she won him. He had never really loved her, that's the way she saw it. He didn't know how much she needed him. How much she wanted him. How much she would do anything to be held in his arms one last time. To laugh with him. Or yell at him. She would love to spend some time with him. Alone. Without the company of their friends, or the basketball team and the cheerleaders forced in to one room while drinking beers and grinding along to the newest 50 Cent record. She wanted him to smile at her again. Peyton needed Nathan to look at her again. She needed him to look at her like he loved her again.
