A/N: Hey guys! Finally, we get our first bit of Leyton interaction! Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own One Tree Hill.

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Chapter Six: Like I Could Really Stay Away

January 26th 2006

It's Monday. Another wonderful week of school begins! (That's sarcasm in case you're wondering). I had an English project due last period and a Math test fourth period. Math, I wasn't worried about. You can't really study for Math anyways. Especially this Geometry crap their teaching us. When am I going to use this anyways? That's my usual response for Ms. Henderson when she tells me to try harder. Her response is that all artists need to know angles and shapes. But that's bullshit because I draw with my eye not a ruler and compass.

Art is not a matter of calculations and preciseness. It's trial and error. It's mistakes. Now that I think about it…maybe that's why I like art so much. After all, I'm a walking, talking, breathing mistake. I mean I wasn't a planned pregnancy, now was I? I was a mistake. I was given up for adoption by my birthmother. Then, the first time I truly fell in love, it was a mistake. His words, not mine. I thought it was wrong, but I wouldn't take it back. Lucas, on the other hand, would because it hurt Brooke.

Poor, precious Brooke. Lucas really hurt her. Who cares how Peyton felt after Lucas broke her heart! Twice, mind you! First being when he decided to jump in the sack with one Brooke Davis not even a couple of days after saying he wanted to be with me!

Second being when he slept with some bar slut not more than two weeks after we broke up! No those heartbreaks don't matter because they were mistakes! All we should focus on is Brooke. Because Lucas really hurt Brooke. As for Peyton, she'll live. She always does.

As you can tell, I'm in a really broody, bitter mood today. I don't even know why. I just am. I mean yesterday I was really chipper. Life almost seemed like it was getting back on track. Then this morning I wake up with a killer headache. I go downstairs to get some Advil and what do I find? Brooke's hidden "PMS bag" of candy on the back shelf. I start thinking of Brooke, promising myself I won't cry. Losing your best friend is a lot harder than I might make it sound. Sure, I hate her for everything she's put me through. I hate the fact that she wouldn't listen to me. Or the fact that it was always Brooke number one and Peyton number two. I hate that the difference between me and her is I gave up Lucas for her. She would never even consider it.

I hate all those things and yet I love her so much for everything else. She stood by me when no one else would. I was the awkward, gangly blonde girl with really long legs who everyone was afraid of. But Brooke didn't see that. She was the girl who sat with me through two months of tears and anger when my mom died. She came over with arms full of chick flicks when my dad left for long boating trips and I felt lonely. She didn't mind the bitchy, cold person I could be. She learned to adapt to it and work around it. She made it her goal to brighten my day when I was brooding. And now I don't have that. Yeah, I hate Brooke Davis now, but I also miss her. The old her, that is. The girl she was before Lucas Scott.

So, as you can see, today hasn't been good. Right now, I'm chipping away the paint on my fingernails while some kid rattles on and on about Chaucer or maybe it's Marlowe. I don't know. I'm not really paying attention. English presentations are always so boring. All I know is, I have ten minutes left in this stupid class and then I'm home free. Another day crossed off my calendar.

Ten minutes go by painfully slow, but eventually the bell rings and I bolt out of there faster than you can say, "Tree Hill High". I'm home in a matter of minutes, having peeled out of the parking lot doing at least seventy (No joke…). I make my way up to my room, throw my backpack on my bed and take a seat on my computer chair. I was in a rush to go nowhere. I've got no homework and no plans for another three hours. What the hell am I going to do?

Sketch. Yeah, I know, that's the most predictable answer there is, but with the day I had, I'm sure I can think of something dark and depressing to add to my wall. And besides, my sketchbook is just lying out there, waiting to be drawn in. It's calling me. I pull out a sharp pencil and let it move around the paper. I love the way I draw. It's effortless. My mind tells me where to move the pencil, how hard to press down on it to get the effect I want. Yet, it's like I'm oblivious to the work I create. I usually don't even notice what I'm drawing until I finish it. This drawing takes me about twenty minutes and when I look to see what I've drawn, I frown.

It's a picture of Brooke and I in our snow fort back in sixth grade. We're both huddled together in the middle of it, smiles glued to our faces. We look genuinely happy. I notice that the fort I drew is slowly starting to melt in the picture. Our safe haven is deteriorating before my very eyes. I tentatively place my pencil at the top of the work and etch in my caption. "Before the World Happened." Well, this is definitely depressing enough for my wall. I'm searching through my desk for a tack when I hear someone enter my room. Looking up, it's the last person I want to see right now. Lucas Scott.

"Hey," he says shyly, shoving his hands in his pockets. I can tell he's nervous. He should be. I don't know whether to yell or throw something at him. I opt for silence and continue looking through my drawers for that tack.

"Not speaking to me, huh?" he says. When I clearly don't answer, he continues, "I deserve that. I don't know what I can say to make it better. I guess I should start by saying, I'm sorry." At this point, I find my tack and walk over to the wall where I'm putting my picture. I'm listening, but trying to appear like I'm not caring, "I should have called you or came to see you, but with Brooke and all her trust issues, I just didn't want to-" I cut him off with a loud banging of my hammer on the tack. I don't want to hear about Brooke anyways.

"Peyton, are you even listening to me?" he asks. I turn around to face him, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You should just get 'I'm sorry' tattooed on your forehead, Lucas," I say with narrowed eyes, "It might save you some time with all the apologies you have to make." I make my way back to my desk, searching for my cigarettes. The walls are closing in again thanks to Lucas. I really need something to occupy my hands. Otherwise I'll be fidgeting, and fidgeting is a sign of weakness. And I don't want Lucas to see me as weak.

"Nathan told me that you didn't want to see me," he says.

"I believe my exact words were something along the lines of fuck you, Lucas. If you cared, you'd be the one asking me that. So just stay the fuck away."

"So you weren't drunk when you said that," Lucas muses. I glare at him fiercely.

"I don't get drunk. I drink and believe me, there's a difference."

"I'm sure there is." The way he says it is so smug that I just want to club him with this hammer I have, but I restrain myself. I have to remain apathetic and aloof.

"You can leave now, you know. I already heard your little pathetic excuse."

"I'm not leaving until I know you and I are good."

"Well then you won't be leaving for awhile because you and I aren't good and no excuse is going to make it all better!" I yell. So much for staying aloof…

"Peyton, what was I supposed to do?"

"Care! That's all I wanted from you Lucas! You're supposed to be my friend! And I get that Brooke is your girlfriend and that you have to be loyal to her too, but God damnit Luke you could have at least called! You could have stopped by! It shouldn't have taken you three weeks to come see me!"

"You didn't exactly make an effort to see me, did you?"

"Brooke doesn't want me anywhere near you! I didn't want to incite her anger."

"So what you did at the game with Rachel and Bevin wasn't to piss her off?"

"There's a difference between that and going to see you and you know it," I hiss, "See that's the thing Lucas. You have to change the subject because you have no good excuse for why you didn't come to see me."

"I didn't want to piss off Brooke either."

"Well you know what Lucas! Grow some balls!" I yell. I finally found my cigarettes, and just in time too. My hands are shaking like crazy.

"Are you asking me to choose between you two?" he asks quietly as I light my cigarette.

"No, Brooke already gave you that choice and you made it," I spit bitterly.

"I didn't make a choice," he says frowning. I take a drag of my cigarette and soften my voice when I speak again.

"But you did. And I shouldn't have expected it to be any other way. Your heart's with her and that means you have to make sacrifices to keep her happy. And if I'm a sacrifice, then fine. Just don't come here spewing off some bullshit about being sorry about it. I don't need your pity."

"I'm not giving you up, Peyton," he says firmly, "I need you as a friend."

"Brooke asked you to give me up, so you should do that."

"Like I could stay away," he mutters into his hands, thinking I don't hear him. He comes closer and pulls the cigarette out of my mouth suddenly causing me to gasp.

"Hey!"

"Cigarettes kill," he dies it out in my ashtray.

"Those are expensive."

"And deadly."

"I think I got that the first time you said it."

"When'd you start smoking?" he asks.

"After the wedding," I say quietly.

"Didn't Ellie die of breast cancer?"

"Yeah, I know! I'm a terrible daughter for smoking! But what else did I have, Lucas? I need something to calm me down!" I close my eyes and I feel the tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes. I put my head in my hands. Suddenly I feel a pair of arms reach around me and pull me into a hug. I fight him off at first, punching him in the chest, but he doesn't let me go.

"It's ok, Peyton," he whispers in my ear, "You're a good person."

"You can't just do this! You can't just come back here and make everything all right," I cry. I'm no longer fighting him.

"It's not going to be all right," he says honestly, "But I'm here for you, now. I promise."

"Whatever," I mutter into his shirt. He laughs at my attempt to be tough. He knows he's broke down my walls, yet again, "I'm not giving up drinking, just so you know."

"How about the smoking?"

"We'll see."

"Are we good now?" he asks as I pull out of his embrace. I wipe the tears from my eyes.

"As good as we'll ever be," I say, chuckling, "You're a terrible friend."

"I've noticed."

"Just don't worry about me at school, ok?" I say fixing the collar on his shirt, "Brooke doesn't need to know about us still being friends."

"I'm not ashamed of it, Peyt. Besides, didn't you just tell me to grow some balls?"

"Yeah well I'm just making sure you don't get those balls chopped off."

"Well thank you for that."

"What are friends for?" I say sarcastically. I'll never know how Lucas Scott is able to make me go from totally hating him to totally loving him within a matter of ten minutes. The problem is I totally love him and he totally loves Brooke. And that can only spell one thing: total disaster.