CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Pick me up off the floor

Brooke clenched her jaw, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. She blinked twice at the ceiling she had been staring at, and wondered where she was, until she recognized the bed she was lying on and the furniture surrounding it. She was in a room that was both foreign and familiar to her: foreign because she had never lived there ─ not yet ─ and familiar because she had already been there three times.

She slowly slid off the bed and wrapped her arms around her body; she had never been this cold before. She looked down, realized that she was wearing a short-sleeved dress and flip-flops, and gazed around, wondering where she could find a more suitable outfit.

Her feet led her outside of the bedroom; she wasn't really walking, but rather… gliding. Yes, she seemed to be gliding down the hallway, stopping for a second to stare at her reflection in the mirror, confusion spreading in her mind. She couldn't tell why, but her appearance ─ the one she currently had, in her senior year ─ did not match her surroundings. In fact, it felt unnatural.

She didn't linger on that thought and kept moving until she reached the living room. It hadn't changed; it was still wide and luminous. She stopped at the bay window and admired the view over Brooklyn; her eyes scanned the sky, searching in vain for any clouds, then followed a group of birds flying in elegant loops and dancing around flowering trees ─ why was she so cold? wasn't it spring now? ─ and finally, she stared at the cars below, although from her perspective they looked like tiny colored dots, constantly moving. Well, not all of them were moving: one dot was still, one that was blue… It was a blue that bothered her, one that was making her skin crawl, but why? She had seen it before, and she should have known where, but for some reason she couldn't quite recall wh ─

"Are you ready now?" a child asked behind her.

Brooke turned around and glanced down at the blonde boy standing in front of her, his hands struggling to hold an animal cage that was almost half his size. "Ready for what?" Before Jamie could answer, she noticed that the cage door was open. "Where's Chester?" she asked, leaning forward to take a better look at the empty cage.

Jamie followed her gaze and put the cage down. "I don't know," he answered with a shrug.

"We can't leave without him," Brooke stated, her hands on her hips ─ and as the words crossed her lips, she wondered why she was saying them.

"Are you─"

"We have to find him", she said in a firm voice, her eyes darting from one end of the room to the other, frantically searching for the furry animal.

And then she did see it, wagging its tail at them, and hopping down the hallway. Brooke followed the rabbit until it reached the bedroom she had just woken up in, and when she saw it wriggle its body through the door crack, she rushed inside, pushing the door open and throwing herself in.

Brooke's eyes snapped open; her head was resting on a desk. When someone cleared their throat right above her, her body jerked up and she sent an apologetic look to her homeroom teacher.

"Looks like Miss Davis didn't get enough sleep last night," he said, shaking his head at her.

She blinked at him, feeling an odd sense of déjà-vu. She was colder than before, freezing even, and when she briefly looked down at her nails, she was surprised that they hadn't turned blue yet. "I… I'm sorry," she murmured sheepishly, her voice unusually hoarse.

Thankfully, her teacher strode to the other end of the room, focusing back on whatever he had been talking about before Brooke had woken up. All of her classmates turned to face him ─ all but the one on her left.

"What's wrong?"

Brooke turned her head to Peyton, who was staring at her with a worried expression. She was about to answer that she was fine, but found herself unable to, and instead wondered why she had this overwhelming feeling that something was off. "Where's Jamie?" she whispered.

Peyton frowned in confusion. "Who?" she asked back, her head tilted.

Before she could tell her about the little boy, Brooke suddenly found herself choking ─ yes, choking on thin air: one moment she was breathing just fine, and the next, she was struggling to get a single whiff of oxygen in. She went through a violent coughing fit, one that seemed to last forever, one where she could feel that all of her breathing muscles, every single one of them, were fighting to keep her alive.

"What's wrong?" another voice asked, this time from her right.

She could breathe now, but she could also feel a pressure on her chest, regularly beating against her breastbone. She tried to ignore it and turned to Lucas, who was kneeling next to her, unbothered by the rest of their classroom. "Nothing," Brooke answered with a faint smile. "I'm ─" Before she could say she was fine, she stopped: wasn't that a lie? Why did it sound like a lie? She briefly glanced down at her feet and frowned at her soaked sandals. "I'm so cold," she whispered, hoping that only Lucas could hear her.

His hand squeezed her thigh, making her look back at him. "What's wrong?" he repeated, his eyes locked onto hers.

"I ─" She yelped when a sharp pain went through her left ankle. She looked down and gasped at the rabbit nibbling her skin and with a swing, made it run off. And then she remembered that, for some reason ─ what was it again? ─ she needed to catch it before… Before what?

Her body acted faster than her mind: she jolted on her feet and ran through the room, blatantly ignored by her classmates and her teacher, who kept talking as if nothing was disturbing his class. The rabbit slalomed around the students and Brooke went after it, grazing its tail several times but failing to properly catch it. She groaned and watched as the rabbit dove behind the teacher's desk; without any hesitation, she followed it.

It should have been under the desk, and where else could it have been, since it hadn't come out? Yet when Brooke crawled underneath it, she didn't see any furry animal. She sighed and slowly crawled further, moving blindly in the pitch-black, until she couldn't hear her teacher anymore. After a short while, she saw a glimmer far from her, and went for it, straight ahead; as she creeped toward it, the light became bigger and bigger, until it was blinding her and she had to cover her eyes.

Brooke stopped right before ramming head-first into a wall. She blinked and looked around her briefly, then got up on her feet. Dan Scott's former study was almost empty, only filled with a desk ─ under which she had apparently just come out ─ a few empty shelves and numerous cardboard boxes scattered across the wooden floor. She noticed with relief that she wasn't cold anymore and turned to look outside: the rain was pouring hard, blurring the window panes and making it hard for her to see anything. She did manage to make out a silhouette down there, a car parked right below the window: a blue car, one that she had seen before but ─

She jumped up when she heard a rustling noise behind her and swung around; she wasn't alone anymore, someone was sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Brooke could only see his back, but that was enough for her to recognize her childhood friend.

"Hey, Nate, have you seen a rabbit? Nate?"

Nathan wasn't paying attention to her, he was rummaging through one of the boxes. When she knelt next to him, she saw that dozens of pictures were spread on the floor before them; Nathan kept moving them, one to the left, another to the right, as if he was trying to solve a puzzle. When he noticed her, he took a picture in his hand and handed it to her: it showed Brooke, Nathan and Peyton dressed as skeletons. "Why?" she asked him, cocking her head to the side.

"You wanted it, didn't you?" he asked back.

She knew this picture wasn't supposed to be there. Where was it again? Not here, she had already been through this. "Yeah, but─"

She gasped and swiftly covered her eyes, suddenly blinded by a gush of light coming from the ceiling. She tried looking through her fingers to see what was going on, but failed as the light was threatening to burn her eyes. And then it vanished, as suddenly as it had appeared, and Brooke could safely uncover her eyes. She stared bemusedly at the ceiling: there was a single lightbulb up there, one that shouldn't have been able to produce such a light. Her eyes moved to Nathan, who seemed unbothered by what had just happened, and then suddenly caught a glimpse of white fur, coming out from the door crack.

She jumped to her feet and ran toward the door; the rabbit was leaping down the hallway, heading for the stairs, and once again, Brooke followed closely, her body moving at an incredible speed, yet somehow not fast enough to catch the damn animal. She rushed down the stairs, stumbling twice; she was so focused on getting that rabbit that it took her three flights of stairs to notice that Nathan's staircase wasn't that long, and that for some reason, although she was going downstairs, it felt like she was going up ─ was that even possible? no it wasn't, of course it wasn't, and yet that was exactly what was happening to her ─ and she kept going up, up, up, until the steps started narrowing more and more, and the carpet disappeared, and the entire staircase turned into a ladder that she was climbing. When there were no more steps to climb, she glanced over her head and opened the trapdoor.

Mouth and Haley were sitting around the coffee table, their heads bent over a board game. When Brooke climbed into the attic, they both turned to her with grave looks and motioned to the table.

"Do you want in?" Haley asked her, holding out the dice in her hand.

Brooke frowned, her hand moving to her chest, where the pressure had disappeared. "I don't know," she answered uneasily, her eyes glued to the Game of life they had been playing.

"Why?"

Before Brooke could elaborate, she suddenly felt something stuck in her throat ─ and it wasn't just an impression, something was definitely clogging her windpipe. Oddly enough, it wasn't preventing her from breathing, but she wanted it out of her body; her eyes brimming with tears, she clasped her neck with both hands and pressed as hard as she could, but even after almost choking herself, she failed to get it out.

She sniffled, quickly wiped the tears on her cheeks and glanced around her. "Something's missing," she mused. Coffee table: check. Old and dusty boxes: check. Fairy lights: check. Then why did it feel like something else should have been there, at the end of the attic, somewhere behind her friends? "Hey, where's─"

"Shh!" Mouth hissed. "We're trying to win here."

"It's just a game," Brooke retorted, rolling her eyes.

Mouth's glare sent chills down her spine; she wasn't used to seeing him like this. He then ignored her and stared back at the game, watching with utmost attention as Haley was rolling the dice. Brooke didn't ponder long on staying there: never had she felt so uncomfortable in this attic. Thankfully, just as she was thinking of finding a way out, the rabbit appeared once again, almost out of thin air, and invited her to follow it behind the boxes stacked at the end of the room.

When she did, the boxes slowly faded away, and then the floor started changing; she looked down to see that the wooden tiles had turned into gravel. Brooke was about to check her surroundings when she bumped into something soft. She took a step back and had to cover her eyes from the sun before she could recognize the Café's rooftop. Lucas was standing in front of her, half of his face shadowed, and he was holding a golf club, getting ready to hit the ball at his feet.

"Luke?"

He didn't answer, and instead, sent the ball flying somewhere over town. His eyes lingered a moment on the horizon, where the ball had disappeared, before he sighed and took another one out of his pocket. He tried another couple of times and kept missing his target. Brooke cleared her throat, trying to ignore the weird object that was still stuck in it, and said, "Luke? I'm looking for the rabbit, have you seen it?"

"I don't get it," he murmured, his eyes glued to the mini golf. "It should go in."

"Lucas, please."

He finally turned to face her. "What's wrong?" he asked with a concerned frown.

"N─ Nothing," she stammered as she suddenly felt nervous.

His gaze hardened on her, turning into a scowl. "You're lying." Once again, he tried scoring but failed miserably. Brooke sighed and touched his arm, only for him to yank it away. She felt a pang in her chest and found herself struggling not to break down in tears. When he noticed it, he turned to her with an apologetic face and gently stroked her cheek. "I'm sorry. It's just that… I can tell you're lying. I just want to help you, don't you see that?"

"I do." She sighed, then walked over to the edge of the rooftop. Lucas came behind her, circled her waist with his arms and kissed her head. She looked below them, and noticed a blue car parked right across the street. It was close enough for her to see that it was a blue Chevrolet. "I need to find that rabbit," she blurted, turning to face Lucas.

"Why?"

That was a good question: why, again, did she need to do that? "I need it to go."

"Go where?"

"I don't know," she admitted with a shrug.

He sighed and pointed to the other end of the rooftop, toward the door. "It went that way."

"Really?" she asked, following him as he walked over to the brick wall. Wasn't that where he kept his predictions hidden? "Where exactly?"

"Jumped through that hole," Lucas explained as he pointed to a black spot. A single brick was missing, but the rabbit would have never been small enough to ─ "Go on, take a look."

Although Brooke sent him a perplexed look, she obeyed and peered into the hole; it was all black. "I can't see anything."

Then, as if her body was moving on its own, she slid her right hand in the hole and realized that she could go all the way up to her shoulder and still couldn't touch anything. And then she put the other hand in ─ she shouldn't have been able to, but it was as if the hole was getting just wider enough for it to go through, and it kept going wider as she passed her head, then her left leg and finally her right leg. A scream escaped her lips when she found herself falling at high speed, head first, into a pit of darkness.

She couldn't see anything, nor hear anything, but despite that she desperately tried to find something to hold on to; she stretched out her arms, grazing what felt like bricks, but failed to grab them as the walls around her were too slippery.

Brooke kept falling, until she landed with a loud splash and shut her eyes tight as she kept diving into cold waters. When she opened them, her feet were on a muddy ground; she moved around, trying to make out something through the seaweed, and after swimming for a bit, finally found what she had been looking for.

The rabbit was right in front of her, lying on its side. As she approached it, Brooke noticed the tremors going through its body; its eyes were wide open, and Brooke could tell that they were filled with pain. She held out a hand, reaching for its foot, and just as her fingers grazed it, she felt something ─ a hand maybe ─ grabbing her neck and pulling her up. She screamed, though it only came out as a muffled sound, and tried swimming back to the rabbit, but her body kept being pulled away from it, and so she closed her eyes and felt herself going up, until she gasped as she came out of the water and landed on a hard ground.

She opened her eyes and watched the starry sky above her; it was breathtaking. Still in a daze, Brooke sat up, her legs dangling over a bridge, and she noticed that she was clutching something in her hand: the rabbit's foot, tainted with blood that kept dripping on her dress ─ luckily, it was already red. She turned to her right, where Peyton was sitting: her Prom dress was also drenched and muddy, but she looked somewhat serene, and she was holding a cat on her lap, petting its head absent-mindedly as she was staring at the lake below them. Brooke looked down at the rabbit's foot; she had to go back in there, didn't she? Otherwise, the rabbit would ─

"Don't," Peyton told her, her gaze focused on the cat.

"But the rabbit, I need to ─"

"Don't," she repeated. "It's too late."

Brooke's blood drained from her face. "Is it dead?"

"No, not yet. But it will be soon," her friend answered as she kept petting the cat.

Brooke looked down at the animal. Didn't she know that cat? She could swear she had already seen it somewhere. She then looked around them and realized that they were sitting on the Molina bridge. "C─ Can we get out of here?" she asked, her hand squeezing the rabbit's foot.

"No," Peyton answered with a sigh.

Brooke looked around again, until her eyes found a car parked at the other end of the bridge, a blue Chevrolet. "Peyton ─" She turned to her friend as she remembered where she had seen this cat before: "Schrödinger. That's Schrödinger, right?"

Peyton's lips stretched into a faint smile, and she finally looked up. "Correct."

Brooke looked over to her left; the car was still unmoving, but it was somehow now closer to them. "Why is it here?" she mused out loud.

"I think it's lost." Brooke frowned, confused by her answer, and then understood that she was talking about the orange cat; it was sleeping so peacefully, that she couldn't even tell if it was breathing… Maybe it wasn't. Peyton smiled at her and asked: "What would you do?"

"About what?"

"The box," she said, motioning to Schrödinger. "Would you open it?"

Brooke wondered why Peyton didn't seem bothered by the car that was now even closer than before, but answered nonetheless: "No," she said, her quaver betraying her doubt. "I don't want to know what's inside."

"Doesn't sound like you," Peyton said with a chuckle.

She was right, but… "What if it hurts too much?" she asked in a faint voice.

"So? What if it does?" Peyton shrugged and gazed down at the cat. "I'm sure it'll get better after a while."

"What would you do, then?"

Peyton was quick to answer. "I'd open it," she assured. "And you would, too." She paused, deep in thought, then added: "You should."

"I─ I don't want to," Brooke whispered. She turned to her left, a sense of dread coursing through her body when she saw that the car was now only a few feet away from them. "We have to go," she muttered, staring at the car.

She heard Peyton's voice ringing in her ear: "Open your eyes, Brooke." Before she could answer, Brooke's body was once again pulled upwards, her legs and arms dangling like a broken puppet in the pitch-black sky, and she closed her eyes, suddenly stunned by a surge of fear. "Open your eyes," she heard once again.

She did, and nothing made sense anymore; everything had gone from being black to white, with bits of green here and there, but she couldn't tell properly as her vision was blurred. She blinked, and after being blinded for a second, her eyes darted left and right, seeing nothing but a white ceiling. And then she felt that something was stuck in her throat, something big, and she coughed, and cried, wishing to get it out, but she couldn't move her arms ─ she wanted to, but nothing was responding. She could hear noises around her; at first, she couldn't make out the words said to her, as if she was hearing it all from the end of a very long tunnel, but slowly, she seemed to get closer to the people talking to her ─ the two green blurs towering above her ─ until she could clearly see a pair of green eyes looking at her, and a female, calm voice told her that she need not panic, that they had to put a tube in her throat to help her breathe, but now that she was awake they could take it out.

And finally, she did feel the tube being pulled out of her throat, and she gasped, and coughed; everything moved, or rather rolled, as she was put on her left side, until she wasn't coughing anymore and her breathing had settled down.

She was put on her back again, and this time Brooke could see the woman talking to her. "Hello Brooke, it's nice to finally talk to you." Brooke opened her mouth and tried to answer, but only a rasping sound came out of her. "Don't worry, it'll come back soon. I'm sure you have a lot of questions" ─ Brooke tried to nod but couldn't ─ "but you should rest for now. Doctor Adler will come check on you soon, when you're fully awake."

Brooke wanted to tell her that she had no idea what she was talking about, or where she was, or who that doctor was, but she was unable to utter a single word, and instead, felt her eyelids getting heavier and heavier, until they closed on their own.

The next time she opened her eyes, things were different: she was still groggy, her senses had yet to work correctly, but her mind was clearer. After a minute or so, she remembered what had happened the last time she had woken up, and she wondered how much time had gone by since then.

She could hear whispers not far from her, hushed voices deep in conversation, and tried to see who was there, but she couldn't even lift her head. Her eyes moved around, taking in the off-white ceiling and the walls around her, and when she recalled the woman who had talked to her and her words, and the bed she was lying on, she realized that she must be in a hospital. Once again, she tried to move her head, but she failed and groaned when a sharp pain spread from her neck to the rest of her body.

The whispering stopped abruptly and rushed footsteps approached her, until two familiar pairs of eyes were staring at her from above.

"Hey," Lucas murmured, his hand stroking her cheek. Brooke blinked at him, and for a short second, the pain and panic she was feeling seemed to diminish. "How are you feeling?"

Her eyes went from his face to Nathan, who was on her right, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Not great," she croaked ─ at least her voice was somewhat back.

She tried, again, to sit down, but before she could even move, Nathan put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Don't." She frowned at him, not because of his words, but because of his voice: she had never heard this tone from him, and she couldn't quite put a name on it. It wasn't anger, nor fright, but ─ She gasped when she felt her back move up on its own, and noticed the remote control Nathan was holding in his hand. When she was sitting up, the bed stopped moving. "Better?" he asked.

She nodded, and before she could ask him anything ─ although she had so many questions rushing in her mind right now that she wouldn't have known where to begin ─ he leaned toward her and pulled her into a tight hug. She felt a sharp pain in her limbs but didn't complain, and instead, focused on the way his hands were shaking as they were clutching her hospital gown. She sent a quizzical look to Lucas, who kept watching his brother with… well, with something that fit Nathan's whole demeanor, although she still couldn't name it.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice cracking on the first syllables.

Nathan didn't move, his arms still wrapped around her. "You're in the hospital," Lucas answered, his tone cautious. "You've been, um…" He paused, as if he was pondering on what to say next. "You've been in a coma for eight days."

Brooke stared at him in confusion; what was he talking about? She glanced at Nathan's head, still buried in her shoulder, and looked back at Lucas. "What are you…" her voice trailed off, sore.

Lucas kissed the top of her head then leaned back. "I'll go get your parents."

He sent a worried look to Nathan before quietly leaving the room. Brooke watched as the sliding glass doors opened on their own to let him out, and wondered whether she was dreaming or not. "My parents?" she repeated, bemused. Parents, plural? "My dad's here?"

This seemed to break Nathan out of his trance: he moved back, although he didn't get up from the bed, and gave her a nod. He opened his mouth, but instead of words, a weird croak came out; he cleared his throat and gave it another try: "Yeah, he flew in right after your ─" He fell silent, watching her cautiously, then asked: "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Um…" She frowned and tried to jog her memory. "People in green. A nurse, I think. Something being pulled out of my throat," she recalled with a wince.

"That was this morning, when you woke up." He hesitated and added: "And before that?"

"I don't ─" A car flashed into her mind, and with it, came a wave of panic: the blue Chevrolet was slamming straight into her. She looked down at her lap, her skin crawling as she noticed several tubes coming out of her forearms, and she closed her eyes, trying to remember something else. It was like reading a book whose pages had been smeared. She glanced at Nathan and noticed that his eyes were red, just like Lucas' had been, and that both of them looked like they hadn't slept in ages. "I, er ─" She remembered the cold, icy water. "I crashed into the lake," she murmured. "No," she corrected with a frown, "we crashed, I was with…" Her voice trailed off, as a dreadful feeling overcame her, and images kept flashing in her mind: Peyton playing with the keys, Keith's truck being pulled over, the Chevrolet racing toward them, Mouth shouting. "M─ Mouth," she stammered, suddenly short-of-breath, "Mouth, he wasn't supposed to… He w─ was with ─"

"He's fine," Nathan said, holding her shoulders. "He's fine," he repeated, "a little concussion and a few broken ribs, but nothing bad. He went home after a day. He, um…" He paused once again with hesitation. "He got out of the car and helped you out. You took most of the hit since you were sitting up front, and you passed out quickly."

The car. The blue Chevrolet. "Nate," she muttered, her eyes growing wide, "that car, I think it was ─"

"My dad, yes," he murmured, his eyes lowering, his hands moving away from her shoulders. Brooke's eyes followed them and saw them clench into tight fists. "He's dead." For a minute, she couldn't move, nor speak, too stunned to process what she was being told. When she finally could, she grabbed his hands and tightly squeezed them, making him meet her eyes. His brow furrowed slightly when he added: "The legist said it happened quickly, probably on the spot, before he even hit the water."

"B─ But… Why? What was he ─"

"You need to rest," Nathan cut her off, shaking his head slowly, "we can talk about all that later. You need to see the doctor first, and your parents too, they went to get lunch so that Luke and I could stay with you, since you can't have more than two people in here at once and ─"

"Nathan," she said, putting an end to his ramble, her voice so low that she could barely hear it herself. "What about…" she fell quiet, terrified to ask her question. Did she really want to have an answer? Did she really want to open the box ─ wait, what box, what was she thinking about now? "What about Peyton?" she asked, her voice quavering on her friend's name.

She could picture the newspaper article in her mind, as clearly as if she were looking at it; didn't it say "TWO DEAD"? Yes, it did, and now that she knew about Dan's fate, everything was adding up… but come on, it couldn't be, right? It could not be, not after the weeks she had spent worrying until she couldn't get any sleep, and not after they had done everything in their power to stay close to Peyton and to protect her, and, and… Wasn't the whole reason she could travel was so that she could save her? If she hadn't, if Peyton was ─ no, she couldn't be, but if she was, then what would have been the point of all this? And then Brooke took another look at Nathan's face, how his eyes were now avoiding hers, how he looked like he was about to burst into tears at any moment, and she finally put a name on the emotion that was spread over his face and tainting his voice: sorrow.

"Nathan?" she called again, her eyes brimming with tears. She knew him, which meant that she knew that he wasn't feeling this way because of Dan. He had never loved his father enough to be this crushed by his loss.

Nathan looked at her through wet eyes, his face telling her what his voice couldn't. He didn't need to speak, and when he slowly shook his head, Brooke's heart crumbled into pieces. He did say something, but she couldn't make out his words, because at that precise moment, her brain stopped working.

No.

No, no, no.

No way, he had to be wrong, somehow.

He must have misunderstood her question, or maybe she was dreaming ─ or rather, having a nightmare, the worst one she could come up with. There was no way, no way at all that after everything that had happened, Peyton had still ended up ─ No. No, no, no.

Nathan's arms wrapped around her again, shaking, and she felt a sharp pain in her ribcage but didn't say anything; something wet dripped on her shoulder ─ his tears, probably ─ and she knew that she should hug him back, but she couldn't. She couldn't move, she couldn't speak, as if she were frozen, which would explain a lot because she could feel her blood turn icy, numbing her from the inside.

The doors slid open, letting in hurried footsteps; right after Nathan pulled away from Brooke, she was crushed by another pair of arms. Her mother's sobbing voice came into her ear, asking her if she was okay, if she was hurting anywhere. Her father's hand was cradling her head, and his voice was telling her that he was so relieved to see her awake. Brooke wasn't paying attention to them, though: her eyes were glued to the tubes coming out of her skin, almost in a surreal way ─ yes, surreal, just like everything happening around her. What would happen if she were to pull them out, would she be able to wake up this time?

"Brooke?" Ted's voice called. "Brooke, can you hear us?" he asked when she didn't move. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"What happened?" Victoria asked. "Nathan, why is ─ Nathan?"

"I, er…" Nathan hesitated. "I told her."

Ted's hand tensed up. "You did what?" he asked, anger seeping through his voice. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" Nathan retorted in the same tone.

"We agreed that it was for the best if we waited until ─"

"Yeah, well, I wasn't gonna lie to her, not about this."

"But you─"

"Drop it Ted," Victoria whispered, her hand stroking her daughter's cheek. "I am so sorry honey," she said, her forehead pressed against Brooke's. "We're here for you."

Brooke could hear her mother's words, she could make out the syllables, but couldn't quite get them. Or maybe she didn't want to get them. Either way, her mind was focused on the tubes for now, and her fingers moved to fiddle with the one coming out of her left forearm. She wanted these damn tubes to be gone. She wanted to be ─

"Brooke, we know you must in shock right now," her father said, "but Dr Adler will come check on you in a minute, alright?"

"No," Brooke mumbled, her fingers still playing with the tube. It was filled with a transparent fluid, but when she moved her left hand up, it turned into blood. She tried focusing on that, rather than on the hole forming in her chest. The pitch-black, massive, empty hole that was growing there slowly, threatening to engulf all of her ─ she had to do something before it could, and she had a hunch these tubes weren't helping.

"Sorry?" her father asked in confusion.

"No," she repeated. "No, no, no." With each word, her voice cracked a little more, until she couldn't speak anymore; she shook her head, trying to get these thoughts out of her mind, trying not to think of the emptiness that was now becoming too much to handle, and she kept shaking her head, despite the shooting pain crushing her skull every time she did, hoping that this pain would numb everything else.

When it didn't, she gasped, and sobbed, and screamed, starling everyone around her. She felt her mother's grasp tightening, and despite her exhaustion, Brooke managed to push her away ─ adrenaline, probably ─ before grabbing the tube in her left arm and ripping it off. Blood gushed out of her skin and over the sheets; her mother screamed; her father gasped; Lucas' voice shouted to get some help and then the doors slid open. Brooke went for the other tube, but her father grabbed her arm and yelled at her to calm down; she couldn't, though, she didn't want to, she wanted to wake up, or sleep again, whichever would help, and then get out of this place. When her father's grip tightened, she writhed and tried shaking him off, and when he didn't let her, she bit his arm as hard as she could, making him scream and step away from her. Now she could finally get the other tube out, but as soon as she did, she felt several hands grabbing her legs and arms, holding her down; she closed her eyes, screaming at them to let her go, and when they didn't, she tried to kick them away, and punch them, and bite them, but their hands were too strong. Something pricked her thigh, and after barely a few seconds, she passed out.

The next time she regained consciousness, her wrists and ankles had been tied to the bed. It took her a minute or so to understand that; at first, she simply thought that her limbs were too sore to move. When the restraints clinked against the bed, Victoria appeared in her field of vision; she looked both tired and relieved, somehow. She sighed, then told Brooke that she would be right back.

Her mother came back with Ted and a woman Brooke had never met before, and who introduced herself as Dr Adler. While the relatively young woman was explaining that she had been taking care of her for the past week, Brooke's gaze lingered on her loosely tied bun that was threatening to come off at any moment, then on her glasses; she wondered how this doctor could see anything through them.

"You understand what that means, right?" Brooke tried to focus on a point somewhere above the doctor's head, who sighed and added: "I'm extremely sorry for your loss, and trust me, we're all here to help you, but you have to let us do that."

Help her? Why would she need any help? All she needed was to be left alone. She fought the urge to glare at the doctor and instead, gazed down at the restraints.

"Right," Dr Adler mused, her eyes travelling to Brooke's ankles, "we only put these up in case you would hurt yourself. I can take them off, but only if you promise me not to take out your IV." Her lips twitched when she added: "And not to bite anyone."

Her eyes still glued to the wall, Brooke gave a sharp nod, prompting the doctor to act on her words. When her wrists got unlocked, Brooke mechanically massaged them.

"Now, for the more technical part," Dr Adler said as she sat down on the chair next to Brooke. "When you drowned, you stopped breathing and that led to oedema around your brain ─ basically, too much water around it. It was gone after two days of medication, and then it took another few days for you to wake up and breathe on your own." She paused to let this all sink in, unaware of the fact that Brooke couldn't care less about what she had to say. "Since you've stayed in a coma for eight days, you've lost a lot of muscle, so getting back on your feet will take a little time, probably a couple of weeks, and then after you go home, you'll have to keep going to physical therapy for another two weeks." When Brooke didn't flinch, she added: "You'll stay in ICU with us for a week, just so we can monitor you, and then you'll be moved to another floor. Also, we found something on your MR─ no, you know what, that can wait until you get better."

Before leaving, she stood in the opposite corner of the room, whispering to Victoria and Ted that they could ask for a psychologist to come over in the week; Victoria answered that they would think about it, but that for now maybe they should just give her some time.

Why, though? Why would they give her some time? What did they think it would change to the situation? Nothing. Nothing, just like nothing had changed despite all her efforts.

Brooke closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind and focus on something else. She lied on her side, ignored her parents walking over to her bed, and instead watched the window to her left. The sun was starting to set now, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange that Peyton would have ─

No. She couldn't go there. Not now, not ever. She… She simply didn't want to feel anything.

Victoria came to sit where Dr Adler had been and grabbed her hand. "Lucas and Nathan had to leave, because Dr Adler said no more than two visitors at once, and that you had been under enough stress for today. But they'll be back very soon. You've, um…" She paused and looked around the room. "You've received lots of cards from your classmates, too. Haley and Mouth came by to see you this morning. Oh, Haley's fine now, she followed her bedrest and now she can move around freely, although she still has to take it easy. And Mouth is okay too, he's struggling a little with his broken ribs, but nothing too bad." Victoria cleared her throat, and although Brooke wasn't looking directly at her, she could tell that she was fighting her tears. "I don't think I'll ever be able to thank him enough for saving you. He's the one who did CPR on you, before the paramedics arrived. Anyway, um… Larry is staying at our house. I didn't want him to stay on his own, not… Not now."

Brooke knew, or at least a tiny part of her did, that she should be listening to this, but she didn't want to. She moved her right hand, prompting her father to rush to her side and to relax when all she did was to press her hands against her ears and close her eyes. It was the only way to tune out from the world, to be left alone, somewhere far, far away. She could still feel her mother's hand ─ or maybe it was her father's ─ stroking her back, but she was only barely aware of it, as if her entire body had been, thankfully, numbed.

When she woke up the next morning, Brooke found herself face to face with yet another person she didn't know, asking her how the night had been. She rolled on her side, away from the nurse, who then sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. The nurse explained that she needed to give her a bath, to which Brooke answered with complete indifference. She should have felt embarrassed, ashamed even, to have this stranger take off her clothes and wash her body, but again, Brooke wasn't feeling anything, and instead, she went back to the dream she had had. She could only guess that she had had it during her coma, and although she could only remember it by bits, if she closed her eyes and focused enough, she could picture the view in the Brooklyn apartment.

Dr Adler came that morning, followed by an intern, and examined her from head to toe, only to conclude that just as they had guessed, Brooke wasn't suffering from any after-effects, apart from sore muscles. When she asked if she wanted to talk to a psychologist, Brooke didn't answer and instead turned to the window, ignoring her doctors until they left her alone.

At noon, another nurse brought her a lunch tray. When, after thirty minutes, she came back to see that it had been untouched, nurse Patricia told her that she should at least get a little food, that she wouldn't get her strength back otherwise. Brooke wanted to ask her why she would need that, but she knew that it would lead her into a conversation that she didn't want, so instead, she took a piece of bread and started chewing on it, until the nurse seemed satisfied and went to check on another patient.

Her parents arrived just as her lunch tray was being taken away, and although her father looked displeased by the amount of food left in there, Victoria, on the other hand, looked relieved that Brooke had eaten anything at all. They both asked her how she was doing, to which she answered by staring at the window. After sharing a worried look with Ted, Victoria walked to the chair on her left, dragged it near Brooke and sat there. She opened the duffle bag she had been carrying and dropped it on her lap, showing Brooke its contents: her phone, her laptop, her sketchbook and pencils, and a bunch of clothes.

"I figured you would want to wear something else," Victoria said with a faint smile. Brooke glanced down at the clothes then rolled on her side and closed her eyes. "So, um, your friends can't come to see you this week, because of visitation hours here, but hopefully once you're moved to another floor, things will be different." She squeezed Brooke's hand and added: "You've got tons of messages on your phone, you might want to check them out."

No, she didn't want that. She wanted nothing more than to get rid of her phone and all the messages hidden in it; she could guess what they were about, and nothing in there could help her.

Her parents left after a while, and despite keeping her eyes closed, Brooke didn't manage to fall asleep while they were there, so instead, she tried her best to mute their voices and not pay attention to the way her mother kept snapping at Ted; this should have surprised Brooke, because ever since they had decided to divorce, Brooke had never heard her mother speak of him with resentment, but she didn't linger on it.

The next day felt like a repetition: bed bath, doctors, food, parents. Once again, Victoria seemed on edge every time Ted opened his mouth, and once again, Brooke decided to ignore them, just as she had been ignoring her phone by turning it off.

On Wednesday morning, she was wheeled to the first floor and put inside a tube she already knew. The MRI showed that all the oedema around her brain had disappeared and was back to, as Dr Adler put it, its usual. After she was brought back to her room, the nurses decided that she had spent too much time in her bed; they moved her into the armchair. Although she felt dizzy at first, Brooke didn't mind, since it helped her get a better look at the park outside the hospital. When, in the afternoon, a psychologist came to talk to her, Brooke did nothing but stare at the window, at the birds, the trees, the people; anything but the middle-aged lady sitting across from her and pretending to be able to help her and to understand what she was going through. She wanted nothing more than to shout at her to shut up already and leave her alone, then run through those doors and leave this place, but she knew she couldn't; the minute she would raise her voice, an armada of nurses would be there to hold her down and sedate her again.

Things changed on Thursday afternoon: Brooke had been sitting on her chair, watching the clouds slowly move around, and had briefly glanced at the doors when she had heard them slide, before doing a double-take when she realized that the two people walking toward her weren't her parents.

Deb kissed her cheek then stayed back, leaned against the wall, arms crossed. She looked around them with dark eyes, before turning to the window and grabbing its sill, her hands shaking slightly.

Karen hugged her then sat next to her, on the edge of the bed; she asked her how she was doing, and when Brooke didn't answer, she held her hand and squeezed it.

"We could have come earlier, but we thought your parents needed to spend some time with you," Karen said with a tired face. "Lucas is really depressed about not being able to visit you… Well not just him. Oh, I almost forgot─" She opened her purse and took out a paper bag. "This is for you, from Lucas," she explained before putting it on the nightstand. "Keith wanted to come too, but he couldn't, he…" Her voice trailed off and her eyes drifted to Deb, who was still staring out. "Well, he's been having a hard time too. He's fine though, he wasn't hurt in the accident, but─" She fell silent then sighed. "He'll come soon."

A noise came out of Deb, something that sounded like the mix of a gasp and a sob, and soon her shoulders started shaking, and her tears fell one by one on the window sill. "I─ I'm sorry, I didn't want to cry, but I just… I can't believe…" She turned to Brooke and pulled her into an embrace. "I'm sorry, Brooke, for what Dan did. I know I don't have to apologize for him, but I still feel like ─"

"Deb…" Karen said, her tone cautious.

Both women shared a knowing look, and Deb took a step back. "I'm sorry, Brooke, I know you must be in a lot of pain right now."

"We just wanted to tell you that we're here for you," Karen added, clenching Brooke's shoulder.

They didn't stay much longer after that; when they realized that Brooke wasn't about to talk to them, they hugged her again and told her that they would be back soon.

On Friday, she received another new visitor; one she hadn't expected so far, and yet, if she had to think about it, he was the one person she should have known would come to see her. Larry looked like he had lost twenty pounds and aged as many years; Brooke couldn't look away, not with him, and she couldn't help but notice that between his gaunt expression, and the way he was floating in his clothes, he looked like a ghost slowly gliding toward her and sitting on her bed.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come by earlier," he murmured, his vacant gaze drifting to his lap. "Lots of paperwork to deal with… Your parents have been helping a lot. I─ I don't think I could have…"

He didn't finish his sentence, and he didn't need to; instead, he leaned closer to her and pulled her into a hug. Brooke could feel the despair seeping out of him, and how he longed to hold his daughter in his arms ─ but he couldn't do that anymore, could he? Never again would he be able to touch her, talk to her or ─ no, no, no, she couldn't go there.

Thankfully, Larry soon pulled away, his hands slipping into hers. "The school asked me to come today, to get her diploma, but… I didn't see the point." Were they graduating today? Did she even care about that? "The service was beautiful," he added, his voice cracking. The service, what serv─ Oh… Of course. She had stayed in a coma for more than a week, after all. Part of her knew that she should have been crushed, knowing that she had missed her best friend's funeral, but still, she felt nothing. Or rather, she kept it all away. "So many people came… From your school, from Tric, and the Post. Peyton would have…" He paused, then added with a soft chuckle, "Honestly I think she would have hated it. To see so many people she barely talked to. And to not see you. But I'm sure she would also have been devastated if anything had happened to you."

He didn't say a word after that and kept holding her hands; Brooke didn't know how long they stayed like this, but she eventually fell asleep.

The next morning, she got transferred into another room, on the third floor; no one asked for her opinion, or if she would rather go home. No one wondered if she really wanted to go to a floor with more visitation. No one realized that she wanted to be left alone, or maybe they did, but decided to ignore her wishes.

Her new room was a more traditional hospital room, with walls painted in a shade of light pink; it was smaller than the previous one, but only because it didn't need to be filled with all the monitoring machines that had been with her for the past two weeks, and it had a regular door and a window that was also looking out over the park. Good, she could spend her time staring blankly outside, eating when asked to, walking when asked to, and soon she would be free to leave this place.

Dr Willis, her new therapist, came to welcome her right before lunch. He looked different from Dr Adler: older, with a head full of gray hair, but also less tired and a little more cheerful. Too cheerful, maybe. He explained to Brooke what her physical therapy program would be and that she would start on Monday, 6 a.m. sharp. He looked disappointed when she didn't react to his joke, and after saying that he had been told that she wasn't a big speaker, wished her a nice day.

The food wasn't any different on this floor, and after swallowing a few bites, Brooke pushed away the tray and looked around her. There, on the nightstand, was her phone ─ still turned off ─ and the paper bag that Karen had brought her. She bit her lip, hesitating, and stretched out a hand, before changing her mind. A nap, yes, that was what she needed. That way, when people would come to see her, they would turn back after finding her asleep.

She couldn't sleep, though. She was tired, yes, but not as exhausted as she had been upon emerging from her coma; and now, her mind was starting to wonder to places she had tried to ignore. It had been seven days, after all, since she had woken up; seven days spent distracting her mind with whatever her brain could come up with. Clouds, a tree branch falling, a squirrel. Anything. But how long could she keep this up? How long until it all crumbled, and she would ─

No, she thought, shutting her eyes tight. Not now. Not ever.

She heard a soft knock on the door and didn't move, wishing instead that the intruders would go away. They didn't, and after five seconds of silence, the door opened, and two people came in. Brooke stayed in her bed and didn't budge, her eyes still closed, not caring who it could be, or what they wanted with ─

"Hi Brooke," a male, tired voice said.

Her eyes flickered open; she would have pretended to be asleep with anyone, anyone but them. Haley was sitting on the chair, and Mouth was on the same side but sitting on the edge of the bed.

"It's good to see you," Haley added, her hands grasping Brooke's forearm. "We know you don't want to talk right now, but we just wanted to see you, so we'll stay here for a little bit if you don't mind."

Of course she minded; Brooke wanted to tell them to leave, but at the same time, she also knew that they were the two people she couldn't possibly drive away, because they knew. They knew it all, everything she had been through, everything they had been through, together, and she could see it on their faces: all the pain and the despair. She could see how much they were crushed by this horrible turn of events, and how they wish they could have ─

Now was the time to tune herself out. Now, or never. But although she was dying to do so, she couldn't, not with them. So, rather than closing her eyes and covering her ears, Brooke looked back at Haley, and for the first time in seven days, where she usually felt numbness and detachment, Brooke felt a pang, right there in her chest, and she knew exactly why. It was because of the silent understanding between Haley and her, the one she could read in her friend's eyes, and she knew that if she were to look at Mouth, his eyes would be the same too. It was an understanding she hadn't seen so far in other people, not even Larry, because it wasn't about who was mourning the most, it was about ─

She froze when she heard a noise, something both familiar and strange: a child's humming. She blinked, wondered for a second where it was coming from, until the tingle appeared on her limbs and she knew what was happening to her. She wanted to stop it, but she couldn't. The buzzing sound started ringing in her ears, blasting her eardrums, and she felt a sharp pain in her head, one that made her wry and roll around, holding her head with both hands.

"Brooke!" Mouth yelled, grasping her shoulders. "What's going on? Are you ─"

She never heard the end of his question.

When she came to her, she felt disorientated: where was the hospital room? And the bed? Her hospital gown had vanished too, replaced by a woolen pullover and blue jeans. Brooke gazed down and saw that she was sitting on the floor, her right hand holding a pencil over a sketchbook on her lap. She raised her head and looked around; Jamie was there, reading a children's book on the couch, humming happily as he did so. He looked as old as the last time she had met him, in 2027, and he too, was wearing winter clothing. Her eyes moved to her right, and there it was, the view she had imagined and dreamed about, the one that could take her mind off everything ─ but if it really were the case, why was she still feeling the pang in her chest? Why hadn't that gone away? Was it because she could still picture Haley's gaze in her head? She closed her eyes and buried her head in her folded knees, wishing she could make it all go away. She had managed to do so for days now, she wasn't about to fail now.

A hand nudged her shoulder. She hesitated, then slowly looked up.

Jamie was now standing in front of her, his head tilted, his forehead creased. "What's wrong?" When she didn't answer, he added: "Are you okay?"

Something was snapping in her, and she couldn't let it happen. She needed to hold it in, and mash it down, and forget about it. But she had a feeling ─ no, she knew she couldn't do that here.

She sprung on her feet, startling Jamie, and strode down the corridor until she reached the bedroom. Good, it was empty. She slammed the door shut and lied down on the bed in a fetal position. Her eyes closed, she slowly breathed in, then out, and waited until she could forget, once again, about the hole growing in her chest. If she waited long enough, it would stop, and then she would be able to ─

Someone knocked on the door before it swung open. "Brooke?" Lucas called, a hint of worry in his voice. She opened her eyes, almost against her will, and watched as he sat on the bed. "Jamie just said that you weren't feeling…" ─ his voice trailed off, and as he studied her face, his expression turned more and more grave ─ "well," he whispered. His brow furrowed, he reached out for her cheek and said: "Oh, Brooke, I'm so sorry."

He knew. He knew where she was coming from ─ or rather, when. "How do you know?" she asked absent-mindedly. "How do you know that Peyton's dead?" Was it the first time she was saying these words out loud? Was that why she felt like the hole was growing more and more?

"I'll never forget this look on your face," he murmured, his thumb stroking her cheek. "When was it?"

"Two weeks ago," she answered, wondering why she was talking to him. She should ignore him, like she had ignored the rest of them, more even, yet she couldn't help sitting up and glaring at him. "You didn't tell me," she whispered, her voice hardening. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Rage. Rage was good, rage could fill up the hole, and she had so much in stock: against the doctors telling her everything would be okay, against her parents waiting for her to get better, and mostly, against the future. What was the point of all this? To go into the future, to learn that Peyton would die? Why did it happen? So that she could just stand there and do nothing about it? Or was it just the universe's way to tell her to get over it because one day she would have a nice penthouse in Brooklyn? Screw that, she would gladly give it all in a second if it could bring back Peyton.

"Why?" she repeated, her hands clenched into fists.

Lucas sighed and slowly shook his head. "I couldn't, Brooke."

"Let me guess," she sniggered, "I told you not to tell me anything. Well, you know what," she said, her voice rising with each syllable, "you can tell Future Brooke that she's a real bitch."

Yes, she was feeling a lot of rage, but most of it was turned against herself. Why the hell would she not want to save Peyton? Why would she prevent herself from changing it all?

"Some time after you left the ICU, you told me about your travels," Lucas explained, choosing his words carefully. "And eventually you found out why you could travel, or at least you found an explanation. But…" He paused, hesitating. "It wasn't to save Peyton. You've tried, Brooke, over and over again… countless times. You always try to save her, and no matter what, you… you never can."

Over and over again? Then what, she would keep failing every time? But then, why… "Why?" she repeated out loud, her voice now trembling with more than just anger.

"I can't tell you now, but only because you'll ─"

They both froze when they heard footsteps approaching them, and turned to see that Jamie was standing by the doorframe, blinking at them in confusion. He seemed to hesitate, fidgeting for a second, then walked over to the bed, staring at Brooke. Now that he was getting closer, Brooke could see that he wasn't just worried; he was scared.

Another pang hit her, just like when she had been with Haley and Mouth, so she turned away and lied on her side, her back facing Lucas. She closed her eyes, praying that she would leave this place soon; she didn't want this pain to spread any further, she had to stop it before… Before what?

Her eyes opened, and before she could shut them tight again, they fell on Jamie, who was now standing in front of her. Without any hesitation this time, he climbed on the bed and lied down next to her, his gaze locked onto hers, then reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly, just as his mother had done earlier. Their eye color may be different, but other than that, they were the same, filled with a warmth that was, right now, too much to handle.

"Why are you so sad, Aunt Brooke?" Jamie asked, his voice full of innocence.

She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing. "I'm not sad," she muttered, her voice shaking. "I ─"

Jamie's arms circled her neck, and he pulled her into an embrace that startled her. "But you look sad."

The aching suddenly got much bigger, until it seemed to completely fill the void she had been carrying for the past week. Tears started pricking her eyes, her throat clogged up and when it felt like she couldn't keep it in anymore, she pressed a hand against her mouth, trying to muffle her sobs.

But there was no use in doing that; she couldn't control herself anymore. Everything she had been trying not to feel came rushing into her, spreading to her entire body, and it wasn't just the rage. No, the rage was only a tiny part of it. What was overwhelming her, at this precise moment, was the immense and raw sorrow that was flooding out, so much so that she couldn't breathe anymore.

She should have drowned in it, but when she felt Jamie's grip tighten around her neck, and Lucas' arms link around her waist, his head resting against her back, somehow, she managed to take a breath.

Through her sobbing, she heard Lucas say: "It's okay to let go, Brooke."

She hadn't even realized that the tingle was back. Only when the buzzing started, and with it, an intense headache, did she understand what was going on. She tried to hold it in, but failed, and when she screamed in agony, grasping her head, Jamie startled back and Lucas rolled her on her back. "Brooke!" he shouted, alarmed. "What's ─"

When she opened her eyes, the pain in her head was gone, but the other one was still there, eating her away. Brooke sat up and looked at Haley, who was still holding her hand, and then at Mouth, who hadn't moved from the bed, and suddenly burst into tears, startling them both.

"Oh, Brooke," Haley whispered, her voice shaking, before pulling her into her arms. She held her tightly, and when Brooke buried her face in her neck, Mouth leaned closer to them and wrapped his arms around them both.

They stayed that way for a long time, locked together, physically and emotionally, until they stopped crying; but even then, they kept hugging each other, getting as much comfort from each other as they could.

None of them heard the knock on the door, and they all startled when Nathan whispered: "You think we should come later?"

They turned to the door, where he was standing with Lucas, and Brooke leaned back against her pillows. "Don't," she croaked.

Both brothers looked surprised to hear her voice; they shared a brief look before walking in. Mouth glanced at Lucas, then back at Brooke, before turning to Haley.

"Um," he said, clearing his throat, "maybe we should…"

"Definitely," Nathan answered as he helped Haley down the bed. His hand lingered on her back when he leaned forward to kiss Brooke's head. "We'll talk later," he whispered in a tired voice.

Brooke nodded and watched as her three friends quietly left the room. She brought her knees to her chest, giving Lucas some space to sit as closely as he could. While his thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes scanned her face, just like his future-self had done earlier.

He let out a sigh ─ one that was filled with relief and sadness ─ and pulled her against his chest, his arms shaking slightly. Brooke closed her eyes and circled her arms around him, her hands grasping his t-shirt. Again, tears were streaming down her cheeks, but they would probably keep appearing for a while.

"I miss her," Brooke whispered, her voice hoarse from her week-long silence. "I miss her so much. She's ─" She stopped and let out another sob. "She was my best friend."

Lucas answered in a murmur: "I know."

"She was more than that," she added, her voice cracking on every word. "She was so much more…"

"I know," he repeated, his left hand cradling her head. He moved his lips to her forehead, kissing it with much care, as if she was about to break at any moment ─ although, wasn't that exactly what was happening to her? It did feel like it.

It took a while, again, but eventually she stopped crying. Lucas wiped her tears with his hands, making her look up at him. Her hands moved up to his face and she kissed him softly. When she leaned back against her pillow, she hugged her knees and rested her chin against them.

"What happened on the bridge?"

Lucas looked startled by her question. "What, um…" He paused, clearly unsure of how much he should tell her. "What do you know?"

"Nathan told me about Dan," she recalled, her gaze shifting to the window. "And that Mouth gave me CPR. That's all I know."

"Are you sure that ─"

"Yes," she said, looking back at him. She had to know, because Future Lucas' words were ringing in her ears. You always try to save her, and you never can.

Lucas hesitated for another moment, but after studying her face, gave her a nod. "Fine." He paused and sighed. "After your accident, Keith got out of his car and called 911. And then he dove in to get you out. He helped Mouth first, who was um… He was stuck with the car door. So, he got him out, and then together they pulled Peyton and you out." His hands were shaking slightly; when he noticed it, he clenched them into fists. "You had both stopped breathing. Mouth did CPR on you, and Keith on Peyton…" his voice trailed off, and he frowned. "He couldn't… He was still trying to resuscitate her when the ambulance arrived. They brought you all to the hospital, but they…" He paused, noticing that her eyes were watery. "They never managed to restart her heart," he explained with a trembling voice. "You came back quickly, and then they intubated you and moved you to the ICU. Keith called my mother, and we drove to the hospital. Well, she drove, and I called your mother and Nate on our way."

Brooke sniffled and wiped her tears. "Who told Larry?"

"Your mom," he answered, frowning as if he was remembering something. "She called him after she got here, and… I don't know how she did it. One of the doctors wanted to do it, but she said he should get the news from someone he knew. She couldn't stop crying after she hung up," he recalled, his voice lowering. "Your dad got here the next morning, and Larry arrived in the evening. We couldn't see you the first couple of days, only your parents could." His hands were shaking again, but he didn't seem to notice this time. "It was… Well, we had just lost Peyton, and we didn't know if you would make it, so…" Tears welled up in his eyes; he kissed the top of her head and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"What about your car?"

He pulled back and sent her a puzzled look. "My car?"

"Where is it?"

"Oh. It's gone now," he said with a shrug. And so was the rabbit's foot. "Don't worry about it," he added quickly after seeing her face, "I'll get a new one." He paused, his fingers playing with the tip of her hair. "I should have come with you," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the wall behind her.

"Huh?"

He gazed back at her. "I was worried when you left Prom."

"Why?" she asked, surprised by his statement.

He raised his eyebrows, as if the answer was obvious. "Because you looked terrified, that's why. I mean it's weird, I've been replaying that scene in my head, and it always feels like, like… Like you knew something would happen." He rolled his eyes, probably at himself, then shook his head as if he was putting that thought aside. "I should have been there, I should have insisted on coming with you and─"

"And then you would have drowned with us," Brooke said gloomily. "You were much better off at Prom," she added, clasping his hand. His eyes traveled to her hand, and then noticed something on the nightstand. "Sorry," she admitted, sheepish, "I haven't even opened it yet."

"That's okay," he said, and she knew from his tone that he meant it.

Brooke reached out for the paper bag and took a closer look at it. From its shape, she had been expecting a book, and was surprised when a leather journal fell on her lap. "You're giving me back my gift?" she asked, puzzled.

"No," he said with a chuckle, "if you open it, you'll see that I wrote a note. I just… When your mother packed your things, we realized that we didn't know where your journal was, and that you probably needed to sort out your thoughts, now more than ever. So, I'm letting you borrow it, and then I'll take it back."

Brooke's eyes kept darting between the journal and Lucas. "Thank you," she eventually whispered, bringing the journal to her chest. "Lucas, about that night…" She closed her eyes, images of the parking lot flashing in her mind. "I said I'd tell you everything about ─"

"Not now," he murmured, shaking his head slowly. "That can wait."

"But ─"

"You look exhausted," he said, his lips grazing hers. "You should get some sleep."

"I'm not…" She stopped talking, forced to admit that he was right, and that her eyelids were suddenly weighing tons.

When she woke up, Haley and Mouth were back in her room, sitting by the window and commenting on the people walking around the park. Haley was the first to notice that she was up; she turned to Brooke and sat next to her on the armchair, her hands mechanically rubbing her belly.

"Lucas and Nathan went for a walk," she explained when she saw Brooke looking around them. "I think Nathan knew we would want to talk to you on our own. How are you feeling?"

Brooke glanced at her, then at Mouth. "Not great," she admitted in a murmur.

"What happened when you travelled?" Mouth asked, sitting on the bed, right next to her feet. As he did so, he mechanically rubbed his left side, and only then did Brooke remember that he had been hurt too.

She told them everything she could remember. "I don't know why exactly," she said after going through all the details, "but I couldn't keep it in anymore." She paused, thinking back to Future Lucas' words. "I think it's what he said, about how I always try to save Peyton, and always fail… Though I have no idea how he can know that."

"Well, because his Brooke already went through all this," Haley guessed, her brow furrowed, "and the Lucas that she met in the future probably told her the same, and so on."

"It really is a loop," Mouth murmured. "All of it."

Brooke had a feeling that her friends, just like her, had known about this for a while; deep down, they had realized that it really was all a loop, since every clue pointed toward that direction, but because that also meant losing Peyton forever, they had decided to look the other way. If Peyton's death was part of a loop, then no matter what they tried to pull, nothing would work.

"So it was all pointless, then," Brooke said with a sigh. "All of it."

Why would they get to know all this, if they couldn't stop it at all? So that they could suffer until the accident, anxious about preventing it, and then suffer even more when they failed? Their whole plan about stopping Prom had been completely useless.

"Maybe there's no reason at all," Haley said tentatively. "Maybe it's just the way things are." She shared a brief look with Mouth then asked: "How's your head? You looked like you were in a lot of pain."

"It felt like my head was splitting in two," Brooke answered, wincing as she recalled that moment.

Haley sent her a concerned look. "It's really getting worse."

"Don't worry, we know it'll stop soon. Maybe that was the last time," Brooke said with a shrug. "How's Jamie? I mean," she added when she saw Haley's confusion, "baby-Jamie."

"Oh, he's good," she said, placing a hand on her belly. "I had to stay in bed for a few days, but now we're fine."

"And we know you're both gonna be fine," Mouth added.

Brooke nudged him. "Thanks for saving me, by the way," she said when he looked at her. "Now I finally get your nickname."

They all chuckled, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, the mood lightened up a little. "I…" Mouth fell silent, his face now sullen again. "I wish I could have done more…"

"I know," Brooke said, grasping his hand. She glanced at Haley and said: "We all do."

Unfortunately, they had to accept the fact that there wasn't more that they could have done. It was the harsh truth, one that was still illogical to them, one they still struggled to come to terms with. That would take much, much longer, but eventually, they would all get there, even Brooke.


That's it for now. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter (not sure enjoying is the right term here...) even if it was a bit shorter than the previous ones.

I wanted to thank you all for your messages, both on this story and on my situation. I still have a month of chemo to go through, but I'm sure it'll go just fine. It also made the writing of this chapter, not complicated, but... different. Kinda cathartic, actually. Anyway, thank you again for your many reviews, they're always encouraging.

We're almost at the end now, only one chapter left before the epilogue. I'll try to have it finished by beginning of April.