Last week seemed like a year ago. When you were feeling so content leaning against him, shedding your tears onto his button down. Things went by so fast it felt like a blur, a fast forward of someone else's life.

Someone else's life that you would be glad to live in.

Sam returned, and the first thing she said to me was, ' I think Jack's brother beat you and murdered Q.'

You remember going slightly dizzy.

You try to forget how he suddenly reached out from behind, and took you into his arms.

You try to forget the heartbroken glance on his face when you slapped him for going to the police.

But you can't, because the memory is still there, so fresh, so raw.

'Brooke, please, you've got to do this. For yourself, for Sam, for your friends. Even for Jamie. Please Brooke.'

You know you should report this, to finally give everyone the closure they need. The closure that you need.

But you can't, it's too hard.

Imagine your surprise, or lack thereof, if you're being completely honest, when three police officers ring your doorbell, and behind them is a nervous, dishelved Julian Baker. You know he wants to look remorseful, regretful, sad, but you know he's not.

All he said was, 'I'm not going to apologize for wanting to protect you.'

And despite the situation, you can't help but think that this line was the most romantic line you've ever heard of in your life.

But once the police left, you walk over to him, and slap him.

Hard.

You instantly remembered a large custom made ring on your right finger.

His face was heartbroken. But you both know it wasn't from the pain of your ring, of your slap, but more from the sheer pain of not getting anything in return.

His eyes water slightly and you're amazed.

You take a tentative step that places you directly infront of him and take off your ring, your watering eyes glued to his broken, watering ones. The ring falls to the floor and you whisper an 'I'm so fucking sorry'. Your lips are so close to his right now and you're almost breathing the same air. He's not moving and you know the ball is in your court now. Your right hand lightly brushes his red cheek and you stroke it slightly, automatically wiping his falling tears. Both of your facades are shattered and both of you can't be bothered to break off your glances to pick it up. Then you placed your lips on his, almost too forcefully. He instantly wraps his hands around your head and opens his mouth, allowing your tongue to dominate his. It's a furious kiss, open mouthed and messy, slobbery, both tongues battling to dominate the other, and you can't help but wonder if he's trying to redeem himself for the tears earlier. His hands are still tangled in your hair and you bite his upper lip so hard you sure it's bleeding. Your hands are on his hips, grazing the skin that seperates the jeans and the vintage t shirt slightly. Suddenly, he plunges his tongue into your mouth and retreats as quickly as he entered. Then he pushes you away, literally.

'I'm not that guy, Brooke.'

And then you think you now understand what it means.

He's not that guy who has no heart, he's a vulnerable, sensitive jerk who can't have a physical connection wihtout the emotional one. Your heart is racing, you'r turned on and your lip is bleeding.

'I'm not using you. Not like her.'

And you're not sure why he took it. But he did. It wasn't the best thing you could have said but he took it. He always takes it.

A second later, his lips are back on yours and you're the one who pulls away.

' I mean it. I'm not using you.'

You're together now. You think.

Nathan and Haley understand it, and you think somehow they've always did, even when you don't say anything. Lucas and Peyton don't, but somehow, for once, you can't bring yourself to be concerned.

'Peyton, I'm sorry okay? But it just happened. The night Sam ran away, it just happened.'

Peyton rolls her eyes. 'Brooke, you're my best friend and I just want to make sure that he's not doing this..' she pauses, and you're certain that she's battling over whether to sound completely self absorbed, or concerned, or both. 'For the publicity of the movie. You know, US Weekly reports, producer comes to make a movie, fall for the designer who happens to be a real life version of a character in the movie, they have an angsty, passionate bond and falls in love. You know what I mean?'

You roll your eyes and feel offended by the reduction of your relationship.

'No Peyton', you snap, 'I don't know what you mean. And for the record, not everything revolves around Lucas's damn book, alright?'

Every night he comes to your place and looks tired, sad and you notice the dark circles under his eyes, clouding his handsome features. You place your hand on his and kisses his forehead.

It's your way of apologizing to him, for dragging him into this, into Lucas's condecending, untrusting squint, a frown that you know hurts him. His intentions towards you are pure, and it hurts him to know that his motives are being questioned.

One night, after a light dinner and a bottle of merlot, he puts on a white t shirt and a fresh pair of boxers and climb into your bed. You place a chaste kiss on his lips and before he drifts off to sleep, you hear him mutter.

'I don't blame you for any of it, princess.'