Soon Enough
A/N: Finals are over, and a new term has begun. I wrote this chapter in it's entirety on the flight to LA this morning at about 6am, but I think it turned out surprisingly well. I hope you all have a lovely presidents weekend/week. Au Revoir for now.
Thank you Leah for the chapter title.
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Chapter 12
First Breath After a Coma
You can't ignore history. It's one thing that Brooke learned from her four years of high school. That you can try to ignore the heartache inside, locking it up until even you believe that it's gone. But it still leaves you scarred.
She stands naked in front of the mirror, dragging a comb through her hair. It's starting to grow out now, extending past her shoulders and she's surprised to realize that she missed its length. She's also been spending time at the beach, and has been out in the sun a lot more than when she was in New York, so her body is the most freckled and tan it's been since senior year.
The small scar that runs along her hipbone seems to stand out more prominently than she remembered. She finds it odd that some scars grow with age, while the other ones fade away.
Scars. She has plenty of those.
She doesn't want to be dramatic when she considers her emotional scars, and how they probably hurt more than any bump or bruise she's ever gotten, but it's true.
Those scars hardly ever fade.
-
"I can't handle this," she groans with anxiety, as she barges into the kitchen at Nathan and Haley's, collapsing into a seat at the counter.
"Handle what?" asks Haley as she spreads peanut butter over bread for Jamie.
"It's like, why the hell should I be nervous? Brooke Davis doesn't get nervous."
"Nervous about what?"
"And I haven't been insecure for fucking four years. Why the hell does he do this to do me?"
"Who?"
"God, Haley, what do I do?" Brooke groans, dropping her head to the counter.
Haley sighs, and reaches for a knife to cut the sandwich. "Brooke, I love you, I really do. But in order to help you, I need you to tell me what the – " she eyes Jamie who's coloring at the kitchen table " – H-e- double L you're talking about."
"I think I'm going on a date with Lucas," Brooke groans into the counter.
"Hold on, step back," says Haley, clearly surprised. "When did this happen?"
"Well, after you guys totally ditched us at dinner last week because Nathan decided to make a totally awkward comment, we hung out for awhile."
"Define, hung-out."
"You know, we talked. It was nice."
"Come on, you knew I was afraid of heights," said Lucas, clapping a hand over his forehead.
"I'm sorry that I didn't realize that the roof of your house qualified as 'heights,'" says Brooke with a teasing tone. "Plus, you were supposed to be a macho 17-year old boy."
"Shut up. Where did you even come up with the idea to climb up there?"
"I used to do it all the time at my house when I was younger. Usually when my parents would fight at night, I would climb out my window onto the main roof and try to find constellations, or call Peyton, or write in my journal."
"Hold on," he says, holding up a hand. "You had a journal?"
"So did you!" she counters.
"Yeah, but I didn't call it that. I'm just surprised you kept a diary."
Brooke laughs. "All girls do. The smart ones at least"
"What did you write about?"
"Well, when I was younger it was mainly crush lists and trivial stuff like that. But when I got older I started kind-of letting out my anger in writing."
"Am I in these journals?" Lucas asks, raising an eyebrow.
"No comment," she replies with a smile.
"So now you're going on a date?"
"I don't know!" Brooke exclaims. "That's what I'm trying to figure out. I mean, it's dinner, but I don't know if it qualifies as a date."
"Well did he call you up and ask you? What did he say?"
"Why the fuck would I want the designs shipped a week after opening?" Brooke asks into the phone.
The person on the other line mumbles an excuse, but Brooke has already hung up. It's Friday afternoon and she's stressed enough as it is. Adding to this new hassle, it's about 95 degrees out and the humidity in the air has made the week unbearably sluggish. She's been wearing these jeans for three days because she has yet to buy a washer-dryer and is too lazy to go to the Laundromat. She's PMSing and her cramps are awful but she can't find any ibuprofen in her purse. Oh, and her mother's a bitch. But that's not unusual.
Her phone rings, and Brooke answers it with a pissed-off "what?"
There's a pause on the other line, and then she hears Lucas' voice. "Wow, I feel so loved."
She rolls her eyes. "Trust me, I'm not in the mood to engage in stupid banter with you."
"I reiterate my last comment," he says, and she has to smile.
"Sorry, I'm just in a bad mood. "What's up?"
"Well, see, I was planning on being hungry soon, and I was wondering if you had eating plans scheduled."
Brooke laughs. "Sadly, my schedule doesn't allow me to be hungry or engage in the act of eating until tomorrow."
Lucas sighs, feigning disappointment. "Well, I guess I can reschedule my hunger for tomorrow night, at like 7:30, at Chez Napoleón."
"Sounds like a plan. Maybe you'll see me there."
"I hope so, or all that money I spent on hair plugs would go to waste."
"Sometimes you make no sense," Brooke says through a laugh.
"Oh, I know."
"Um, talk about FLIRTING CENTRAL," says Haley, clearly excited.
"Really?" asks Brooke, although her tone is halfway between anxiety and relief.
"Really, really." Haley smiles and walks over to the table, handing Jamie his lunch. The boy immediately drops his crayon and grabs the sandwich. "So what are you gonna' wear?"
-
"What am I gonna' wear?" Lucas asks desperately, browsing through her closet with a frantic air.
"Dude, you are such a woman," Nathan says in a serious tone from where he's sprawled in the armchair in the corner of the room.
Lucas glares at his brother. "I would like to look presentable."
"Why, it's not like it's a – " Nathan's eyes widen. "- OH MY GOD, THIS IS SUCH A DATE!"
Lucas flushes. "It is not, we're just going to dinner."
"Where?"
"Chez Napoleón."
"After 6pm?"
"7:30."
"Are the entrees over 25 bucks?"
"I think."
"Are you going to insist on paying?"
"Of course."
"Dude, it's a date," Nathan says mater-of-factly.
"How would you even know? You've probably never been on a date. You just hooked up with girls, and then when you started seeing Haley you guys just hung out in the tutor center and her room and the Riverwalk."
"I've read my fair share of Cosmo, and it says that a dinner qualifies as a date when – "
"DUDE! COSMO?"
"What?" Nathan asks, clearly confused as to what the problem is with him reading a woman's magazine.
"Nevermind," says Lucas laughing. "And I admit – it's a date. So what the hell do I wear?" he asks for the second time.
Nathan points to a pair of jeans hanging over the back of Lucas' desk chair, and a navy blue button down shirt. "Wear those, and that, and you are totally getting laid."
"Oh god…"
-
Lucas gets to the restaurant 15 minutes early and then walks around until 7:35 before going inside so he doesn't seem like a loser. He still gets there before Brooke, however, and is pleased to find that they're seated outside, because the humidity of the week has finally broken, and a warm breeze has settled in the air.
Brooke shows up 15 minutes late and apologize profusely, but he misses her telling him about her bitch of a mother that kept her on the phone until 7:15. He doesn't mean to tone her out, but his body is making most of the decisions as he stares blatantly at the tan skin that peaks out from her knee length, black dress. It takes almost all of his willpower to not look directly at her cleavage, which is prominent above the yellow fringe of the neckline.
Why does she do this to him?
He regains control of his hormones after a few minutes, and the conversation drifts from pleasantly trivial things, to a heated political debate, to a trading of stories from high school.
Dinner has been cleared away when Brooke speaks up again, talking in that amazingly sexy raspy voice of hers.
"I don't think I ever told you how much I loved your book."
She hadn't, actually, but he wonders if it was more for the obvious reasons: the fact that the majority of the book revolved around the hideous high school love triangle. Well, that and basketball.
"You know, when I sent the first draft to my editors, they wanted me to cut out a lot of stuff I had about you and me."
Brooke doesn't exactly look surprised. She just shrugs. "It kind-of makes sense. I mean, you were with Peyton at the time."
"Yeah, I guess they wanted to market the novel as more of a perfect love story."
"I guess you overrode them?" Brooke asks with a laugh.
"Not at first," Lucas responds, smiling as well. "But I wore them down eventually. I told them it was more about decisions, and just a teenager losing his way, multiple times."
Brooke nods and then looks down at her plate. "You know, reading those chapters made me kind-of sad. Just cause, it reminded me of how…happy we were, and how it just kind-of fell apart."
Lucas nods. When he had let Peyton read the book, he had left out the chapters with Brooke. It didn't really matter though, considering the blonde read the book in its entirety once it was published and after they broke up.
Sometimes I marvel at how perfect she is when I'm tracing patterns across her bare skin or running my fingers through her chocolate locks. I've memorized every inch of her, from the freckle on her ankle to the scar on her hipbone. If she left me now, I would remember her body forever.
Even after we break up, I still remember the way her skin feels like porcelain in my hands, and the way her sighs sound when I'm hovering over her. I can still smell her apple shampoo on my pillow, and when I wake up alone, the lack of her presence in my room is more obvious then ever.
She tortures me on game nights, the skin that isn't covered by her cheer uniforms leaves me haunted into the middle of the night with memories of when I was allowed to touch her, hold her, kiss her. I think she knows it, too, because sometimes she catches me looking at her from across the gym, and smirks.
It's okay though. Because I deserve it. I know that I do. And past all the anger I have for her leaving me, and misunderstanding of her reason, I'm left with an irreplaceable sadness that just hopes for her not to hate me.
She told me that she loves me, and that she probably always will. But I wish I could change that, because maybe it would take away the pain in her eyes.
His editor had told him that the dedication had made him seem like a pimp, but he had stood his ground and told her that anyone who knew him would understand,
To a goldilocks and a pretty girl. You taught me how to love, and also how to lose.
Of course Lucas insists on paying for dinner, despite her protests. According to him, just because she is richer than him, doesn't mean she's allowed to strip him of his "manhood."
They take a detour and he walks her home along the boardwalk. 'It's like freaking lovers lane out here,' Brooke thinks to herself and it's painfully obvious that they are the only two people on the boardwalk not holding hands. Despite the general awkwardness of the situation, the walk is pleasant, and Lucas points out the place where the burning boat festival is.
"I'll always remember what you said to me that night," he says with a smile of reminiscence.
"What?" asks Brooke.
"You said, 'you do your thing and try to resist. It's actually kind-of cute.'"
"Oh my god, I was such a flirt," says Brooke clasping her hand over her eyes.
"You wanted me so badly."
Brooke punches him in the shoulder lightly. "Hey! You shouldn't talk, Mr. Horndog."
He feigns shock. "Excuse me, I was a complete gentleman."
"Until you shoved your tongue down my throat at the Blue Post."
"Okay!" he says, holding up his hands. "One, you definitely initiated that kiss. Two, you had just showed me possibly the sexiest tattoo ever, which you still have by the way. Three, I didn't exactly see you objecting."
They've reached her porch, and are standing in front of her door. She doesn't want to invite him in because she doesn't want him to think she's suggesting something, so instead she just shifts nervously from one heel to the other.
"This was really nice," she says genuinely, and he smiles and nods. "So, um, goodnight."
Her palms are sweating profusely cause all of a sudden he's leaning in and has that look that he gets in his eyes. His sharp, electric blue eyes.
Their lips are inches away, and she can feel his breath against her face. But then, she tenses up, panics, and turns her head away.
He ends up kissing her hair, and there is this horrible moment of awkwardness where they both just stand there. Her heart is pumping wildly, and for some reason she feels on the verge of tears. And then, it's just a mumble of "bye," and she's slipped into the house and slammed the door.