Regret is a funny thing. It always hits you at the most unexpected of times. Guilt has a tendency to tag along with it.
"Where were you?" Peyton asks, her blonde curls tousled in a way you know you should find irresistible yet can't seem to find the heart to. You shouldn't lie. You don't want to. You know it'll just get you in even more trouble then you're in already, but something makes the words about Brooke stop and something else comes out instead.
"I went for a walk." Well, it's not really a lie. You just left you a bit.
"I missed you," her smile is shy. Timid. Brooke is never shy. You know it's a bad sign that everything about Peyton is starting to remind you of Brooke but you figure at this point, you've already passed the spot of no return. You just can't seem to stop. Standing in front of Peyton however, you realize that you never really stopped. Every time you pass that store in the mall your eyes automatically go to the display of Brooke's clothes and a wave of pride washes through you. Every time you see a squirrel you think of her. If there's ever a heat lighting storm your first thoughts are if she went outside to watch it and if she's still okay. It's like a reflex. Anything and everything you see you manage to find a way to connect it to the brunette best friend of your girlfriend.
"Yeah, I…I missed you too."
"Are you okay?" she steps forward worriedly and rests a cool hand on your forehead. "You don't look so hot."
No, really? You want to snap at her. But you don't. It's Peyton, and however frustrated with Brooke you are, it's not okay for you to take it out on her.
"I think I might just need some rest. Stress is just getting to me is all..." if only that were really the problem.
"Well how do you feel?"
How do you feel. How do you feel. You feel like the world you used to know has been torn out from under your feet and ripped to shreds then your heart was shattered into a million pieces in your chest and left there so the sharp edges could cut and tear until there was nothing left but a burning want—need to hold Brooke Davis in your arms and kiss her until the whole world made sense again and you could finally understand what it really is your feeling.
"Just tired."
"Poor baby," Peyton tilts her head to the side and pulls you down on the bed, curling against your chest. "But it'll be okay. We can heal each other now."
You feel restless in her arms. Caught in a moment in time you would do anything to get out of. Everything feels so forced and you can't quite figure out where it all went wrong. Well that's a lie. You know exactly where it went wrong. The first time you ever kissed Peyton behind Brooke's back. Because back then, you had thought it was right. You had believed that you were in love with Peyton and if hurting Brooke was the consequence of being with her, you were willing to do it. And now you were caught in the same trap only the roles were reversed. The only difference was that Brooke wasn't giving in to you. Sure, she had confessed her feelings—you feel a small jump of joy in the pit of your stomach at this thought and Peyton catches the small smile that lights up your face.
"Is this better?"
You turn to look at her. Peyton. Blonde curls cascading down her face in elegant twirls, wide doe eyes open in an innocent loving gaze. This isn't better. This is worse if anything else. Because now you're hurting them both.
"I think a little fresh air might help." Peyton's face falls. You look down. "Oh no, this is great, it's just…I really need a breath. Just, some space you know? This is all a lot at the moment and—"
"It's okay Lucas, I get it."
You look back up at her. "You do?"
"Yeah, Lucas," she laughs. "It's not like you're doing anything bad out there. And…" she pauses and you urge her on with your eyes. "Brooke did that whole insecurity thing with your relationship and I don't want to do it. I trust you Lucas, okay? And I know that I love you, and I know that you love me, and I believe that everything will work out for the best for us!" she smiles brightly at you and you try your best to smile back.
Somehow you know that's what's best for you is Brooke. But you don't think Peyton will understand that so you untangle yourself gently from her and step away.
"I'll be back," you tell her, turning towards the door.
"I know," she says smiling softly in the gentle lamplight. "You always come back for me."
It's true, you think as you step out of the room. You always went back to Peyton. She was the safest choice. If you were with her you knew that you wouldn't run the risk of really getting your heart broken again. At least that's what you thought. But seeing Brooke without being with her was breaking your heart anyway. You groan in frustration and look out at the night. It looks like it might rain. You think you would welcome the wet cool drops on your skin but they don't seem to want to fall just yet. They simply hang suspended in the sky…waiting. Waiting for what?
You cast your eyes out at the parking lot and they eventually make their way over to the gazebo. Your breath catches. She's there.
Without stopping to let yourself think about it any longer you make your way to her, your shoes making soft scuffing noises on the pavement as you go. It surprises you when she doesn't look up when you approach.
"Brooke," you rub the back of your neck and look down at your shoes. She finally turns her precious little face up to look at you.
"I thought we finished this conversation Lucas."
But it doesn't feel like you've even had it yet. Her voice is cold and hard again and you're back to square one. Only you've gotten past the anger and moved onto despair.
"Brooke, I love you."
She stands up and shakes her head. "No you don't Lucas. You think you do, but you really don't."
You frown and she turns away from you. "How do you know what I want?"
"You only want what you can't have," she sighs, turning to look at you, "You want me because now you finally got Peyton. But guess what—" you guess it's a rhetorical question because she doesn't wait for you to answer. "You can't have me." She turns away from you again and your hand automatically reaches out to grab her arm.
"You love me."
"I love Peyton too."
"How can you just give up on us like this? You wanted me to fight for you Brooke, well I'm fighting. And I need you to work with me here. We need to figure something out. We can work this out. We need to try, I can't just let you go again—"
"Don't you understand Lucas?" You know your words have affected her because her hand trembles as she reaches out to push past you. "You already have."
"I love you Brooke." You think that maybe you can break her down slowly until she's ready to talk with you again. You know you need to find a way to work this all out.
"Shut up." Her words are daggers, aimed at your heart and guaranteed to hit the target.
"I love you."
"Just leave me alone Lucas."
"Come on Brooke, you know I can't do that." She steps out of the gazebo and you follow her. You feel something on your cheek. You wonder suddenly if you're crying but then you look up and realize the rain has finally started to fall. "We need to talk about this.
"We don't need to talk about anything." The rain quickens.
Rain drip drops slowly, tantalizingly down from the sky. Land's on her cheek. She won't cry. Her eyes aren't sad. They're strong and hard and you know immediately that there's no need to try and decipher the rain from the tears because there are none. "What happened between us, Brooke we—"
"It was nothing. Nothing happened between us Lucas."
"Stop lying! Tell me the truth Brooke, why are you doing this?"
"Why am I doing this?! You have no idea what it felt like when you cheated on me with Peyton! I couldn't…breath…for the longest time, I was so lost, so confused, so…hurt. I would never do that to anyone, let alone my best friend."
"But Brooke, you can't just deny what happened between us!" It's wrong. It's all so wrong you feel like screaming, but nothing else comes out. Your throat is sore and your eyes are tired and your heart is hollow. Only she lights it with that fire you so desperately need to warm your soul. "Brooke—"
"You can't fix me!" She screams it, her eyes are wide now, and you think you see tears swimming in them and she blinks them away but suddenly your not so confident that it's really just the rain coursing down her cheeks.
"What?" Her words aren't quite making any sense to you and you wonder briefly if it's because you never really could concentrate in her company or if she really isn't making sense.
"You were always saving Peyton! The whole time we were dating you were always off rescuing her and I never knew why! I always thought something was wrong with me because you never wanted to save me, but I've finally figured it all out." She laughs and it's bitter and haunting and you shiver at the sound of it. Thunder cracks in the sky but she doesn't even flinch. The flash of light brightens her face for just a second and in that small moment you think you see the Brooke Davis you used to know standing in the rain after you claimed your love for her, a small smile curving the corners of those perfect lips as she leans forward to kiss you—but then the lightning is gone, the rain pours down harder, and you aren't sure you saw her at all. "You, Lucas Scott, have a hero complex."
Your brow furrows and you frown at her, frustrated she's being so stubborn about all of this. "Brooke, come on, just listen to me—"
"Shut up!" She's screaming again, and as she reaches up to shove her hair out of her face you see her take a shuddering breath and in that single moment you're almost positive you can tell every single drop of rain apart from her tears. "I get it Lucas! You needed to save Dan from the dealership fire and Peyton from the school lockdown, but you can't save me!"
"Brooke, come on, just come with me, we should get out of the rain then I can help you—"
"You can't save me Lucas! You can't fix me! I'm not broken!" And then she takes another long breath, chokes on it, her body bends a little and the rain continues to pound down. "You can't—" she stops again and this time you hear the sob. It tears at your heart in ways you never thought possible and you move towards her, hands extended to help steady her. She stumbles away from you and breaths in gasping heaves. "I don't need you Lucas Scott, I don't—" Beautiful, broken Brooke. Her walls collapse before your unbelieving eyes and she falls, graceful even in all her sorrow, to the ground. Her dress is getting muddy and her whole body is drenched from the rain but she shows no sign of knowing it. You wonder if she has become immune to the cold just like she's become immune to you. Like a little girl who tried to face her own nightmares and lost, she trembles and cries on the dirty ground, her hair is in tangles, her hands shake, and your heart breaks. "I don't want to be her. I won't be Peyton, I can't, I can't do this," her voice breaks and her head buries itself in her hands.
"Brooke," you whisper it, tears spring into your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. You fight with everything you have in you against the tears threatening to emerge from your already red eyes.
Beautiful proud Brooke. Loved for who she is by everyone and hated by herself for who she is not. All she see's in herself is her faults where you—who knows that she is flawed—find her perfect. A devil disguised in the angel's body. She was the devil who threatened to steal your humanity. But then again, she had already taken it. She has completely captured you and now refuses you. Because of her loyalty. Because she isn't willing to let down the ones she loves. Although she seems unafraid of letting you down.
You bend down, getting your pants dirtied and soiled but you hardly notice. Brooke is still taking gasping sobs, trying with all her might to stop her crying. Her breath shudders and her body shakes and as you move to wrap your arms around her she pulls away and suddenly is on her feet. You look up only to find she isn't alone. Her arms are wrapped firmly around Mouth, her face buried in his neck, her body trembling as he supports her weight.
The look he sends you is one you know you will never forget. Without a word he turns from you and takes Brooke away. Then you return to your room. You ignore Peyton's worried questions and let yourself fall onto the bed where you are left to play over the nights events in your mind until you can't stand the thought of looking in the mirror the next morning. You know you won't like the man staring back at you. You hate yourself for hurting Peyton like this. You hate yourself for making Mouth look at you like that. But above everything else, you hate yourself for making her cry.
The next day you awake with a splitting headache and the same image of Brooke walking away from you the night before engraved on the insides of your eyelids so that you can see it every time you close your eyes.
Everyone acts normal when you go out to leave. Brooke doesn't say anything to you on the whole ride home. Mouth steers clear of you but you can see that he's keeping a close eye on both you and Brooke. Even when you return home things aren't the same. She talks to you when she needs to, when she wants to keep up appearances that everything is okay in order to protect Peyton, but other wise she stays away from you. There is no affair. There are no secret meetings or sneaking around behind Peyton's back. You see in her eyes that Brooke is determined to protect Peyton what she herself had gone through.
Sometimes you find yourself wondering at how it all happened. At why she chose you in the first place. What a pair you make. The seemingly loving boyfriend and the unwilling temptress. Separated by everything and brought together by…by what? You don't even know. You don't even assume that she does. She seems to know everything else though. She always knew just where to touch you to make your legs collapse from under you and your mouth unwillingly open to let slip a moan of pure sin and pleasure.
Pure. When you first met her that was one of the first words that came to mind. Pure and beautiful. You know it's a strange word to use to describe a person like Brooke, and you know that she is far from pure, but the first time you met her you found yourself momentarily frozen, stunned, at the sight of those beautiful eyes. They seemed to hold so much compassion and pain in the one glance that she gave you it almost makes you physically pained to think of it.
Cold. Cold and cool and protective as ice. She was separate and alone and the center of everything all at the same time. Behind that layer that she willingly showed to the world were layers upon layers of walls. Walls that you could never, even in your wildest dreams, hope to breach.
"Get to know her," Peyton had told you. "She's not so cold once you talk to her."
She was right. She was fire, consuming you with every movement, every word, every half concealed glance directed at you through a layer of thin veiled lust and desire and want. She was burning you up with every touch and the scalded scars of her fingers on your skin never faded. They were engraved for eternity in your mind and you wouldn't have it any other way.
She was your jailor. She was your freedom. She was everything that was right and wrong and good and bad all wrapped up in the most beautiful package you have ever seen and sent to you to guide you to the light. Or to bring you down with her.
Either way it didn't matter to you. You couldn't breathe when she was in the room. You couldn't play basketball when you knew she was watching. It took you what felt like a lifetime to master the art of acting normal around her again. To her, you suppose it came naturally. And yet everything came naturally to her.
Everything worked out for her in a way you never really understood. You had even seen the trap he had set up for you and almost willingly; you had fallen into it anyway.
She was your air. No matter how much you wanted to get out, to be free of everything to do with her, you couldn't. You needed her. Every breath was hers. Every smile was meant for her. You couldn't control it. You couldn't change it. You knew it. And so did she. So it continued, weaving oh so extravagant tangles and turns through your life like the memory of both sets of your limbs, arms, hands, overlapping, interlacing, touching, holding, pushing away, pulling back, until even you couldn't tell where you ended and she began.
And in all truth you didn't want to. You felt no real desire to untangle yourself from her. She could have been as close to you as she could get and it was never close enough.
All the memory of her did was leave you with an aching need for more. More of everything. You gave her all that you could give and in return she granted you the small things you learned to never take for granted. The lightest brush of the fingers in public that sent a rush of burning heat through your body all the same. A small smile directed vaguely in your direction that could topple all resistance you might have ever considered attempting against her. They were your pleasure and your poison. They were the drug you couldn't give up. They seeped into your blood and slid their way to your heart where they accomplished complete dominance over any free will you might have ever had. You were hers.
And she could never be yours.