Hey everyone! Here's yet another update from yours truly.
Title: Friends and Alibis
The title is from and Escape the Fate song. The lyrics don't really fit, but the title does, so there you go! Disclaimer: I don't own Escape the Fate or "Friends and Alibis."
Anyways, read and review please! Lol.
It was Monday morning, a time to finally return to the world of normalcy after a very not normal weekend. Usually Mondays were hell for Brooke and Peyton in their Manhattan apartment, considering Brooke was usually rushing all over the apartment getting ready and asking Peyton whether or not this design worked or if this model should be at the photoshoot. But today, Peyton had awoken early for her new job and had left as Brooke woke up. A few hours later, feeling strange without her best friend there, Brooke wandered into the bathroom at ten that morning to get ready.
She glanced in the mirror. Save for tired eyes, she looked pretty normal; since the hell that was Friday and Saturday, the weekend had been uneventful enough to allow her to recuperate. The Saturday night movie/food fest with Peyton had helped, too. Carbs and bloody slasher flicks: the best combination, in Brooke's mind, especially when she was feeling the way she had been.
Throwing on a light purple satin shirt, Brooke thought about her day. She had to check into Clothes over Bros and make sure all the models and photo shoots were on schedule, add to the new designs, and meet with the board to discuss the fall line. The one good thing about working through all that was that she was living her dream at 20 years old.
With a contented sigh, Brooke brushed on the remainder of her makeup and put a stray strand of hair back into place. She stepped back to look at herself in the mirror.
Unconsciously, she rubbed her shoulder like she had been doing all weekend. She remembered getting out of the shower early Saturday morning to find a last vestige of the previous night; a ruby red bite mark, courtesy Lucas, on her tan shoulder. For the rest of the day and most of Sunday, she had worn anything that would cover her shoulders, and whenever Peyton wasn't looking Brooke would futilely rub the skin, hoping to make it disappear. While Peyton knew about a hookup, Brooke didn't exactly want to advertise it when she would rather forget about what had happened. Thankfully the mark had disappeared last night, but barely.
Ten o'clock. Time to go live her dream again. As she left the room and once noticed the obvious absence of Peyton on the couch as she made her way into the living room, Brooke was reminded that it was Peyton's first day at her new job. She wondered how it was going as she shut and locked the door.
"And this, obviously, is the copy room. There's paper up in that cabinet, a recycle bin there, and extra ink cartridges there."
Peyton nodded and tried to pay attention to all the information that was being hurled at her. The girl in front of her looked to be about the same age as her. The girl wore a perky California blonde ponytail, one that accentuated her orangey spray-on tan. The low-cut pink top was so stereotypical cheerleader that even Brooke, who had been queen bee and captain of the cheer team at their high school, would have laughed out loud at this girl. Her earrings were fake diamonds, and the girl, Sabrina, seemed to have the philosophy that quantity of makeup beat out quality.
Already, Peyton intensely disliked her.
Peyton had come in that morning, just after nine. After Peyton had been asking around for a while, Sabrina had finally entered the building's lobby. "Peyton, right?" she had asked. Peyton nodded, and Sabrina said that she would be taking her on a little tour of the building so Peyton would know everything. So far they had seen the mail room, the staff rest area and kitchen, briefly the main office (complete with desks and computers playing different music), and now the copy room. Peyton was getting a bit impatient, and rather annoyed with Sabrina's superior attitude.
However, Sabrina had been working there longer; In the interest of her new job, Peyton decided on politeness, something that wasn't exactly her default setting. Never too late to learn, right?
"So," Peyton finally interrupted the steady stream of instructions as they moved down the dull gray hall, away from the copy room. "Where will my desk be?"
Sabrina stopped short. She turned and stared back at Peyton with a mixture of confusion and amusement on her face, looking comically out of place with her bright, bubbly colors in the dull gray hallway.
"Well, I suppose you could use the desk in the copy room." Sabrina gestured towards the room they had just come out of, shrugging, then whirled and continued her tour.
Peyton caught up. "Wait," she said, tapping Sabrina on the shoulder. Sabrina looked irritated as she turned once more. "I'm not sure I really understand. This tour is great, but what about the job? What should I do first? What bands—"
This time it was Sabrina who interrupted. She offered a flashy, toothy patronizing smile. "Well, if I were you I would start by going around to all the executive offices, and seeing if they would like anything, like coffee or copies or if you can do anything for them. Then, check the central office to see if anyone needs anything. And the mail also needs to be delivered from the mail room. If you wait a second, I'll show you where all the executive offices are…" She moved off once more with hardly another glance Peyton's way.
"Ok, now I'm not sure you understand: I'm supposed to be working in music, not errand-running." Peyton moved forward quickly and tugged Sabrina's shoulder just a little. The politeness was ebbing away rather quickly. Easy come, easy go, Peyton thought with a touch of irony.
But it seemed better that Peyton's resentment was intensifying, because at that point, Sabrina's voice took on a snide undertone. "I know. Jack told me about you, that we needed a new…errand girl." Her smile fell away into a sneer.
"But the position—"
"—was filled. By me." Then the smile came back sickeningly sweet, like poisoned honey. "But if you want, you can talk to Jack, the head of the branch."
"Jack?" She sensed she wasn't going to win this one: Malibu Barbie was exactly the girl that Peyton had hated to deal with in high school, back in Charlotte. Even Brooke hadn't been like this.
"Yeah, Jack's cool. I slept with him a few weeks back, and nothing's happened." She said it with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if she was simply telling Peyton about a good movie. Peyton was shocked.
"Wait, you slept with him?"
"Of course," she responded coolly, as if Peyton was being stupid. "How do you think I got your job in the first place?"
Then she turned and continued down the hallway, leaving Peyton stunned.
Brooke loved her office. She had designed it herself, just the way she wanted things. It was airy and spacious; a comfortable, relaxed atmosphere dominated, inspired by her loft-style apartment. A modern-style couch sat against one wall, beneath a large plate glass picture window and next to a currently bare mannequin. There was a corner with an architect's desk for sketching, but Brooke's main desk was in the center of the room. Made from a rich, heavy mahogany, her desk was covered by papers, her computer, and any messy assortment of files, the mess depending on how busy she was that day, and how stressed.
Usually, it was pretty messy.
Perhaps the most noticeable things were the pictures in big silver frames, almost too many for the substantial desk space: they all portrayed Brooke's friends, her old classmates. There were a few of the cheer team from senior year, one from the cheer state championship they had won that same year, a picture of Peyton, a picture of Rachel (which Brooke would have to remember to put away), one of the three of them together in their apartment, and a few of Brooke and her other friends. There were no pictures of her blood family, considering she hadn't spoken to them since sometime around high school graduation. It all reinforced the fact that Brooke lived for her friends, she loved them; they were her family. Whenever she looked at these pictures, she smiled and got just a touch of nostalgia for Charlotte and her life back home.
But today she could barely glance at them when she came in: she had received three calls on the way to work about new accounts with Clothes over Bros and needed to return them. In addition, there were a few old accounts and clients that needed to be contacted. By the time she had gotten to work today, coupled with the crappy weekend she'd had, Brooke was already in a bad mood. Funny how things swing the other way so quickly.
Brooke was flipping rapidly through an address book that morning when Lisa, her personal assistant and secretary, came in. Lisa was a bit ditzy and blonde sometimes, but she got the job done with no qualms and never really irritated Brooke too badly. In fact, Lisa reminded Brooke a bit of Bevin, an old friend from high school: adorably and entertainingly airheaded.
"Um, Brooke, you have a call…"
Brooke glanced up. She was standing, hunched over her desk and the tiny book. "Well, Lisa, I'm a little busy right now, and stressed, can you tell them—"
"She said that you would say that," Lisa interrupted, then checked a little post-it she was carrying, "And she said 'tell dear Brooke to just pick up the damn phone before I shove it somewhere she won't like it.'" Lisa looked back to Brooke from the post-it eagerly.
"What?" Brooke stared blankly, completely nonplussed. "Lisa, who is on the line?"
"It's Peyton," Lisa replied, in a 'duh' tone, as if Brooke had just asked what color the sky was. "Want me to tell her that you're busy—"
Brooke shrugged happily, instantly closing the address book. "Of course not," she said, laughing, "Put her on." The frazzled look on her face faded to an easy smile as she sidled into her seat and grabbed the phone. Lovely. Peyton was always good at diverting Brooke's worries (example number one: the weekend), and Brooke got to ignore the three account calls she had to make today. Win-win. She held the phone to her ear and pressed the flashing button.
"P. Sawyer!" she exclaimed happily.
She heard her friend's unusually warm voice flood over the line a second later. "What's up, B. Davis?" she laughed.
"Nothing much, blondie, except that you just saved me from having to work," she replied, "Speaking of, how's the new job going?"
Peyton looked around at the tiny desk that had been crammed into the copy room, the one that was there mainly for the purpose of a place to put paper while copies were being made. It was dirty, and wobbled if it was hit too hard. Or touched at all. The copy room was uncomfortably small as well.
"It's great," Peyton lied, but she figured she must've put enough believability into it because Brooke didn't object. In fact, Peyton had just gotten back from her second coffee run so far, and had gone around to all the executives asking if they needed anything. "I'm having a lot of fun." Then she rolled her eyes, masking her utter and crushing disappointment.
On the other end of the line, despite Peyton's bubbly attitude, Brooke sensed something in the blonde. She didn't want to push it though; Peyton would tell her when she was ready.
Peyton continued. "Anyway, Brooke, that's not why I'm calling." Her voice took a sharp, excited upswing. "Guess what?" she practically shouted.
"What?"
"Haley's coming! To New York! To see us!"
Brooke's ensuing scream could probably be heard on the other side of the building, in the photoshoot section. She leapt up from her chair, barely keeping the phone to her ear, and almost started dancing. Haley! As in Haley James! Haley had been Brooke and Peyton's other best friend, the fourth in their group of four: Rachel, Haley, Brooke and Peyton. They hadn't seen each other for at least a year and a half. After high school, Brooke, Peyton and Rachel had moved to New York, and Haley had continued on to college. None of the girls had been surprised; Haley was the Valedictorian of their class, a bookworm at heart. Despite their differences, all of the girls had been close and had gone through a lot together in their years of high school.
Brooke pressed the phone to her ear again. "P. Sawyer, are you serious? Haley! Oh my god!"
"Hell yeah, I'm serious! She just called me!" Peyton echoed Brooke's excitement. "She's coming up for the weekend, she wants to see us!"
Brooke screamed again, thrilled and overjoyed and homesick all at the same. God. Haley James! Save for the occasional long email, the girls had barely communicated since high school. Now she was coming up! Brooke looked at one of the pictures on her desk, the one that showed all four of the best friends sitting on Brooke's old bed in Charlotte. All four of them had wet hair and guilty, amused smiles on their faces.
She remembered fondly that night, the time that they had all gone skinny dipping at the country club pool, of which Brooke's parents were members. The escapade had been led by Rachel and Brooke, with Peyton doing anything for a rush and Haley having to be dragged into the water. It had been a summer night, the summer between Junior and Senior year.
Long story short, they had hidden their clothes in a small enclosure, behind the fenced in pool heater. But when they had finished their laughing and teasing and playing in the water, Haley had jumped out to grab their clothes and realized that the janitor had shut and locked the pool heater area, with their clothes inside. Haley had jumped back into the water, and the girls spent another hour trying to figure out what to do. Just when they had decided to make a break for the car, the hot pool boy that Haley had had a crush on came out, intending to check the pool before going home for the night. Haley had panicked and bolted from the water, stark naked. The motion lights had instantly turned on, exposing all four girls naked in the water.
The pool boy had stared. The girls had stared back, frozen in mortification. Then Brooke had broken the silence with a wild, rather valiant shot in the dark: "Care to join us?" she'd asked him, grimacing apologetically.
Several hours, many of Haley's "I'm so sorry, oh my god,"s, a few of Rachel's swear words, a couple of Peyton's eyerolls and many of Brooke's stifled giggles later, the three girls were on there way home. The manager had pulled them out of the pool and given them all blankets, but he was still irate. Brooke's parents had managed to pay him for his silence, but the drive home was silent. But as soon as the four girls got back to Brooke's house and were in her room, they were laughing hysterically and embarrassedly about the whole situation. Haley, obviously, had been a little miffed that they had ruined her chances with the pool boy, but she joined in with her friends within moments. And of course, they had never let Brooke live down her futile attempt at smooth talking: "Care to join us?"
Brooke smiled at the memory; she could still feel the warm water, and she still had to stifle a laugh whenever she thought about that warm summer night. She missed Haley James and Charlotte, and felt like she was getting some of her high school years back with the news that Haley was coming to see them. She then remembered the phone that was still clutched in her hand, and put it back to her ear. "Peyton, does she need a place to stay? Is she going to stay with us?" she finally asked, floating.
"Uh, no, I think she said she was just getting a hotel room," Peyton said.
Brooke calmed down a little bit, but kept grinning from ear to ear. She fell back into her seat, reclining casually. "That's weird," she laughed.
"Yeah," Peyton agreed, but Brooke could almost feel her shrug. "But who cares? Haley's coming!"
Brooke almost jumped back up again. "I know!" she cried, thrilled. They were like two little girls again, gushing over the latest boytoy.
Just then, Lisa appeared in her office doorway. She had two big men behind, with muscle shirts and stony looks on their faces. "Brooke!" Lisa said urgently, "Are you ok? I called security, I heard you scream…"
But Brooke just kept laughing happily, excited.
Haley James.
Later, Brooke strolled down the spacious, marble-tiled hallway of Clothes over Bros, past different lounge chairs and couches and modern art and tables with vases on them. She was in the photo shoot section, the model section, and behind each door along the hallway was a studio for the different shoots. Today, she only had to check that everything was going ok with the models and the photographers, that the dresses fit, the lighting was working.
Everything had been going well so far. Haley was coming, and the thrill of that news kept Brooke floating down the hallway. She'd hardly thought about Chase or Rachel, and what had happened Friday night and Saturday morning was completely out of her mind. She hoped. In any case, trivial work like this helped to occupy her thinking.
That is, until she pushed into studio C8.
It was a large room, made for big name magazine photo shoots, with bare dark walls and tracks of adjustable lighting along a catwalk at the top. There was a silver-white photo backdrop in the center of the cavernous room, with more lighting and even a small fan for the models. There were only two people in here; a photographer, and a tall, red-haired model: Rachel. She wore a dress that Brooke had actually created herself.
It was a relatively simply dress, halter-style with a plunging neckline. A slit ran up one side from the diagonally cut bottom to the waistline, freeing one leg. Other than the few clean cuts, nothing interrupted the elegant fabric that was like water on a dark night; flowing, cool, deep and endlessly black. It complemented Rachel's long, tanned figure and five inch strappy heels quite well, but Brooke could barely concentrate on the dress. Her hands gripped the clipboard she was carrying until her knuckles turned a garish white, but her face remained calm and even serene.
Rachel was facing the doorway Brooke stood in, and saw her first. Their eyes met, Brooke's angry Hazel and Rachel's instantly sorry brown ones, and the redhead's shoulders dropped an inch.
Then the man with the camera turned; Brooke recognized David, one of their lead photographers.
"Ah, Ms. Davis!" he greeted warmly with a heavy French accent. She suspected it was false, but didn't really care. "What do you think of the dress? The lighting? The angles?"
Rachel and Brooke exchanged another glance. In addition to the dress, Rachel wore a look of cool disinterest, just another model that was waiting for the designer's approval. But Brooke could see the barely concealed heat in her gaze, the will to just look away or start swearing. Hidden beneath her cool demeanor, it seemed like she was gearing up for an argument. But Rachel remained perfectly still, in the center of the room against the white backdrop, watching, waiting for Brooke's appraisal.
In reality, Brooke could have cared less about the dress, and she had a feeling that Rachel knew that, but the brunette just put on her usual business façade. She carefully considered the design, tapping the side of her face with one perfectly manicured red nail. "You know, I'm not really sure if that dress is working. I think it's too slutty."
The deadlock broke; Rachel threw her arms up in the air, exasperated. "You designed the dress, Brooke." Heat emanated from her dark brown eyes as she stared Brooke down, but she seemed angrier at Brooke's headstrong nature than anything. David seemed to realize the tension in the air, and instantly shut his fake French mouth. He tried not to look at either of the girls, who had resumed their standoff.
Brooke seemed to consider again. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I guess it's not the dress. It must be the model." She shrugged, as if there was nothing she could do, and turned to walk out the door without a second glance.
"Hey!" Rachel crossed the room in three strides, even in heels that put her over six feel tall. Behind them, David examined his camera equipment with nervous care and feigned deafness. When they were out in the hallway, Rachel got to Brooke and grabbed her shoulder, spun her around, and got right into the brunette's face. Rachel may have been a few inches taller and definitely pissed off, but Brooke had a weekend's worth of pent up resentment and jealousy and guilt and it was all coming out now; her hazel eyes were a black fire.
It was a pretty even match.
Rachel started. "Brooke, you know me; if you were any other girl I would have kicked your ass by now," she said aggressively through gritted teeth, taking a small step forward.
Brooke snorted, as if daring Rachel to try, but remained silent.
"But you're not," the red-head continued, ignoring Brooke's reaction, "Look, you're my best friend, like a sister to me; you have been since high school, and you're going to continue to be. I know you're mad, Brooke, but you have no idea how sorry I am and what I wouldn't give for a second chance." It wasn't a sad sort of begging, more of a determined announcement; Rachel was not going to lose Brooke.
Exhaling hard through her nose, Brooke looked away, off to the side. They were alone in the long, empty hallway now; there was no one to see or even hear them arguing, but both Brooke and Rachel kept there voices low with quietly controlled anger. Brooke's jaw was still set in frustration. Thoughts seemed to be whirling through her head, but Rachel couldn't read Brooke to save her life.
She waited impatiently, not knowing what to do, until Brooke looked back and said with complete abruptness, "Haley's coming sometime this week."
Haley. As in Haley James, their best friend. Rachel, seeming to forget the seriousness of the situation, let her jaw drop and the corners of her mouth turn upward in excited disbelief. Though she hadn't been the best of friends with Haley James in high school, they had been relatively close. She also knew how close Brooke and Peyton were with the girl. Rachel also, though she refused to admit, missed Haley and Charlotte and the memories that Haley brought back.
"Brooke, that's great! When does she get here, what—"
Brooke's head whipped around from the vase she had been examining to face Rachel once more. "Look," she interjected, "I didn't come here to gush with you about one of my best friends coming to see us." Though her voice wasn't exactly livid anymore, it still carried an undertone of frustration and disappointment. It seemed that she hadn't forgotten the seriousness of their circumstances, though Rachel might have. They weren't friends, and she obviously wanted to make sure Rachel didn't forget that.
"Then why did you come here?" Rachel asked, quiet and somber in an instant. Her mood changed at once from the happy bubble she had been a moment ago.
"I came here because it's my job, in case you haven't noticed!" Brooke's voice rose in volume again as she flung up a finger to point out 'Brooke Penelope Davis' beneath the Clothes over Bros sign.
Rachel's reply was monotone. "I know that. I mean, why did you come to see me? You knew I was shooting, you knew everything; you didn't have to come in. Why?"
Brooke opened her mouth in heated response, but then paused and closed it, pulling her head back a little. She regarded Rachel with a mixture of resentment and uncertainty. And there was something else in her eyes that Rachel didn't recognize.
It seemed the question was harder when Brooke stopped and thought about it. How was she supposed to fight back at Rachel when she couldn't even answer the girl's questions? Why had she come here?
Rachel answered it for her before Brooke could even consider the question any further. "You came here because you wanted to see me. Because you're not sure. You still cared; you still wanted, on some subconscious level, to see if we are completely done." Brooke's eyes were cold. "So are we, Brooke? Is our friendship really that far gone?"
It should have been. The friendship should have been completely done, over, and Brooke shouldn't have even been there. She opened her mouth, but again, Brooke found herself struck dumb, unable to answer the question for some reason.
Peyton poked her head around the heavy wooden door of the executive's office. "Um, Mr. Rust?"
An older man, maybe fifty, looked up from a file on his desk. "Miss Sawyer, right?" he asked jovially. He wore an expensive black suit, with silver hair that was slicked back over his head. His body was surprisingly trim and fit for his age.
Peyton edged into the room, then shut the door behind her. "Yes, sir, I just wanted to talk about something."
"How are you adjusting?" he asked, in that same jaunty voice, oblivious to her strained state.
"Um, that's sort of what I wanted to talk about." She took a few tentative steps forward
Jack gestured for her to sit down, nodding. "Sure, sure."
The room was large, at least twice the size of her copy room office. Expensive jet black wood-and-glass furniture contrasted starkly with the glossy white walls, and the thick white carpet that covered the floor. The room had a huge floor to ceiling window that took up an entire wall and overlooked a large part of the city. Jack was behind a classy looking ebony desk, hands folded on the desktop, his face displaying polite interest in whatever his newest employee had to say.
The whole spectacle was a bit too grandiose for Peyton's taste. She mentally rolled her eyes as she sank into one of the sleek looking chairs, but smiled at her new boss anyways.
"So," he said, "What is it that you need to talk about?"
"Ok," she said decisively, jumping right in. There was a time for lying, and this was not it. "I'm really happy to be working here, but I just thought that—"
"That you would be recruiting artists, in a different venue every night, scouting?"
Peyton shrugged, sinking a little into the chair. "Yeah, sort of. I thought that's what the position was about. How'd you know that's what I wanted to talk about?"
Jack gave her a toothy smile, and spun his chair around to a file cabinet behind him. "Sabrina told me," he said, his head buried in the files, "She's a great girl."
Barely managing a level voice, Peyton said simply, "I've met her." She was also reminded of what Sabrina had said this morning about sleeping with Jack. Peyton grimaced.
Jack slammed the file cabinet shut and spun back around, a yellow file in his hands. He set it on the desk and looked up at her. "So," he said, opening the file, "I have your resume here, so I'll just outline a few things." He showed Peyton the official piece of paper she had worked hours on. "Peyton, I like you, but it seems you don't have much experience in this field. Actually, you don't have much of anything listed under 'experience.'"
Peyton bit her lip. Her shoulders dipped a fraction of an inch.
"You had one reference, with whom I wasn't able to get a hold of." Jack leaned back in his chair, looking tired, even though he had seemed perfectly normal thirty seconds ago. He rubbed a hand under his eyes. Then he looked back at a very blank Peyton.
"Peyton, we had a lot of people angling for a job here, and only a few positions. The job you applied for was filled by Sabrina, after some…persuasion on her part." He grinned a little smile, then continued, "And you said your skills included office work, so you were considered for the job you have now."
"Then why'd you pick me?" She asked, just able to keep the scathing tone out of her voice.
Jack shrugged, his smile returning to his face. "I liked the picture included with the cover letter." He carelessly tossed the resume aside, and showed her instead the picture of herself that she had included on Brooke's advice. It was a picture of her that Brooke had taken at a party; just her normal self, wearing a tight fitting top with her trademark leather jacket and blue jeans.
Looking at it now, Peyton could have torn the picture to pieces. Instead, she stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Rust, for taking the time to speak with me." She smiled at him, a smile that didn't reach her eyes, and shook his hand, then walked the few steps to the door.
Jack finally seemed to sense Peyton's tightness. He leaned back once more, but this time he had a little grin on his face. Peyton had just put her hand on the door when he said, "Ok, Peyton, look out there." He pointed through his glass door out into the main office where there were half a dozen people working at computers. Peyton's gaze was directed to a young man with headphones in one ear. "You see Frank there? He started as a grunt like you, three months ago. Of course, he obviously couldn't persuade me to promote him, but he got ahead in other ways. You work hard like him, and I'm sure you can get up there eventually. Or you can always try to win me over," he added, with a raise of his eyebrows.
With surprising self control, Peyton once more kept her face blank. "Thank you, Mr. Rust," she said in a monotone. She was halfway out the door when she heard his voice again.
"Call me Jack. Oh, and get me a cup of coffee, will you?"
It was only once Lisa's voice interrupted her thoughts that Brooke realized she had found her way back to her office. As she passed the desk, she pasted on a fake smile and made to walk by.
"Brooke, a man came by looking for you," said Lisa from her desk, "I didn't know him, and he didn't seem to know his way around, so I just let him go in your office."
The smile dropped off Brooke's face. She stopped in her tracks and took a moment to make sure she had heard right: Lisa had let some random person, a man she didn't know, into her private office. Brooke had everything in there: designs, clothes, jewelry, her expensive purse, and other valuable items that were in the office for their safekeeping. Now a stranger, a man no less, who had blundered into the building was loose in her private office.
Great.
"Did they have an appointment with me?" Brooke asked, her voice strained.
"No…But he was pretty cute. Pretty eyes. And he seemed to know you, so I thought it was fine."
Brooke rubbed her forehead tiredly. "Ok, honey," she told her assistant, and it occurred randomly to Brooke how many times she had used this tone with Bevin, one of her old friends, "That probably wasn't the smartest thing to do." Lisa shrugged a little apology but kept the smile on her face. Brooke turned away and stepped cautiously towards the door, then threw it open and looked inside.
But before the person standing there could say anything, Brooke poked her head out of the office and turned back to Lisa; now the look of apprehension was gone, replaced instead with the annoyed look of someone who was the victim of a bad joke. "Yeah, Lisa, it definitely was not the smartest idea." She said it loudly, looking irritable. Brooke's nails dug into the handle of the dark-colored glass door.
Lisa gave another sort of happy, apologetic shrug. Brooke just took a steadying breath and retreated to her office, even though her sanctuary was now the last place she wanted to be. She barely looked at her male visitor as she crossed the room, nervous and apprehensive once more.
Her desk was on the far side of the room, facing the door. The walk there felt like a death march in her mind, compounded by the fact that she felt his eyes burning into her back the whole way. Btu she paid no mind to him, and finally shuffled behind her desk and busied herself with some papers. She remained standing and tense.
The man leaned against the far wall, near the door, his sweaty palms flat against the white paint; he looked the nervous subject of a first time mugshot. His unsure gaze watched her movements. There was a pain there, and a nervous impatience as he waited for Brooke to say something. For a moment, glancing up at his dark, unsteady eyes, Brooke felt the smallest twinge of guilt and pity. But only for a moment, then the small lick of understanding was consumed by the fiery anger that had become her default setting lately.
Deciding Brooke wasn't going to start the conversation, he pushed himself off the wall. "Hey," Chase said.
Brooke looked up with a kinked eyebrow and simmering glare. "Hey." Then she refocused her gaze on the desk.
Chase inched forward a little more, his hands in the pockets of his oversized gray hoodie jacket. The one I used to wear, Brooke thought, with a little pang of sadness. Her hand tightened on a piece of paper.
"So you know?" he whispered, less of a question and more of a hesitant invitation for Brooke to share her thoughts.
"Know what?" This time, Brooke didn't look up, just continued to shuffle and reshuffle papers, making a distractingly loud sound.
"Brooke don't—"
Her hand hit the desk with a sharp crack, and she finally looked up; it seemed her attempt to occupy herself had gone out the window. "Of course I know," she said, lips tightly pursed and teeth gritted with an amazing self-control, "I just want to hear you say it."
He seemed to steel himself then: Chase took a breath and straightened his slumped shoulders. For another brief instant, Brooke felt a little flick of admiration and warmth for Chase. "About Rachel and I. What happened." The way her nails dug into her skin was all the confirmation Chase needed. "Brooke you have no idea—"
"Let me guess," Brooke interrupted, "How sorry you are? If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that this weekend, I wouldn't have to work at all."
For the first time, the corner's of Chase's mouth rose, if only a tiny bit. "That's not true; I know how much you love this company."
"I'm sure, Chase, that if you knew how much it mattered to me, then you would have come around here a bit more."
That's when Chase became a little defensive: He brought his arms up and his voice rose. "I did come around, Brooke, but sometimes you seemed to busy and stressed out for me, so I would leave." Then he froze, recognizing his mistake immediately.
She stared at him for a long second, as if unable to believe he had just said that. "What would you do then, Chase?" she asked scathingly. "Would you go find someone to hookup with because I was busy or you couldn't find me? Kinda like what you did at the party, except your dumb ass decided to try it with my best friend!" Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and her voice rose in fiery passion. "How many times did that happen?"
"None!" he said immediately, instinctively reaching his arms out to try and comfort her, but Brooke's icy, now teary glare held him back. "And there was nothing between me and Rachel—"
"Yeah, I know there was nothing between you Friday night! I couldn't even see daylight between you." She shook her head derisively; one tear slipped from her eye. Chase looked down, at a loss for words and unable to meet her bitter hazel gaze. He had stopped a few feet from her desk, unable to come any closer. Each word was full of pain, because each word came straight from Brooke's heart. But despite all the emotion, Brooke stood up a little straighter, strengthening and retreating behind her wall. "But it doesn't matter now. I'm done. I'm done with you, and I'm done with us. I don't care anymore."
Chase looked up quickly, brow furrowing in heartbreak. His world was crashing down around him, with Brooke manning the wrecking ball, and he was the one that had inadvertently put her there. "Brooke please; you have to care. You're too perfect and too great to not care. You're not that girl, so don't you dare become her. You still have your friends; Peyton, Rachel, everyone. You still have me. I still care for you, I still love you. Please, Brooke. Don't do that."
Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes; Brooke was reminded of a song that Peyton was always playing.
I've been so unfair,
misplacing my affections.
She had a reason not to take me back into her care.
I'm just a stray dog now, I can't beg or bow…
Despite her anger, despite what Chase had done with Rachel, despite what Brooke had done that night, she softened at the sight of his lost face. The sun was nearing the city horizon now, casting a shadow over his handsome features, making Chase look even more distressed. Her anger waned slightly, and her voice rose a few degrees from it's icy tone.
"Chase, I'm not in high school anymore. Those lines are pretty, but useless," she pleaded, "I'm different from the girl I used to be. Hell, I've changed since we've met. It's not the same anymore, we're not the same. I love you, Chase, but we don't work anymore. And Friday night just drove the final nail into the coffin. You got bored of waiting for me, of looking for the girl that you met, and you moved on, in a way. You found someone that met your needs, and it wasn't me. And as soon as that girl isn't me, we're done." As she spoke, the ferocity faded from her face, leaving Brooke with a simple sadness etched over her features: this, more than any fight, more than him hooking up with another girl, was the end of their amazing relationship.
And she knew it.
And judging by the way his eyes clouded over and he bit his lip, so did Chase.
"I'm sorry," she added, in a final whisper, and then it was over. It was almost like a physical bond between them was snapped clean through. Chase moved forward slowly, and tried to take her into his arms once more. Out of fight, Brooke let him, tired of everything. But she didn't reciprocate, rather remained sitting on her desk, arms folded and eyes directed to one side. As Chase pulled away, he kissed her once, a goodbye kiss, on the top of her head. He kept his lips pressed into her hair like that for a long moment, inhaling her scent for the last time. Then he backed away, finally, reluctance in every fiber of his being. Brooke turned her head away from the spot of wall she was examining, blinking away the tears in her eyes, to watch him go.
Chase was at the doorway when he stopped and turned, one thing left on his lips. "Brooke, I'm trying not to be a bad guy."
I'm a good guy, Brooke.
The words from Friday night echoed in her head, but Brooke ignored them. That's what all guys said. She remained silent with that thought in mind, and didn't meet his eye, no matter how hard it was to keep her eyes from sliding back to his face.
Chase waited, maybe to see Brooke's face change from sadness to realization; maybe to see if there was any chance that she would take him back. But Brooke's eyes betrayed no such thing as she waited for Chase to leave. He still cared for her, and she was the only force that could have made him leave that office.
He gave a little sigh, exhaling the last of his hopes, and pushed through the door for what Brooke knew would be the last time. Then he was gone, and it was like finally breaking the surface after being underwater: she could breathe again.
She fell into her desk chair, eyes shut, marveling at how unbelievably good have something that would support her but wouldn't cheat on her.
God, she was tired. Funny how one Monday could do that to you. She felt like calling Peyton, but she knew that her friend was working and probably having a great time with all the new bands she had looked up over the weekend. Then, as she contemplated calling Lisa to have her assistant get Brooke a coffee, a flash of bright yellow against the red-brown wood of her dark desk caught Brooke's eye. She glanced down for a closer look at her desk and inhaled a small breath.
A perfect yellow tulip lay on the mahogany wood. It was the same type tulip that Chase always gave her whenever they had a date or whenever he felt like surprising her. She picked it up with exceedingly gentle hands; Brooke fingered the silken petals, smelling it tenderly. Chase had left it there, she was sure. Not a bouquet, nothing big, just a simple flower. "Their" flower. Somehow, that felt better than anything else he could have done.
She rubbed it delicately across her cheek; the light touch made it feel like Chase was still in the room with her. Brooke's green-brown eyes softened, and the smallest hint of a smile played on her lips.
:D Tah dah!
Thanks for reading and putting up with my widely-spaced updates :D
Oh, and the lyrics I used in the Brooke/Chase conversation were from the Jack's Mannequin song "Miss California," which is a really great song, by the way.
So check back soon for an update of Himerus and Eros, and even sooner for my next update of Don't Blink!
I have a feeling you'll like the next chapter of Himerus and Eros ;)
--Chandler