Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Credit Mark Schwahn
It was well passed midnight. He hadn't spoken to her since earlier in the week. The death of his uncle had changed him drastically. His usual private and broody self was even more closed off. It had been a little bit more then a month since the school shooting, yet to him it seemed like just yesterday.
When he got to her house he was glad to see that a light was on. He rand the door bell once, twice, three times but no answer. After waiting another minute he decided to let himself in grabbing the spare key from underneath the big rock on the porch. Across the rock "spare key" was written. He remembered arguing with her that she might as well have the key in the door if she is just going to spell out the hiding place. Her reply had been that no idiot would actually think a key was hidden in such a well marked spot.
The house was dark and silent. The only sound he heard was the click of the door shutting. Curtains were closed, all the lights turned off. He could smell the faint odor of cigarette smoke. He knew that meant something was wrong. She only smoked when something was wrong. She didn't know that he knew she still smoked. She had told him she quit, which she had for awhile. But whenever she got stressed she used it as one of her coping mechanisms. He caught her smoking the day after the shooting. But her continuation of a deadly habit had been the last thing on his mind.
Following the smell he walked slowly up the stairs. Opening the door to her bedroom he was met with a harsher smell of cigarette smoke, but she was no where to be found. He quickly scanned the room. Everything seemed normal. Her bed wasn't made, the room was messy, but that was how it always was. His eyes landed on the picture sitting on her dresser. It was his favorite of the two of them. You could hardly see his face, it was mostly buried in her hair. He still remembered how good her hair smelt that day. How happy they had been, her smile big and dimples full in the picture.
He heard noise coming from the bathroom. Walking over he slowly opened the connecting door from the bedroom. The door would only open half way. Something was up against it. Carefully he pushed harder, he could hear someone moving. He then pushed the door open the rest of the way. There were bottles everywhere. Mainly vodka, some black velvet, but all alcoholic. None of them were completely empty and in the middle of it all was his girlfriend. His beautiful, strong, smart, brave girlfriend.
"Brooke" he whispered sadly looking down at the broken girl.
"Go away Lucas" She slurred, using the toilet to hoist herself up. Her legs were unsteady underneath her, he put his hand out to help but she pushed it away. "I don't need your help" She hissed wobbling past him back into her bedroom.
"What are you doing Brooke? Drinking, Smoking. I thought you were done with that kind of life. I thought you turned things around." he sighed disappointedly
"Don't you dare." Her voice quivered "Don't you dare make me feel guilty. You have no right."
"I have every right! You are my girlfriend. I care about you, and excuse me if thinking that drinking yourself into oblivion is a bad idea." He yelled defensively. He couldn't understand why she was so angry. Why her eyes were fiery with hatred and hurt.
"Bull Shit." She yelled back. Voice strong and loud, her slurred speech had vanished. "You don't give a fucking care about me. How dare you come here and yell at me. You lost the right when you quit talking to me. The only time I see you is when you want to get laid and that doesn't involve any talking."
"Excuse me Brooke, but I have been trying to get over losing someone that I loved. I have been trying to get over that day." He slammed his hand against the wall, causing her to jump. "Dammit Brooke"
"I know that you lost Keith" She said softly, noticing him tense up at the name. "But you need to accept that. You need to accept that you will never get over this day. No one will. You aren't the only one affected Lucas. So stop walking around like this is all about you. Stop closing yourself off, to your mom, to your friends, to me... dammit." Her voice is broken, she is tired of pleading with him to open up. Tired of telling him that it's not just him.
"You don't understand Brooke. You weren't there. You didn't experience what the rest of us went through. You weren't held hostage. You didn't have a gun pointed to your head. You just don't get it." He said sadly sitting down next to her on the bed.
"I can't believe your throwing that in my face again. Do you know how many times you have said that to me." He looks down at his feet knowing what she is saying is true. "That's what I thought. But yet you still do it. I may not have been in that building but my whole world was in that building. Do you not understand how horrible it was. To not know if any of my friends were okay. Do you know how horrible it was to sit in that gym and wait for somebody to come get me. Sitting their knowing that my parents wouldn't come."
"Brooke..." He started but was quickly cut off
"No" She said forcefully " Let me finish. It seems to me Lucas like you wanted me to be their. You wanted me to be one of the hostages, wanted me to have that gun pointed at my head. Instead of being happy that I got out alive and okay, you seem to resent me for that. And how sick is that." She sobbed, walking away from him.
"That's not what I think at all." He says quickly shaking his head.
"I don't believe you." She whispers, biting back a sob.
He doesn't know what to say. He watches her walk over to her dresser. Everything about her is different. Everything about her is sad. He didn't even know it was possible but even the way she is standing reflects her sadness. She's looking for something in her drawer, flinging cloths everywhere. She slowly pulls something out, turning towards him. He see's it clearly now. It's a hand gun. Her hand is wrapped delicately around it. It looks so wrong to him. Something so beautiful holding something so ugly. Her arm is moving up from the side of her body.
"What...what are you doing Brooke?" He is more scared now then he was that day at school. He's more confused now then he has ever been.
"I want to feel what its like to have a gun pointed at my head." Her voice cracks. He watches her shaky hand lift the gun up to the side of her head. He can't speak. He's frozen, not moving his body from the bed. Not moving his eyes away from his trembling girlfriend. "Does this make you happy Lucas?" Her voice is stronger, her hand is no longer shaky. "Now I know how it feels. This should make you happy."
He can't speak. He is opening his mouth, trying to force the words out be nothing is happening. The fear in her eyes is gone. She almost looks relieved and that's what scares him most. Its scares him that she is no longer shaking, her voice is no longer cracking. It scares him that she has a gun, it scares him even more that he didn't know about it.
"I love you." He finally says. Its not what he wanted to say but he honestly didn't know what to say. What do you say to your girlfriend who is holding a gun to her own head. He is now shaking. His voice is the one to crack. " I never wanted this."
"Yes you did" She says robotically. Holding the gun steadily now.
"Just put the gun down. Don't do this. Don't hurt yourself because of me. Im not worth it Brooke." He's pleading now, slowly walking closer to her. But each step he takes forward, she steps back.
"Your right. Your not"
"We can work through this Brooke. Don't give up on us. Don't give up on yourself." He reaches for the gun but she pushes him back with her free hand.
"Don't come any closer. I'll do it. Just stay there."
"Why Brooke. Everything that has happened is no reason to stop living." He reasoned, taking a step back.
"It is if you don't want to live anymore." She whispered. "I love you to"
Her delicate finger snaked around the gun. Stopping when it got to the trigger. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. He jumped forward knocking the gun out of her hands. But he had heard a bang.
"Brooke"