I Will Keep the Bad Things From You
A/N: Finally, I know. I'll keep it short and just say thanks to Lynn (my lovely beta)and Chey (my co-founder of the Angst Patrol)for reading parts of this over for me.
By the way, this story is fairly short and will only have 2 or 3 more chapters.
And I love you all
Chapter 4
Damaged
Dreaming comes so easily
'Cause it's all that I've known
True love is a fairy tale
I'm damaged, so how would I know
I'm scared and I'm alone
I'm ashamed, and I need for you to know
I didn't say all the things that I wanted to say
And you can't take back what you've taken away
'Cause I feel you, I feel you near me
- Plumb
Brooke follows Lucas into his bedroom, and she refrains from asking him whether he's okay or not. Instead, she just gently guides him into a sitting position on the bed.
"Here," she says, and pulls the tie off his neck, placing it around hers. She walks to the mirror, and her fingers fumble across the material of the tie. Looking up, she can see him watching her in the mirror, and for some odd reason, she blushes.
It's the way that he looks at her sometimes that makes her feel extremely vulnerable and naked. Like he's not just looking at the bright and cheerful façade she so expertly puts on. But that, even through his angst and depression, he can still see who she is.
Sometimes it scares her that when she's around him, she can't hide from her true self.
But if he didn't love who she was, she wouldn't be here right now. She wouldn't be gesturing him over, and placing the tie over his head, and tightening it around his neck. She would just be another friend, like Haley, or like Nathan, neither of whom he's talked to since before the shooting. She wouldn't be sleeping in his bed at night, and she wouldn't have been the shoulder he cried on when he stumbled across an old photo album of him and Keith.
There wouldn't be a 'Brooke and Lucas,' there wouldn't be a 'broody and cheery,' there wouldn't be a 'botfriend and pretty girl.'
"There wouldn't be an us," she mumbles as she finishes with the tie.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing," she replies, with an inward, sad smile.
She's clinging onto his arm, while they make their rounds through the house, talking to distant relatives, and friends from school. Karen's parents tell her it's so good to finally meet her, and if she weren't so exhausted, she probably would have noticed the way that Lucas squeezed her hand tighter and seemed to wear a proud smile on his face when introducing her to his grandparents.
They're standing in the foyer, talking to some second cousin, twice removed, when Peyton walks through the door. And to see her best friend on crutches is only slightly better than seeing her lying in a hospital bed. Brooke loosens her grip on Lucas' arm for the first time that afternoon and brushes past faceless mourners to Peyton.
"Hi buddy," the brunette says, and the words come out more fake and childish then she had hoped. "I'm sorry I haven't been around lately, I've just been with Lucas and Karen."
"Of course," Peyton replies with a nod, not acknowledging the fact that Brooke hadn't called or visited in a week.
"Do you want me to get you something, or…" Brooke's words trail off into nothing, the sentence of a girl trying to relieve her guilt, although she seems to have forgotten that the phone goes both ways, and that Peyton hasn't called either.
"No, I just came to see Karen," the blonde says in a quiet voice, and moves past Brooke.
"Peyton," Brooke says, and the blonde turns. "I'm really glad you're okay."
Another nod, and Peyton is now walking past Lucas. Brooke sees the glance that the two share, and although no words are exchanged, this weird twinge of jealousy flares up inside of her.
She wishes it would go away.
-
"It just hurts everywhere, Peyton." Those are her first words as she kicks off her shoes and crawls into bed with her best friend, without so much of a hello.
The blonde rolls over on her side, scooting closer to Brooke and sighing. "I know how you feel."
"But at least you have an excuse to be in pain. You got shot." Her words are blunt but Peyton laughs nonetheless.
"The pain in my leg is the least of it," she says in a softer tone, looking up at the ceiling, rather than at Brooke.
Brooke puts a hand on her friend's shoulder, and rolls onto her side. "What's wrong, Sawyer."
"Brooke, do you remember last year when you found out about me and Lucas?" She hates to bring it up but plows through anyway. "Do you think you would have been less angry if I'd been up front right away?"
Brooke sighs, and it's her turn to look at the ceiling. "Part of me wanted to forget that it had ever happened and go back to being the blissfully unaware ditz. But we all have to face our demons, Peyton, and yeah, I think it would have been better for all of us if you had told me about the two of you right away."
They'd never really spoken about it, not since last year when the extent of their discussions was snide comments from Brooke and pathetic pleas from Peyton. And Peyton hates to bring it up, but it feels needed – necessary.
"What's up, P?" Brooke asks after Peyton falls silent for a minute or two.
"I…I can't have you hate me for this, Brooke, because I can't lose you again. I just can't. That's why I'm hesitant in telling you."
Brooke props herself up on her elbow. And stares at Peyton intently, although Peyton can see, even in the dark of the room, the uncertainty and fear in her hazel eyes.
"You're kind-of freaking me out, blondie," Brooke says with a nervous laugh.
"I kissed Lucas." The words fall out, rushed, and awkward, and for a good 10 seconds, no one says anything.
-
"Oh."
She's gone numb. Quite physically, she feels like she can't move. And she starts to feel like she's having one of those anxiety attacks she used to have as a kid. Only this time, she kicks herself on the inside, because really all this numbness is over a stupid high school love triangle – two girls, and a boy.
My boy.
She's not even angry. Not in the slightest. She's just crushed, heartbroken. So the next words she says aren't even overdramatic. They feel real, true, raw.
"I can't really blame you. Or him. I mean, the boy I love, protected the girl I love. And it's the girl he loves too." The last words barely fall from her lips before Peyton is speaking.
"You can't think like that, Brooke." The blonde stares at her but Brooke keeps her eyes on the ceiling. "Look, I care about Lucas, and I always will. But I kissed him because I thought I was going to die. And he saved me. He always saves me. And maybe that's what kept me clinging to him for so long. Not love. Security." She pauses, and is about to speak again before realizing she doesn't have anything else to say."
She hears Brooke sigh in the bed next to her, and it kills Peyton that her best friend hurting.
"It's fine, Peyton," Brooke says, although she doesn't sound very convincing. "It's not a big deal."
"Brooke – I know you get worried about me and Lucas, and I get it. We hurt you really bad last time. But he's insanely in love with you." Peyton sits up in bed now. "And you know what – so am I. You're my Brooke! I'm not gonna' hurt you again."
"Okay." This time, Brooke's words sound more convincing and solid, but then she gets up from the bed. "I need to go find Lucas."
She's gone before Peyton can say goodbye.
-
She's disappeared again. She's started sleeping on the couch at night, though he doesn't know why, so she probably assumes that he doesn't notice her leaving. But he does. He can feel the lack of her presence when she slips out the door at 9, 10, 11 o'clock, and the house feels empty without her. He's come to realize that he misses her.
Tonight she leaves early and he's wide awake when he hears the door of the kitchen gently close behind her and the sound of her car as it starts up and drives off down the street. It's strange, because in an odd way, he's jealous of something that can't breathe, speak, or live. He's jealous of the nighttime, which swallows her up and takes her away from him.
He doesn't want to follow her, because he knows that she probably needs her space. So instead, after an hour or two of tossing and turning, he leaves the house too. And goes to the one place that he's always been able to heal.
The night is a little misty and so the Rivercourt seems hazy and eerie as he steps out from Keith's old car. He grabs the ball from the passengers seat and begins to shoot around, relishing in the sound of rubber against concrete.
At one point he looks out of the corner of his eye and sees her sitting on the picnic table with her feet on the bench. She's dressed in black sweats with a purple tank top under her sweater and a pair of white running shoes that for some reason make him smile. When he turns around for another free throw, he speaks up.
"You know it's pretty creepy to sneak up on someone like that," he says, with half a smile as the ball goes swooping through the net.
She stands up and walks over to him. Her hair has curled in the humidity and she folds her arms across her chest in a way that makes her seem more vulnerable than defensive.
"Where'd you go?" He asks, turning back to the hoop to send the ball flying through the air again. He wants to sound casual, but wonders if he came off as too curious. Then he realizes that she's his girlfriend, and he doesn't need to worry about sounding like a needy crushed out teenager. Then he realizes that she's started to talk.
"I was at Peyton's."
"Oh."
"She told me."
His heart plummets, because somehow he knows what she's talking about. And instead of apologizing profusely, which would be the most logical thing to do, he mutters "yeah, sorry about that," without even looking at her.
"I just – don't know how you couldn't tell me," she says, and her voice cracks on the last part of her sentence.
It kills him.
"You wouldn't understand – you weren't there."
"Hey!" she says, and he's surprised by the new fire in her voice. "I may not have been in that building, but that doesn't mean that I don't feel anything. That doesn't mean I don't carry that day around like everybody else."
"I'm sorry," he replies again, only this time in a softer tone. This time, he would give anything to take her in his arms and comfort her, because he's starting to see one, no, two tears fall from her eyes. But this time, she walks away.
-
He feels like he's a nomad, driving around the oddly empty town, but he doesn't want to go home. Not now, anyway. Because he knows if he goes home now, she won't be there, and he'll be reminded of her hurt expression when she left the Rivercourt.
Nathan and Haley's house is dark, but he doesn't feel bad about ringing the doorbell so late at night. Lately, he doesn't feel bad about much of anything. He's kind-of taken it for granted, so he's a little shocked when Haley answers the door and no sympathy registers across her face.
"Can I come in?" he asks.
"No," she replies, firmly. "Lucas," she continues, her voice softening, "you can't keep going on like this."
"Like what?" he asks, suddenly angry, although he knows he doesn't have a right to be.
"Brooke just stopped by."
"Oh." Suddenly he feels empty and alone. He needs to see her. "Where did she go?"
Haley looks at him, and seems to be deciding between telling him off, and comforting him. She sighs, choosing neither. "I don't know," she says softly, fingering the material of her pajama bottoms. Then she reaches into the pocket of her sweater and pulls out a familiar tin box. She opens it, and hands him the slip of paper on the top. "I went to the roof today and found this."
He unfolds the piece of loose-leaf and glances at the first thing written, before looking up at Haley.
"Your predictions, Luke. The first one's already come true. Maybe you should keep it that way."
Haley closes the door without a goodbye, and he just stands there staring at the paper, before coming to a conclusion and heading back to his car.
This year I'll try again with Brooke.
-
He's looked everywhere for her – the apartment, the café, the quad at school, the benches on the boardwalk – everywhere. And now it's 1:00 AM and he's been searching for 2 hours. Lucas parks back on his own street, and turns the ignition off, defeated. Wherever she is, she clearly doesn't want to be found.
He enters the house, and it's quiet again. His mom had been in a surprisingly coherent mood this afternoon, despite the fact that it was the day of the funeral, mainly because the presence of other people at the wake made her feel less alone. That's how Lucas felt, anyway.
Walking into his bedroom, he's half-shocked, and half relieved to find his girlfriend on her side in his bed. She's kicked off her shoes and her white-socked toes twitch slightly. He smiles.
"Hey pretty girl," he says.
She turns, and he loves to see that she smiles. "Hey," she replies, speaking in that scratchy way of hers. "I was gonna' sleep in my car, but I heard a noise and I think it might have been a bear or something."
She's adorable. "Well where were you parked?" he asks through a laugh.
"Right outside here."
"Well," he says, crawling up the bed so his face is level with hers. "Have I told you how much I love you today?"
She's rolled onto her back, and his side is pressed up against hers. He lets his hand come to rest on her stomach, and the gesture seems sweet and innocent. "Not really."
It breaks him to see the expression on her face. Her make-up is smudged, and she looks exhausted. He just wants to kiss her, and hold her, and love her, and protect her. "Well I do. And even when I don't say it, it means a lot to know you're here. It," he lowers his eyes "means everything."
"I am here," she almost whispers. "We both are," she finishes, nudging him.
"I know…It feels good being here – especially with you." He closes his eyes and rests his chin on her arm, content to stay in this position forever.
But she has more to say.
"I wish that it was me."
He doesn't get it.
"I know that's horrible, and I know that's selfish, but, I watched you rescue Peyton from the library, and you told me you rescued Dan, and sometimes I just wish you could rescue me."
She's pouring her heart out – releasing her insecurities on him. And he wants to tell her so much, but he doesn't know how.
Almost instantly, he responds. "From what?" he asks, challenging her.
She doesn't get it. Brooke Davis doesn't need to be rescued. She never has. She's so fucking independent, that sometimes it upsets him that he doesn't know how to rescue her.
"From all of it."
He sees it now, her shell slowly falling apart, revealing her build up emotion from the past few weeks. And god, he just wishes that they could run away, and that he would never have to see another face but hers.
If he told her that, she would probably laugh at him and tell him to stop being so intense.
"Okay then. I will." She smiles, probably because she knows he would say anything to make her happy. And he would. "If you, promise to rescue me back…"
He's being playful now, running his hand across her wrist, and she smiles. Right now, her smile is the only thing that matters in the world.
"I promise." The way she says it is so sincere, so truthful, an honest reply to a playful and flirty statement. So he cups her cheek in his hand and places a soft kiss on her lips.
And as she slowly folds into his arms and they begin to whisper of trivial things that make them both smile, he swears that he can see the pain in her eyes disappearing.