A/N: Thank you so much for the great reviews, especially those I can't respond to! They're definitely appreciated. :)
Not so sure about this chapter, but it moves the story along for later...but I do love the ending part. Hope you enjoy it as well! Oh, it's also a little more Lucas heavy...
I don't own OTH or it's characters, only the journey I'm designing for them. As well as any and all mistakes, as this isn't beta'd. Anything quoted within 3 quote marks, like this "'blah blah blah'" is dialogue lifted from the show where it seemed to fit (some scattered in earlier ch's too, that I forgot to mention). Don't own that stuff either.
Chapter title comes from a lyric in "Breakeven" by The Script
Ch5: No Wise Words Gonna Stop The Bleeding
"'I'm tired, Luke. Are you tired?'"
Turning his head to see the obscenely pale face of one of his best friends, Lucas responds, "'Yeah. But you gotta stay awake, alright? Talk to me. Um...tell me about a good day.'"
She does, sharing a story of two young girls who build a snow-fort, finding a sense of safety in hiding away from the real world for a time. Amusement flashes through him quickly, before the moment takes a serious turn.
She knows.
It's not glass that cut her leg, it's a bullet that's still in there. She's steadily bleeding out, the loss of blood reflecting in the hollowness of her face and the sheer effort it takes for her to keep her eyes open.
"Luke..." Her voice is thready, weak, and it scares him. He's never been in a situation like this before; trying to be strong so she remains strong, but so scared the choices he's making are the wrong ones. It all feels too grown-up and he's nowhere near ready for that kind of responsibility.
But he made her a promise. And he's going to keep it.
"Yeah?" He hopes she can't hear the fear in his own voice, hear how unsure of everything he is.
She doesn't say anything more, simply dropping her head onto his shoulder. He looks down at her, surprised and worried.
"Peyton?" He lightly jostles his arm against her, hoping for a response. There isn't one. Panicking, he shifts his body so that she's lying across his chest as he searches for a pulse. There isn't one. "Peyton?" there's a half shout and a stronger shake, but still, nothing.
"'You're always saving me.'"
But he didn't. And now it's too late, because she's gone. Too late, too late, too late...
Tearing out of the dream with a wordless, garbled shout, Lucas fights off his blankets and tries to catch his breath. He's sweating, heart's pounding, eyes wild as they dart through the pale light streaming into his room. Not true. Just a dream. She's alive. Those three statements play on repeat in his mind while he focuses on slowing his breathing. He's so intent on his mental mantra, he practically jumps out of his skin at the tentative touch on his arm.
"Luke?" Her voice is timid, the touch light. "What's wrong?"
Blinking rapidly, he scrubs a hand over his face and focuses his gaze on the girl next to him who's wearing a worried expression. Her hand travels the length of his arm in what he knows is supposed to be a comforting manner, but it simply fails to soothe him right now. He's afraid of trying to answer that question, especially with Peyton's last words ringing in his head. Maybe most especially to this girl, who loves the blonde one like a sister.
"Nothing. Just a nightmare." He attempts a weak smile, "I'm sorry I woke you up, Brooke."
A dimple peeks out. "It's okay. You wanna talk about it?"
He shakes his head. There's just enough light to see the disappointment creep into her eyes, which makes him feel guilty. But he was never all that good at expressing his feelings to others.
"Just a nightmare." He repeats, both to answer her unasked question and to reaffirm the fact that reality was far different than the end of that dream.
Brooke sighs, tangling her fingers with his and pulling their joined hands to rest on her knee. "Talk to me. Let me help." She pleads softly, catching his gaze with hers.
"I don't..." He trails off, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "I'm not sure you can right now. It's one of those things I have to work through on my own."
He can tell she's not happy with his answer, but it's one of the few things he knows for certain. Ever since he was a child, he's needed to get lost in his own head before talking to anyone about an issue. That is, after all, why Brooke nicknamed him 'Broody', so he doesn't know why she's so surprised by the fact now.
"Come on, Lucas." This time her tone's more demanding. "I think, of all people, you would realize that you can't—you shouldn't—do everything alone. Life's too short, you know?"
Too short to live it as a bad person.
His breath catches in his throat when that moment flashes into his head. Peyton's words reverberate even more strongly now than they had when she said them the night they ended—before they ever began. She had spoken about not wanting to hurt the one person who'd been there while she struggled through life after Anna. Brooke. And now the brunette was using those same words to express how he's hurting the both of them by disappearing into the fortress of his own counsel.
He knows he's made some mistakes in the past, but the last thing he would ever intentionally do is hurt someone. He likes to believe that he's been better lately; a better boyfriend, a better friend, a better brother. He's fought hard to get his relationships back on track, especially in proving to Brooke that he loves her enough to be willing to fight for her trust.
Not that she really gives it to him.
Lucas dismisses that last thought from his head, not liking the bitter edge to it. But it doesn't stop it from lingering. She has every right to be wary, with how he betrayed her in the past. It's his penance to bear stoically, until the day comes when she realizes how much he's changed since last year.
Her grip on his hand tightens. "Luke? Why is it so hard for you to just let me in?"
"You wouldn't understand." And she wouldn't. No one would, really. Except maybe the person who'd make soothing sounds while leading him into a padded room. Or the only person who's experiencing a large chunk of this with him.
"Then explain it to me." Brooke's eyes are luminous, swimming with tears that he's grateful aren't falling.
He shrugs helplessly, absently disengaging their hands to clasp both of his behind his neck. "I am trying."
It's obvious she has no idea what he means by that. But she's not the only one confused. A memory of Haley striving to draw him into conversation by bringing up their school year predictions pops into mind. He knows she was showing him that while some hadn't explicitly come true (like Keith and his mom getting married), it didn't make them any less true (like Keith still being a father figure for him despite there not being a wedding). He remembers that she had attempted to bring up his list from this year as an example of predictions coming true.
The first one on it: try again with Brooke Davis.
He did try...he is trying. But it's just now hitting him that he never said he had to succeed; only try. He's tired, simply tired, of having to try so hard all the time and get absolutely nowhere.
Without forethought he queries, "Brooke, what are we doing?"
She blinks, confused. "What do you mean?"
"This." Lucas sweeps his hand in a motion to encompass the two of them. "We try so hard to make us work, but it's getting harder. I love you, I do, and I love you for trying to understand, but...you just...don't." He sighs and gestures in a way to show he doesn't have the words to explain.
He sees her rear back in utter shock, mouth opening and closing as she struggles to process what he's saying and what he's implying.
"Does this have something to do with Peyton?" Finally gaining her balance, she asks the same thing she usually does. And it only serves to reinforce to him that their relationship really isn't what he thought it was.
"Exactly," He explains, feeling worn out. "That right there. That lack of trust. How can we be trying to make us work if there's no real trust, if we're just mouthing the words and not backing them up?"
"So, we can try harder." She urges, fisting the blanket that's still tangled around her legs. "We can do better."
He studies her sadly, this first girl he's ever been in a relationship with. "But that's just it. It's too hard, especially with everything else going on."
She leans forward, "Well, isn't there a saying about not making big decisions after traumatic events? Maybe we shouldn't be doing this now. Not until things settle down a little."
"Brooke." He murmurs wearily. "I have a lot of things to work out right now, with me, with my mom, and all the stuff with Keith..." a deep, shuddering breath at the thought. "I just...can't worry about us, too. It's too confusing to deal with on top of everything else."
"But—"
"Life's too short to keep trying for things that aren't working."
At the briskness of his statement, Brooke seems to fold in on herself. That's when the tears fall, each one sending a stab of guilt into his gut. He exhales through his own feeling of tears, keeping his eyes dry and his emotions steady. He didn't lie. He does love her. But he doesn't know how to let her in, he can't be the guy she seems to want him to be. Hell, he's not even sure what she means when she says that he doesn't let her in. He does the best he can.
She's always been insecure about Peyton since the mess they made last year, throwing it up in every single argument. He'd gone out of his way multiple times to convince her of his feelings, to stress the point that Peyton is his friend. But Brooke never let it go. He never really let it go either, choosing to remain in Peyton's life when he could have sought to relieve Brooke's mind by staying away. But he had to be the one who pushed into Peyton's world. He wanted to know things. He wanted her to know things.
He never stopped to consider exactly what he was doing with his actions. And now, when he can least deal with the drama, is when he's slapped in the face with it all. He has a sobbing girl currently falling apart next to him, and another girl miles away falling apart in a different way. He cares for both of them, and expresses that in different ways.
It disillusions him to realize that with one girl, the effort to be in her life really is an effort. He had to fight, to play the games, and to constantly reassure. With the other one, he can simply just be.
"Luke…" He snaps his attention to the brunette, nervously watching her swipe at the tears on her face before saying what's on her mind. "Please let me help you. I get that you think you need space, but I just...don't push me away, okay? I want to be here for you. I want to help. However you need, okay?"
He's not sure she can give him what he needs. Because at this moment in time, he needs space; to be alone in his head. He needs to not have to worry about someone else's feelings as he explores his own. He needs his mom to snap out of the darkness. He needs Peyton to wake up and ease his mind of at least that one worry. He needs to not feel this intense anger at Jimmy, who's simply a boy, not a monster.
He needs Keith to be alive.
That's really the crux of the problem. He's spent years playing pretend; subtly and not so subtly rooting for his mom and uncle to finally get together. And when they do, when his pretend is so close to being reality...it shatters. Not just that, but he lost the one strong male influence he had. The one person he could talk to about life's issues, especially things he wasn't so comfortable with his mom hearing. He lost his father, at a time when he's just becoming an adult. When he can use that guidance he didn't always listen to. He just wants to have the option of not listening. And he doesn't want to have to face the fact that that guidance will never be there again. That one of his friends is responsible for it being gone.
Romantic issues? Right now, he's just numb. Those don't seem substantial at the moment, even though he knows loving someone and being loved are very important aspects of life. He can't say whether it's simply because he's too emotionally drained to worry about his relationship or because he's not as invested as he'd thought. Either way, the person sitting next to him is going to be the one who's hurt.
He sighs, finally forcing his eyes to really meet her red-rimmed ones. "I'm sorry." A whisper is all he can manage.
Her eyes blank as her head nods infinitesimally, and she lets out a shuddery, watery breath. Brooke slides off his bed, looking over at his desk. He follows her glance to see the clock, displaying the time of 5:43am. Awkwardness joins the feelings in the air, as they both just stare at the time. It's way too early to do anything, but going back to sleep (especially next to each other) is out of the question.
"Yeah." She murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear. "But not sorry enough."
Abruptly deciding on a course of action, Brooke reaches for the light switch, flooding the room, making both of them hastily squint against the painful burst of brightness. When she starts gathering her things, Lucas looks on, both defeated and amazed.
"Brooke, wha...what are you doing?"
"I'm going to go stay at Peyton's." She tells him, without looking up from her busy hands. "Keep Larry company, you know? Focus on Peyton right now, since I'm not sure I'm ready to focus on this."
"Okay." His response is simple, and apparently not something she appreciates. She slams a wadded T-shirt roughly into her duffel bag, startling him.
Maybe that's the moment when he fully realizes what he's done. That he effectively ended them, breaking her heart and making her cry. He's not crying, and his heart's numb. He's not as affected as she is. But it does sneak under his defenses that he's hurt her, which hurts him.
"Brooke, I—" He stops, lightly stilling her hands, wanting her full attention. "I never want you to think that I don't care about you, because I do. But maybe not in the way that you deserve. Or the way I should care about someone I'm in a relationship with."
She quietly slides her hands from beneath his, leaving a chill to glide over his skin. Fiddling with a zipper on the bag, she sniffles.
He continues, voice low as he hopes to make a point but not bring her more pain, "I think, if you're honest with yourself, that it might be the same for you, too."
"Maybe." She looks up at him, making an attempt to smile, but doesn't get past a grimace. "But it still hurts."
Lucas smiles faintly. "That's how you know it was something important."
A single tear tracks it's way down her flushed cheek. "Yeah. Peyton told me that once. We were just kids...it was maybe a year-and-a-half, two, since Anna had died. The Lion King was still a new movie for us, so we were watching it." Her tone lightens and strengthens with the memory she's sharing. Her hands more sure as she places the last of her things in her bag. "She told me that how Simba felt about Mufasa being gone was like how she felt about Anna."
Like he felt—feels—about Keith.
For the first time it feels like he and Brooke are on the same wavelength as their gazes meet in understanding. Hers glows with compassion, eclipsing the pain in her eyes, but he can still see it lurking. It actually feels like she understands him and where he's coming from; something he hadn't noticed had been missing in their relationship before.
"You won't lose me like that, Brooke. I want us to be able to be friends." He does want that; there's more to her than most people know about, and he considers himself lucky to be one of those that gets to see the real Brooke Davis.
She shakes her head, then sighs, fluttering her hand in the air in a slightly dismissive gesture. "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know right now." She gives him a cynical parody of a smile. "I need time."
He tilts his head in acknowledgement of that dart, and concedes, since that's what he wanted as well.
She nods at him. Then, gathering up her things, she heads to the door, pausing only a moment at his soft goodbye before leaving him to his thoughts. He hadn't seen this coming. Barely a week ago they were happy, even teasing each other about her time capsule contribution. A week ago he was making the choice to be adopted by Keith. A week ago he was attending a benefit concert put together by Peyton in honor of Ellie and breast cancer research. Now, he was a mess, Keith was gone, and Peyton was in a coma.
Life could really suck sometimes.
Dragging himself out of bed, he runs a hand over his face with a loud exhale of breath. He needs a good stiff drink. Or, barring that, at least some water.
He flips the light switch on his way out, seeking comfort in the darkness, and makes his way into the kitchen. He's surprised to see his mom sitting at the table, a mug clasped between her hands. She looks up at his entrance and frowns slightly.
"I heard you and Brooke talking."
He retrieves a mug and helps himself to the cocoa still in the pot on the stove. "Sorry. If we woke you."
"I was up." She sighs. "Can't really sleep."
"Yeah. I know." He joins her at the table, fiddling with his mug rather than drinking any of the liquid.
There's a slightly uncomfortable silence that stretches between the two, Lucas unsure how to breach it. He's never felt this way around his mom before and he's floundering.
"Brooke and I broke up." It's an abrupt icebreaker, but it serves it's purpose, since Karen's eyes fly to his and compassion leaks into her expression.
She tilts her head, "You okay?"
"I think so. Yeah." He nods, relaxing slightly at this glimpse of his mother.
Maybe he let down his guard too soon. Maybe he was just being overly optimistic that any sign of life meant progress. Because she simply nods, and goes back to staring into her mug, as if all of life's answers could be found within.
Something inside him snaps like a rubber band that outlived it's usefulness. "What would you have done if I said I'm not alright? That I feel like I'll never be alright again?"
He can tell that the anger and resentment in his voice startle her, but she still makes no move beyond a weak shake to her head.
"How are you, mom? Are you okay right now, without Keith?" Lucas goads, letting anger get the best of him.
With those words, Karen's up like a shot, rounding the table to deliver a resounding slap. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare bring that up!" Her voice cracks and her chest is heaving with the ragged breaths escaping her mouth.
He's reeling from the slap and all of the emotions he can't bring himself to tamp down at the moment. "Why not? It affects me too, mom!"
"No! You don't get to say that!"
"What?" He's aghast, hurt, and confused.
"Did you even think about what you were doing? What you put us through when we found out you were still inside? That you ran back inside? 'Did you think of me at all? What I would do if I lost you?' What Keith would've done?" Her raised voice starts to reach shrieking proportions as she glares at him with the coldest look he's ever been on the receiving end of.
He rears back in shock, "Mom—"
"No! How could you be so selfish as to put me through that? If you hadn't gone back in, then—" Her mouth slams shut and she's shaking so hard. She didn't say it, but it lingers in the air all the same.
If he hadn't gone back in, then Keith wouldn't have been in that hallway, with Jimmy, at that moment.
"It's my fault." The words barely make it past the lump in his throat as tears start welling in his eyes. He knows that, which is one very big reason he didn't want to think about it. But he was starting to believe when other people told him he wasn't at fault. All the same, it's entirely different to know your mom thinks that it is.
She doesn't refute his statement. Actually, she's back to the way she's been all week; closed off and silent. With one last icy look he can't decipher, she turns on her heel and marches right back into her room, shutting the door behind her with an audible click.
He's frozen for just one second more. "DAMN IT!" In one lightening-fast move, he hurls his still-full mug at the wall, watching distantly as the ceramic splinters and the dark liquid splatters everywhere. He simply stares as the puddle widens. Flashes of another widening, dark puddle jump through his mind. He's not too out of it to note the deafening silence from behind the closed door of his mom's room, either. It's all just adds up to that last straw, as he mimics his mother almost exactly, in demeanor and action.
He sits on the end of his bed, feeling absolutely nothing. Not pain, not happiness, not relief, not sadness, not even anger. Just nothing. But it's the best he's felt about the situation this whole time.
So maybe he'll stay that way.
A/N: Soo, what'cha think? I'd love to hear reactions to that last part, and any ideas you wanna throw out there about it!