DISCLAIMER: Don't own em, which sucks for me. But for Mark Schwann and Co who do, it's the farthest thing from suckage.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: There's a severe lack of Brooke/Peyton fic out there for some reason that's completely unfathomable to me. Lack of fic, makes one want to write apparently. So here's my attempt, hopefully it's not half bad. Thanks to Nikki, Rachel, Heather and Gaby for being inspirations in the B/P fic world. This is going to be swapping out from different point of views, the first installment starting with Brooke. I find I can get inside the characters head a bit better by writing in first person.
SPOILERS: Pretty much anything is fair game, but particularly the season 2 finale and the entire Brooke/Lucas/Peyton triangle drama.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Breakaway
By Casandra
Part Two
I'm tempted to call Brooke again, just to see if she's gotten herself into any trouble yet. And then my subconscious reminds me of the new, less naughty version of my best friend. But she still is Brooke Davis, personality makeover or not. Her priorities might have changed, but she still has that devious little devil lurking on her shoulder on occasion. Which is actually one of the reasons I love her, she's not afraid to say or do what the rest of us would never have the guts to.
I really shouldn't bother making up excuses though. The simple truth is that I miss her. My hand is halfway to my cell phone before I hesitate, my arm hanging limply off the side of my bed towards my nightstand.
Do I really want to do this?
She's going to be gone for at least three months, I remind myself for what must be the dozenth time in the last twelve hours. She's probably on the beach soaking up the sun, the last thing she'd want is for me to bug her. I mentally slap myself for that thought as soon as it enters my mind though, because I know the last thing Brooke would think is that I'm bugging her. After all, she's the one who waltzes into my bedroom completely unannounced at any given time of the day.
My hand is still hanging in the air, waiting for my brain to finally make up its overcomplicated mind. Instead of grabbing my cell, I open the drawer below it, reaching inside for my familiar leather bound journal. It's something that I've taken comfort in over the years. As much as I love Brooke, and I trust her implicitly, there are just some things that I can't share, even with her. But I can write them all down in my journal, knowing that my mind won't be plagued by silencing the thoughts and I don't need to worry about someone else twisting them around by interpretation.
Instead of wrapping my fingers around the leather binding, my knuckles hit against the bottom of the wooden drawer. I sit up, suddenly panicked, wondering why it's not where I left it. My nightstand is empty, save for a few charcoal pencils and a spare piece of sketch paper.
Where the hell is it? It stays in my drawer unconditionally, I never move it someplace else, for fear of my father or even Brooke finding it. But they both never cross that boundary into my nightstand, and I've been grateful for that. I don't like the idea of hiding something from them, but I'm certainly not ready to share the years worth of drabbles that I've built up in it. Maybe a decade from now I can hand it to Brooke and let her finally know ALL of me, but not now, not when she can still break my heart if she doesn't like or even understand what she finds out.
I can't take this anymore. My curiosity has always had a habit of getting the best of me, and this time is no different. As I open Peyton's journal to the inscription page I realize that I'm breaking the number one rule in the best friends code of ethics. What I'm about to do is probably even worse than Peyton making out with Lucas behind my back. I'm not just breaking her trust, I'm invading the little privacy our relationship has allowed her. She's as open with me as she lets herself be with anyone, but if I read this, I'll be stripping that barrier away. And she has every right to have it.
I gaze out at the crashing waves along the surf line, the tumultuous ocean mirroring my mood right now. I'm genuinely torn, and I immediately feel guilty for even opening her journal, no matter that I've yet to read a single word written inside.
Would Peyton really be that mad at me?
I mean really, those who live in glass houses, really shouldn't be tossing stones right at the windows now should they. I glance down at the worn pages, their off-white hue beckoning me to indulge my darker side and just find out once and for all what it is that REALLY makes Peyton Sawyer tick.
There's a piece of loose leaf notebook paper folded up before the first page, my name scrawled on its outer side in quick and unfamiliar handwriting. The fact that it's addressed to me makes me feel a little less guilty for opening up the journal, but it only eggs my curiosity on all the more.
With a nervous and shaky hand, I reach in and unfold the paper.
Brooke,
I realize I'm probably going to win the Worst Boyfriend of the Millennium for this, but I just couldn't let you two go on the way things have been. Especially now that I'm gone. Peyton needs you. She knows it, and you know it. Now all you both have to do is admit it to each other. I'm hoping this will give you a little kick in the ass.
Read it Brooke.
I know you want to, but you're stopping yourself. Loyalty is something you cherish above anything else, and I don't think you're more loyal to anyone than you are to Peyton.
But read it.
Let her scream and yell at you for it, but in the end, when all the dust settles, you'll realize you made the right choice. You two will be on the path that I know was meant for you. That is if you're both over being unreasonably stubborn about all of this.
I've known. I've known from the minute I saw the two of you at cheerleading practice that first day of varsity training. And once you read her journal Brooke, you'll know too. I'm counting on you to take the lead here, because you know how Peyton is. She'll get scared and try to push you away.
Don't let her. Grab onto her tight and never let go.
And if you screw this up, I might just have to come back to Tree Hill and force you two to figure it out. And trust me, we don't want that. Knowing our luck, Nikki will follow right along. Scary!
Take care of yourself, and most importantly, Peyton.
Jake
P.S: I can't believe cool-not-a-care-in-the-world Brooke Davis actually magic marker's her name inside her duffel bags. You really made it too easy for me. Besides, one look inside and I knew it was yours, Peyton's not that big on lace, but I bet you already knew that.
Apparently good old reliable Jake could be just as sneaky as the rest of us. I re-read over his words again, the meaning of it all bubbling up in me like a shaken soda can ready to burst its top. I'm excited, not just a little confused, but more than anything, totally scared out of my mind. Can he really mean what I can't help but think he does. The thought of Peyton, and of Peyton and me together, throws my mind into a trip down fairly recent memory lane.
"What do ya got there?"
"What?"
"You know what. The Brooke Davis leopard bra. Dude, that thing's like a welcome mat. I heard you were naked in his car."
The teasing tone in Peyton's voice had given way to the slight hitch of hurt that she tries to hide quite a bit. One that no one else would have noticed, and at the time I cared not to bother thinking too much about. If anything I assumed she was indeed interested in Lucas even though she spent any chance she got denying it.
"Let me ask you something. Why are you being so persistent with this one? You normally would have moved on by now."
"Why? Are you jealous?"
I knew she was, but if Jake is right, she was jealous of Lucas and not because of him. The butterflies in my stomach that had been maintaining a fairly innocuous flight pattern have now decided to veer off course a bit it seems. Another memory comes to the forefront with that exciting and somewhat unsettling last thought
"Hey, can I catch a ride with you to Nathan's party later?"
"I didn't think you were going. I figured you'd be hiding out in Lucas' back seat again."
"Jealous."
"No."
I teased her about it all the time, I just never even once stopped to think about the alternative. Why I overlooked that I have no idea. As much as I was, and still for the most part am, rather boy crazy, Peyton has always been the most important person in my life. It never occurred to me until so much later on what that seems to imply. No wonder Peyton used to get so bothered by my gentle ribbing though. She used to immediately start to brood, an indication to me, at least at the time, that she was positively perfect for Lucas. Not that it was going to stop me from having him as one of my conquests though, I never expected to really develop genuine feelings for the guy. In retrospect, it was probably just as much my fault as Peyton's that we all got swept into the big dark love triangle abyss.
"Wanna know what I think? I think Nathan likes tutor girl. But I think tutor girl likes Lucas. And I know I like Lucas. And I don't know who the hell you like anymore. This is all turning into one big love… rectangle plus one, whatever that is."
How little I really knew the truth of that, even back then. It just seems to get more and more complicated. And yet I can't stop thinking about how many signs I seemingly missed. And not just in Peyton's behavior. Without consciously doing it, I think I must have been outwardly showing my affection for her more than I realized.
"Peyton!"
"Oh boy……"
"This is my best friend in the whole wide world, don't you think she's pretty?"
That whole night is still pretty fuzzy, but I can remember throwing myself into Peyton's arms, not having a care in the world, just wanting to be as close to her as possible. I looked up into her eyes, concerned but trying to feign slight irritation when I know she's really just amused by my constantly ridiculous behavior, and it just struck me how incredibly beautiful she was. Sure, I knew that she was pretty, we had a running joke for years that we could both get any guy we wanted, but I never really stopped to just LOOK at her. And when I did, god was I blown away. They say that a really attractive person can look far less so once you get to know them and they turn out to be the biggest ass. But if you know someone, and they're a beautiful person on the inside, you can look at them and see a goddess, no matter if they're hideous looking to the outside world. They'd be the most perfect thing to you. That night I realized how true that was. Of course that's not saying that Peyton is hideous to everyone else, quite the opposite. But I finally understood what that saying meant.
And as soon as I started to discover that I might not just have feelings that fit strictly into the best friend-like arena I turned into Princess Bitch-a-Lot.
Prime example was when I got it into my more than slightly inebriated head to make her finally deal with her obvious feelings for Lucas, at least what I thought at the time were completely blatant. Besides daring Theresa to go and goose our poor basketball coach, I made such an ass out of Peyton.
"Brooke, come on."
"I dare you to show us how you really feel. Kiss Lucas."
I had it coming, I really did. But I didn't expect it to hurt as much as it did to watch her take his face in her hands and pull him to her as if the entire varsity squad hadn't been watching with rapt attention. I could only watch for a moment before the jealousy in the pit of my stomach made me tear my eyes away from them.
Even after all the drama happened with the three of us, who cheated on who, which betrayal was worse, that spark between us never went out. It was even apparent to other people, maybe that's what the problem's been, we've been too blind to see it. Hindsight really is a bitch. Speaking of bitches, I can't believe even Nikki saw it. Granted she was probably just trying to be a smartass, but she just had to use what we already had given her as firepower.
"You know, I've really missed this whole girlfriend thing."
"Of course you have."
"Well as a babysitter, apparently you suck."
"Nikki, what are you doing?!"
"Protecting my baby. While you two barbies were getting ready to make out, anyone could have taken her."
I remember the moment before she snatched Jenny out of her stroller. I really think there was a second there where I might have just leaned in and snatched a quick sip from my best friend's lips. I'm actually kind of thankful now that Nikki showed up. I'm sure at that point in time we both would have completely freaked out and it just would have led to incredible awkwardness. Especially since we were treading on eggshells to begin with.
I can't take this. I need to read that journal. But I know I can't do it without Peyton's permission, it's a line I'm just not willing to cross. Now with everything that's on the line right now.
I grab my beach bag, stuffing the towel under me into it haphazardly while hanging on tight to the leather book in my hands. Why I didn't bring my cell phone out here with me I have no clue, but it's probably for the best, I wouldn't be able to hear very well anyway with the waves lapping against the shore.
Tossing everything onto the nearest chair I grab my phone off the kitchen counter and speed dial the familiar number. I'm not sure what I'm going to say to Peyton exactly, but I need to talk to her about this. I'm desperate to find out what's in that journal, but not without her knowing I at least have it.
"And here I thought I'd be bugging you." Peyton picks up on the third ring, not giving me nearly enough time to figure out how I'm going to ask her if I can essentially invade her privacy.
"Doing what exactly? I'm bored already." Not really, but I think I probably would be if I hadn't been thrown into an emotional tailspin by her ex boyfriend. Which brings me to a big crux in the whole thing. If I really do bring this up, I'll also have to tell I ran into Jake here. I don't want her thinking I just stole it from her. But then she'll start asking me all kinds of questions about him. And I'd rather not be the bearer of her bad news.
"Ok, what's wrong?"
"I'm really beginning to worry about that. You're starting to know what I'm thinking before I even do." It's not worrisome, comforting actually, but not when I'm trying to stall.
"Brooke."
"Ok, well I guess I'm just gonna have to come right out and say it." I take a deep breath, trying to quickly figure out the best way to tell her.
"Oh this doesn't sound good." I can hear the worry creeping into her voice.
"Lets just say it's not the easiest situation we've ever found ourselves in Missy Blonde Girl." I try to ease up the rapidly declining mood, with little success.
"Ok now I know it's bad, if you're referring to it as a 'situation'."
To tear the band-aid off quickly about Jake, or slide that into the conversation a little later on, that is the real question.
"How come you never told me you kept a journal?"
"So that's where it got to!" Oh great, she already knows it's missing.
"Bottom of my overnight bag to be precise actually."
"When did you find that?" At this point she just seems curious, although I can sense some nervousness in her voice. Which just makes me wonder all the more what's written inside of it.
"Last night, right before you called me."
"Wait. What? If you just found it out there, how did it get in your bag to begin with?" I'm sensing a little skepticism from my best friend, which I suppose is understandable.
"Jake."
"Jake?"
"Jake."
I can totally picture the look on her face, curiosity creeping around but mostly just entirely overwhelmed. It brings a small smile to face, which only makes me want to be back in Tree Hill again.
She breathes out a long sigh. "Ok, I think you better start from the beginning, because this is making all kinds of sense that's not."
I echo her sigh, taking in a deep lungful of air to explain the entire 'situation' to her. "I found the journal in my bag last night, the one that you rushed to the airport to give me."
Which in and of itself is very odd. I could have gone the whole summer without it, nothing that incredibly important in there. At least that's what I thought. Who would have known all of this drama could come from that one little choice Peyton made in bringing it to me at the terminal.
"It was in THAT bag?" Was that the sound of Peyton's hand connecting with her forehead?
"That bag. Anyway, I had just opened it to look for something I could wear to bed since I didn't feel like unpacking everything. Instead of silk boxers I found leather when I reached in. And then that's when you called."
"And you didn't think to tell me last night?" If Peyton's tone is any indication there is some REALLY good stuff in that thing.
"Well between our apparently newly developed flirt marathons and the fact your mother might be back from the dead, it kinda slipped to the back of my mind." Well that was a tad bit more harsh than I would have liked.
She's quiet for a moment, before she starts softly muttering, I think more to herself than to me. "I didn't put it in there, I know I didn't."
I stop her before she starts going over every minute detail of the last how many days, wondering how it got into my luggage. "No you didn't, Jake did."
"How do you know that?" I could lie, I really could. The note is proof enough of his involvement. But I really don't want to, she needs to know where Jake is and what he's doing. As horrible as it may be for her to hear it, maybe she can finally have some closure.
"There was a note inside, addressed to me." Before she can jump down my throat for even opening it, I tell her the rest. "And Jake told me himself."
Peyton lets out a small gasp of surprise. "You saw him?"
I nod my head, quickly realizing that she can't actually see me. "Of all the places in this country, we both ended up on the same beach this morning."
"How is he?" Peyton quietly asks.
"He's with Jenny." I know that's what Peyton was most worried about, him never seeing his daughter again. But I don't want her to get her hopes up, so I continue quickly. "Nikki's out here, and they're together. And Peyton, I know what you're thinking, but I doubt it's like that. He just needs to do this to make sure that he can be with Jenny. Nikki just unfortunately comes with the package." I honestly don't know what I can say to sugarcoat it for her. Maybe there isn't anything TO say.
"He's not coming back, is he?" She sounds sort of resolved, like she had been expecting this, which is somewhat surprising to me.
"I don't think so sweetie. I'm sorry Peyton." I wish so much I could be there to just hold her right now. It's bringing tears to my eyes, the desire is that strong to comfort her.
There's silence for a while, I can hear her sniffling a bit but that's all. I give her as much time as she needs.
"So he took off to California, hooked up with psycho-bitch, but before that he stole my journal, the most private thing I have, stowed it away to give to you, and wrote you a note. Let me guess, to read it?" Hurt Peyton has given way to angry Peyton. Oh boy.
"Pretty much."
"Did you?" I knew what she was asking, and I can't say I'm surprised she'd think I did.
"No, I didn't." She breathes a small sigh of relief, and I'm thankful that she at least takes me at my word. "That's actually what I was calling you about."
"You want to read it, don't you?"
"Only if you give me the ok. I won't go any farther than the first page, where I found the note, if you don't want me to."
Silence again. I'm beginning to hate it. "What did the note say?"
I wasn't expecting that. I'm faced with another to lie or not to lie decision again. I'm starting to hate that too. "He told me to read it."
She laughs a little, but I can tell how hollow it really is. "I kinda figured that one out Brooke. But I'm pretty sure it said something else. Especially if HE read it before giving it to you."
I take that in for a moment, really comprehending what it means. She knows what she wrote in there. Jake's not completely blowing smoke, which means that she's feeling this too. And from the sound of it, has been for a long while. I was skeptical about just what was in there from Jake's little note. Guys can interpret things entirely different from how they're meant to sometimes, and I think I had convinced myself that it wasn't as serious as he was insisting it was. But if I'm understanding Peyton right, then I was completely off.
I find myself being flooded with a sense of total clarity and peace, without having read a word in Peyton's dramatic handwriting. "What should it have said?"
"Brooke, please, don't play games with me, it's already been a stressful summer and we're only two days into it." I can hear the weariness in her voice. She really needs to get away from Tree Hill, it's turning my poor Peyton into just a shell of her normal self.
"Come out here." I blurt it out, although it's not like we hadn't discussed her visiting me in SoCal. But I'm pretty sure she didn't think I'd be asking her this soon.
"What?"
"You heard me. Pack a couple bags, get on a plane and come out here." I'm getting excited just at the thought that Peyton could be standing right next to me twenty four hours from now.
"I think I'm getting whiplash." Peyton mutters, and I have to laugh at the thought of the exasperated look I know must be on her face.
"I'm serious P.S. I want you to book a flight right now. Go online and do it."
"Why?" How can she ask that?
"What do you mean, 'why'. I suddenly need a reason to see you?"
"When you're on the other side of the country, yes, you do." There's still that level of nervousness, making her voice waver slightly.
I sigh, deciding that I'm just going to put everything on the table. I've always been the more emotionally available of the two of us, and I'm resigned to making the first move here. It's not that much of a leap of faith though, because I know Peyton. And without even reading the journal, I know that this is the right step for us. I can feel it right down into my soul.
"I want you here with me Peyton." I don't think she was expecting me to be that blunt.
"You really haven't read it?" Her voice is barely audible, I have to strain to hear her. I can feel how scared she is, I can hear it in the timbre of her voice. But it just convinces me more that this is the right choice.
"You know I didn't. But I don't think I even have to." I look down, tracing my fingers over the inscription she's written into the face of the journal, who knows how many years ago now.
"And you want me to come out there?" The fear is more than evident this time.
I smile, my typical Peyton, ever the skeptic. "More than anything. Please Peyton." I hope I don't sound like I'm begging, although I'm willing to go there if it gets her on that plane.
"You're sure?" She sounds exactly like the ten year old that asked me to stay with her that first night after her mother had died. She was hesitant and scared and I simply nodded my head and climbed into her oversized bed next to her. She cried herself to sleep that night, my hand rubbing circles on her back, desperately trying to assuage her pain in any way that I could. I don't think it helped much that night, but I've spent my life since then doing my best to be there for her, whenever she needed me.
All of that has led us to here.
"I'm positive. I've never been more sure about anything in my life Peyton. Trust me."
The silence has returned and I'm holding my breath, hoping on everything that she's willing to take the leap with me.
"I'll look for a flight tonight then." I let out a huge relieved sigh, the smile splitting my cheeks must look incredibly goofy, I can only imagine.
"Great! Let me know when you're coming in and I'll meet you at the airport." I'm sure she can hear the excitement just dripping off my tongue.
"Ok." She's still hesitant, I can tell. Getting her out here is only the first part of the battle. But I'm more than up for the challenge.
"Get cracking then P Sawyer. Expedia, Orbitz, Travelocity, whatever it takes, just get your cute butt out here by tomorrow."
She lets out a nervous little giggle. Just as we're about to hang up she shocks the hell out of me.
"Read it Brooke."
I'm speechless for a moment.
"Are you sure." But only for a moment.
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." I can almost see the good natured smirk crossing her lips.
I laugh a little, my fingers starting to tingle in anticipation where they still sit on the leather binding. "If you insist then."
We say our goodbyes, with her promising to let me know all the details once she gets them straightened out. I'm only half paying attention though, because my eyes can't seem to leave the countertop.
Peyton's coming out here to be with me, and I have her blessing to read her innermost thoughts. This is shaping up to be THE summer to remember.
I rummage around in the refrigerator for something light to eat, grabbing a bottle of Fuji out of the side shelf as I close the door. Balancing a turkey sandwich on wheat in one hand, Peyton's journal in the other, and my water under one arm, I trudge up to my bedroom. Opening the remote skylight that I found this morning, I plop myself on the bed, getting comfortable for what I can only imagine is going to be one hell of an enlightening afternoon.
June 25th 1999,
So my therapist seems to think that keeping a journal will help me channel the anger I've been throwing out at her. I think she just doesn't want to have to deal with me once a week anymore and she figures she can cut back to twice a month instead. Fine with me, she's a hack if I've ever seen one and the only reason I even agreed to go is so my father would stop worrying himself to death over me.
What am I even supposed to tell the woman? 'How do you feel about your mother's death?' Well gee lady, how the hell do you think I feel? The most asinine question really. I guess she figures that after two years I'd stop missing her or the guilt I felt would just miraculously go away. I've wondered quite a few times now just where she got her psychiatric degree. Then again, maybe my father just didn't do his homework and she's the hack I've believed her to be.
Something tells me though that she wouldn't appreciate me using her wonderful little idea to rail about her possibly fraudulent license. I guess two paragraphs of it is proof positive that maybe I do have some anger issues to exorcise.
Brooke is always telling me I'm too broody, and I know she's right. But I don't know how to be any other way. Even before Mom died I wasn't the most enthusiastic person. It's a wonder Brooke and I even became friends. That's the one thing in my life these last few years that's been a total constant for me though. Even in the midst of my cursing of everything in my world, I was still thankful for Brooke. I don't think there's been a day that's gone by since then that she hasn't managed to find me, wherever I may have been. The cemetery, the Cape Fear Bridge looking down into the deceptively tranquil water below, the intersection where my mother ran her last red light. No matter where I was, Brooke had some kind of homing signal on me, because she would always show up, not saying a word and just scoop me up in a hug, rubbing my back in comfort.
And I can't imagine what those days would have been like without her there. I really think Brooke saved my life. And she's still at it. Every school day she's plopped at the foot of my bed at 7am sharp, making sure I'm not tempted to play hooky. We walk to school, her arm firmly ensconced in the crook of my own. Sometimes I wonder when she has time for herself, all the babysitting she does.
I've talked with Dr. Farrell about my friendship with Brooke. She thinks it good that I have one constant thing in my life, especially with my Dad away so much on jobs. And I think that's the only thing that I've agreed with her about.
In any case, I guess I'll give this writing thing a try. Who knows, it might just end up being cathartic, we'll see.
Peyton
I remember that psychiatrist of hers, she absolutely hated her. I was always after Peyton to try and be open-minded about therapy, but she just was not in the right frame of mind I guess. Which is an oxymoron in itself.
I'm glad she appreciated my constant hovering though. I think there were times when she wanted to throttle me for being so over-protective, but I just couldn't help myself.
With a rueful smile on my face I flip the page to the next entry.
July 1st 1999,
Happy Birthday to me!
Huh, maybe some of Brooke's cheeriness is rubbing off. Who knew. I guess with the amount of time we spend together, it was bound to happen one of these days. Although I'm really hoping my moodiness doesn't manage to latch itself onto her in return. Brooke is one of the most positive people I've ever known. She finds that tiny little ray of sunshine in what everyone else sees as the storm of the century. I think she's the only thing in my life that I can always count on to cheer me up on even the hardest of my days.
Today was one of them.
My birthday has been something I dread ever since the accident. As a kid I spent weeks anticipating it, but now, it's just another day. Brooke assures me that it's because I'm just getting older each year, and that's why it loses its luster. But as much as I know she means well, it's more than that. I don't think anyone wants to spend their birthdays without their parents and loved ones. And for the last two years I look over the dining room table as I'm blowing out my candles and I'm painfully aware that I'll always be missing one person who should have been there for much longer than what she was.
This year was better than I expected it to be though.
Brooke came over this morning bright and early, which for a weekend, should have really annoyed me. But seeing her come bouncing into my bedroom completely unannounced, with that gleam in her eye that I've come to recognize as an assured sign that she's about to get us in potential trouble, I couldn't help but smile. She had the entire day planned out, around my father's special birthday dinner that he's been cooking me these last two years now. She drug me off to the mall first, heading straight to the record store, bypassing all the designer boutiques on the way, shocking what little sleepiness that was left in me. Five new CD's later, of which she actually stood there with me reading over the tracks, something she's never done, we ended up at the food court sharing an oversized Pina Colada from Orange Julius.
I worry about that, Brooke already seems to love the cocktails, alcoholic or not. I can just picture her as a sorority girl, hanging at the keg parties every weekend. And it's not a visual I enjoy. But I'm not about to get on her case for something that's not even a problem right now. I can worry about it once we get to high school.
After our smoothie recharge she pulled me towards the multiplex. I fully expected to be sitting through two hours of some kind of mindless comedy or a romantic sob fest. So I was well prepared for either Mike Myers with disturbingly bad teeth, or Julia Roberts pretending she doesn't love a guy who's fool enough to fall for her. Brooke shocked the hell out of me though when she bought two matinee tickets to the latest Sean Connery movie, Entrapment. I'm not ashamed to admit that I have a bit of a crush on him. Sure, he's old enough to be my grandfather, but there's something so sexy about that accent. Brooke teases me incessantly about it, with a few well placed 'eww's' and 'gross's'. So with a large bag of popcorn sitting between us, we settled down for a two hour adventure.
Ironically enough, I came away from the theatre with less of a Sean crush and an odd appreciation for Catherine Zeta Jones. It was a weird feeling really, but I didn't worry too much about it once Brooke started going on and on about how great her makeup was. I figured that my best friend is starting to rub off even more than I was aware of. I'm beginning to think it's really not a bad thing, I could certainly do with lightening up a bit.
On our way back home we managed to pass by the cemetery my mother is buried in. I've avoided going there since the day we laid her to rest. I've just never been ready to visit that place. I can't describe the reason why, it's just this incredible hesitance whenever I even think about standing in front of her marble headstone, looking down at the earth below my feet, knowing that she's down there, turning to dust and bone. The thought that all there is left of her is that, it just makes my veins run cold. As we passed by the outer gates, Brooke grabbed my hand between both of hers and pulled me to a stop. I tried to avoid her gaze, because I knew what she wanted, what she was asking me. She was content to just stand there, holding my hand, until I finally pulled my head up to look at her. All I saw was her comforting half smile and concerned chocolate eyes. It took me another minute, but I finally decided that it was time. I took a step towards the path that leads through the memorial park, when I felt Brooke start to release her grip on my hand. I turned back around and tightened the hold between us, giving her a hesitant smile and then continued on into the cemetery.
I honestly don't know how long we stayed there, I just know that I was grateful Brooke was there with me. Because I think it might have taken me another two years if she hadn't gently encouraged me to get over my reservations and finally visit my mom.
Once we got home Brooke gave me a big hug and assured me that if I needed anything, to call her right away. I thanked her for taking such good care of me and she just gave me that little smirk she does and told me that it's a hard job, but if she didn't do it, who would. My best friend, always the smartass. But I know she was just teasing.
I think I'm starting to finally make some progress. I'm dealing, thanks to Brooke. I hope she knows just how important she is to me and how much I really do need her.
Peyton
I lay the journal down bedside me on the mattress while I reach over to the nightstand for a handful of tissues. I'm gonna smack Peyton for making me cry on the one day I'm not wearing waterproof mascara.
I remember getting up that morning, determined to make her forget for a few hours that it was another birthday without her mother. I never was really sure how it went over with Peyton though. I was used to her humoring me and my nutty whims, with a playful roll of her eyes. So I was always worried that my little plan for that day was just another thing that she went along with because that was just the way our relationship worked. I'm thankful now that wasn't the case.
And hmm, I never knew that PS was digging on Catherine Zeta Jones. That explains why she was so grossed out when she married Michael Douglas. Gonna have to remember to tease her for THAT too now.
I flip the page again, surprised to see the date of the next entry.
July 14th, 2002
I guess I slacked off of a bit on the journal entries. I made a great effort though, a grand total of two! Dr. Farrell would be so proud. That is if I hadn't stopped seeing her at the end of that summer. My father wasn't all that happy about it, but I guess he didn't want to force me into anything I didn't want to be doing. When I told Brooke she just rolled her eyes at me and started laughing. Apparently she figured I'd only last a few weeks, not the whole summer. I guess even her encouragement wasn't enough for me to keep going.
But the doc was a quack, I'm convinced of that. She proved it to me during our last session. I realized I had mentioned Brooke a few times during our sessions, but I figured that was completely normal, she's a huge part of my life, why wouldn't I talk about her here and there.
Halfway through our last session I brought up how Brooke and I had a slumber party, my poor father being trapped in the house with two chocolate hyped teenagers. It was the night before we had to go back to school and we both wanted to make the most of what could have been a dreadfully depressing evening. Somehow we got around to talking about boys, which really wasn't all that surprising, but Brooke was after me about the fact that I had yet to have a real boyfriend, or even a real kiss.
Brooke being Brooke thought that was unacceptable. No best friend of hers could be so inexperienced in the ways of manipulating the male species. An hour later, my lips were swollen for the first time in my life and I had a half dozen techniques in my playbook on how to love em and leave em, all thanks to Brooke Davis and her repertoire of charm.
I remember the look on Dr. Farrell's face. There was this little disturbing smile gracing her lips and I couldn't figure out what in the world she could find so amusing about my best friend teaching me how to kiss. I asked her as much and she sat up in her expensive leather chair and proceeded to give me a mini version of the Spanish inquisition, all about my relationship with Brooke. I remember glancing over at the clock on her desk repeatedly, praying for the little buzzer to go off, signaling it was the end of our session. It didn't happen before she came out with what sounded like the most ridiculous idea in the world to me.
She point blank asked me if I was gay.
I didn't even give her the chance to explain why she asked me such an obviously insane question, I immediately jumped down her throat, using quite a few expletives in the process, accusing her of jumping to far too many conclusions. And she sat there with that same creepy serene smile, just letting me go, railing on her for a good ten minutes, until the little alarm finally went off. As I grabbed my backpack, fully prepared to storm out of her office, determined never to return, she called out to me and uttered two small one syllable words. Words that now make so much sense and at the time seemed like the stupidest advice in the world.
Tell her.
I spent three years wondering what in the world she meant. And why she had made such a huge leap from something as innocent as Brooke teaching me to French kiss to my entire sexual identity in question. It baffled me to no end, and I even told Brooke about it. She rolled her eyes like she always did when I told her about my therapy sessions, threw her arm around my shoulders and led me off to the mall to check out the guys hanging around the food court. Our normal after school ritual. And it never really got spoken of again. I didn't even bother contemplating that the doc could be anywhere in the vicinity of right. I was little more than twelve years old, I barely knew what gay meant.
I get it now though, and I'm scared to death of it. Because I think she might have been more on than I ever wanted to think about.
Peyton
That long! I re-read the last paragraph a good five times, baffling at how long Peyton's been keeping this to herself. Three years now, and I had no clue. How is that even possible?
I do remember that shrink of hers. When she came over to my house after her last therapy session, she was completely red in the face, and I could feel the anger rolling off of her, it was that acute. I didn't understand why she was so mad, I mean yeah, the psychobabbler had jumped to some pretty out there conclusions. But Peyton was ready to boil over.
I didn't think anything of teaching her how to stick her tongue down a guy's throat. Gay wasn't even in my vocabulary at that point. I didn't even bat an eye as I had grabbed her face in my palms and pressed our lips together. It seemed completely natural to me. I guess that makes more sense now, but at the time, no thought was even given to it. I just assumed it was entirely normal. Hell, it probably IS normal. I'm sure most best friends don't end up falling in love after practicing kissing techniques.
Whoa. In love?
I am. I really am. What a euphoric feeling this is. I can feel the sense of tranquility and peace invade my entire being. It's such an amazing sensation, and I'm surprised by the lack of fear or nervousness that comes with it. I'm fully prepared for this, for the very first time in my life I'm not going to run in the other direction of it.
I lay back against my overstuffed pillows, for all the world feeling like I'm floating on little mini clouds. Taking a quick sip from my bottle of water on the nightstand, desperately trying not to choke on it in my prone position, I thumb to the next journal entry.
August 20th 2002,
Brooke and I just got back from three weeks in the Poconos for cheerleading camp. This is the second summer in a row now that I've gotten roped into it. Our requirement for cheering on the varsity squad as freshman she told me. The first time was a grueling two week program in Texas that felt more like boot camp than a nice summer retreat. I was hoping this would just be a nice couple of weeks up north to get away from the stresses of impending high school drama. I should have known better.
I've actually been trying to keep my distance from Brooke the last few months. Being around her has gotten increasingly difficult as I've started coming to the realizations that I'm more than attracted to her. I'm constantly walking on eggshells, scared to death that I'm going to slip up somehow and just plant one on her, or babble out some heartfelt confession. I'm not sure which is worse to be honest, I just know that Brooke would be less than receptive to either one.
I had been quietly relieved that Brooke and I hadn't pulled the same lodging assignments for Pine Forest. I was pretty sure that three weeks of practically living with Brooke 24/7 would have made me a completely frustrated mess. Brooke however was not taking the news so well. She tried repeatedly to have us reassigned to each other, to my secret relief, it never worked. Which made her that much more irritated by the entire thing.
We saw each other a good ten hours out of the day as it was, doing squad drills, pyramid training and routine planning. I was trying desperately not to let my eyes wander when I hoisted Brooke onto my shoulders for the pyramid finale.
One thing that I did come away realizing though was that I didn't spend the entire three weeks checking out the other two hundred or so teenage girls that we were surrounded by. Which made me feel moderately relieved and at the same time, even more worried. I'm pretty sure now that I'm not in the gay column, which of course, nothing wrong with that, but it makes me a little less confused in the grand scheme of things. But the bad side of that coin is that I also came to understand that Brooke seems to be the end all be all for me. And considering how nonexistent my chances with her are, it kind of leaves me in a really depressing place.
And just my luck, we ended up spending the last week of the camp sharing a bed. Brooke has this habit of always trying to be the alpha female. I'm not entirely sure she's aware of it, but it either earns her a horde of bowing loyalists, or a handful of extremely ruffled egos by the few girls who share her same attitude. The second we were introduced to the Bear Creek High squad I knew there was going to be trouble.
Claire Young was pretty much an entirely bitchy version of Brooke. Used to getting her own way, wanting everyone to follow her lead and not challenge her authority. And the most heinous bitch I've ever had the displeasure of meeting.
So naturally her and Brooke were going to lock horns. And then we found out they were cabin mates. I think I literally heard the feline growling when they locked eyes across the room. I half expected to see Brooke the next morning at breakfast with scratches up and down her arms. I have complete faith in her abilities to charm and ultimately dominate a group of impressionable young girls, but she was lacking one thing that Claire had in spades. Brooke, as spoiled and materialistic as she can sometimes be, she's not nasty. She's got the most amazing heart, it's just buried underneath all the money her parents throw at her. And I'm one of the lucky few who gets to see it on a regular basis.
But I'm digressing.
Two weeks into our lovely little retreat to northern Pennsylvania Claire and Brooke finally got into it. The knock down drag out that I expected to happen the first couple of days. My cabin was three over from Brooke's, so it made it pretty handy for her to slip in after lights out. We're both night owls, so the ten pm bed time was not something either of us were too fond of. So most nights she'd sneak into my cabin, and we'd crawl under the blankets, turn the flashlights on she had insisted on packing, and paged through one of the gazillion magazines that we managed to smuggle in. Since I was rooming with Theresa we weren't worried about being ratted out. It was starting to become a perpetual slumber party.
Until Claire caught on and told our counselor. The next morning we both were sat down and given a stern lecture on discipline being the most important factor in cheerleading, and how were we ever going to lead our squad if we couldn't even go to bed when we were told. It was really one of the most boring conversations of my life, especially considering that I spend most of my time on my own with dad off on jobs in the Atlantic. I'm not used to have any kind of curfew, bed time, or rules in general, besides the normal morality ones of course. Counselor Bonnie was so red in the face I was shocked she didn't just pop a vein in her forehead.
Fast forward to that night. I snuggled down in bed, desperately needing a good night's sleep after the exhausting day I'd had. A couple hours later I was woken up by the lights going on around me and the distinct sound of Brooke ripping a certain blonde cheerleader a new one. By the time I rolled myself out of bed and cleared the sleep from my eyes, half the camp was standing outside of Brooke and Claire's bunk, watching in rapt attention as they matched each other, insult for insult.
In my half asleep haze, I can't be entirely sure what all was said, most of it was just jumbled shouts at each other. But when I saw Brooke step toward Claire with a distinct look of bloody murder in her eyes, I knew it was time I try and diffuse the situation. Pushing my way through the onlookers, idly wondering where the camp counselors were now, I made my way behind Brooke. And I got my own dose of Claire' vitriol for my trouble. Here I was essentially saving her from Brooke's full fury, and I just managed to get myself drug into the whole mess.
"Well well, looks like I was right Brookie."
I knew that was just going to enrage my best friend more, she hates when people cutesy her name, it pisses her off like nothing else. By that time I had put my hand on her shoulder, trying to subtly encourage her to back off. Subtle wasn't working though, and just as I was about to grab her around the waist and physically drag her out of the cabin, our wayward counselor finally decided to make an appearance. After she finally realized that there was no way Brooke and Claire could spend another week together breathing the same oxygen, she took Brooke's suggestion to stay with me in my bunk for the duration of the camp.
Sure, I didn't want them killing each other, but that last week was pure and utter torture for me. Brooke's a cuddler. And normally that's not such a bad thing, or even noticeable. Because my bed at home is a nice large queen size. Plenty of room for the both of us where we barely touch during the night. But the bed at cheer camp was the smallest twin I've ever seen in my life. So for six straight nights, Brooke would curl up next to me, her chin propped on my shoulder, her hand placed somewhere different on my person every night. And I watched the sun rise six consecutive days. The bags under my eyes deserve their own zip code, they're that massive. But there was no way I was risking sleep, only to have one of my more vivid dreams of late and end up molesting my best friend.
And I don't think Brooke has any clue. So much for staying away from her. That last week was a perfect lesson in being careful what one wishes for. During my weeks of avoidance before the camp, my naughtier thoughts had danced around the exact same scenario, with a few more than friendly details added in.
I have no idea what I'm going to do about this. I can't be around her without wanting to touch her. But the keeping my distance plan is doomed to fail. We're best friends. And I need to keep it that way. My feelings and attraction are inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. So I'm determined to get over whatever this is and make sure things go back to normal as quickly as they can.
Brooke can never know.
Peyton
I giggle a bit as I read over the last few paragraphs again. I've always been a snuggler, ever since I was tiny. I couldn't go to sleep without having my arm or hand wrapped around something. Usually it was my Care Bear or the spare pillow I insisted on having. As I've gotten older, it's more often than not, a person. And my favorite snuggle bunny has always been Peyton. Usually when I sleep over at her house, I just use her extra pillows or the bedspread itself. But that bunk was so damn tiny at Pine Forest that she was the only thing to grasp onto.
And I actually liked it that way. Peyton has always been the only person in my life that's made me feel truly safe. Not just emotionally, but physically as well. Her arms are the safest place in the world to me, and especially after my little catfight with Claire, that was just what I needed. I don't think I've ever slept as soundly as I did that week I spent in bed with her. I actually remember how stiff she seemed the first few days, which baffled me to no end. We had slept in the same bed together probably a thousand times before that, and she's never been anything but completely comfortable with me. I wasn't sure what changed. But I selfishly didn't really care, as long as we were together.
Just as I'm contemplating all the ways I can make those sleepless nights up to my poor Peyton, the sounds of the Spice Girls once again sound through my bedroom.
I reach over and pick it up, but before I have a chance to even say hello, Peyton nervously cuts me off.
"If you listened to me I'm surprised you even answered your phone."
I scrunch up my eyebrows, unseen of course to a slightly anxious sounding P Sawyer. "Why would you think that?"
"How far along are you anyway?" She dodges my question.
"Cheer camp. But never mind that, when's your flight?" I have a bad feeling where this is going and I'm determined to nip it in the bud.
"You're serious?" I can hear the disbelief in her voice.
"Not most times, no. But right now, never more so. What's going on PS, did you change your mind?" I hesitantly ask her, wondering if something has suddenly changed without my knowing it.
"Here I was calling to ask you the same thing." She lets out a little sardonic laugh.
I roll my eyes, having way too much of this particular brand of angst already. "Stop being so melodramatic girlfriend, just let me know when I get to pick you up."
There's silence on the line for a good minute, and then finally Peyton sighs. "It's flight number 410 into LAX at 11:30."
I pout unseen to my best friend, glancing over at the clock noticing that it's only around 1pm now. "That long? You couldn't get an earlier flight?"
She scoffs at that, apparently not sharing my impatience. "Right, do you have the $1500 bucks it would have cost for a last minute cross country flight?" Before I get a chance to respond, with a resounding duh, she cuts me off again. "That was rhetorical Brooke, don't even go there. Besides the fact that's like ten hours. I barely even have the time to pack here."
"Well you don't really have to bother, we can just go shopping with Daddy's Amex." I can hear the protest forming all the way on the other side of the country. "And before you even start, I'll have you know he's feeling extremely guilty lately. I'm using it to my full advantage, so we'll be sitting pretty this summer."
There's dead silence. I'm wondering what in the world I could have said to produce that type of reaction. It's not like Peyton isn't aware of my penchant for spending my parents money.
"This summer? As in the ENTIRE summer? Brooke, how long should I be packing for?"
I smile, picturing the little crease between her eyebrows. "You really think once I get you out here I'm going to let you go back?"
"What?!" The surprise in her voice is evident, even though I think the fact I was openly flirting with her went right over P. Sawyer's head.
"Your dad won't mind will he? Isn't he on that job down off of Baja anyway?" I'm trying to remember where Peyton told me her father was spending the summer, I'm pretty sure it was in Mexico somewhere.
"Sure, he won't mind that you kidnapped me off to the OC for the entire summer." Hmm, classic Peyton snark.
"Well we can always go down and visit him. Mexico is right next door." I'm starting to sense a little hesitancy on her part. Can't be having that.
"You're up to something, I can just tell." I don't why I'm still surprised when she calls me on things.
I decide being honest is the best way to go at this point. "I am. But aren't you curious to find out what?"
"Scared to death actually."
"Cute Peyton." Cause really, smartass Peyton is one of the most adorable things ever. "So finish up your packing and make sure things at your house are taken care of."
Peyton cuts me off yet again. "Taken care of? God, you've really thought this out. Why does that not surprise me." I think she's mumbling to herself more than anything now.
"OK bestest friend, you get your cute butt moving and I'll see you at 11:30." As much as I love hearing her voice, I think she's using the phone call as a stall tactic, and there will be none of that.
"Brooke-----"
This time I cut her off. "Peyton, stop thinking so much about it. What's your gut telling you?" I pray that it's not screaming at her to stay far far away from the airport.
I can tell she's trying to decide if she wants to tell me the truth or not. Peyton has these little tells, especially when she tries to pull one over on me. And the hitch in her breathing is one of the big ones. She lets out one final sigh. "I miss you." Before I can echo the sentiment, she continues. "Which is ridiculous really. You've been gone less than twenty four hours and I already miss you like crazy. And my stomach is all in knots because I KNOW that I'd be the biggest idiot in the world if I didn't just do what you're asking and fly out there. But I'm scared Brooke."
My heart breaks as her voice cracks. I know she's scared, hell I am too. But this is so worth it, I can feel it so strongly. I just have to get her to see that too. "I know PS, I am too. But this is right, I know it. And when you finally get here, I'll prove it to you." Images of candles and rose petals and satin sheets invade my head. And I'm surprised by how comfortable I am with it. It just strengthens my resolve more so.
I'm shaken out of my more than friendly thoughts by Peyton's voice echoing over the line. "I guess I'll be seeing you tonight then."
I smile, an honest to God ear to ear smile, in relief. "I can't wait. Be safe Peyton, love you." And before she can start dissecting that, I press end on my cell, disconnecting us.
As I place my phone back on the nightstand I glance down at her journal, lying open to the page I left off at. I'm tempted to keep reading straight through until it's time to go pick her up at the airport, but there's a germ of an idea creeping around in my noggin that just won't seem to go away. I'm not entirely sure it's the most appropriate thing to do considering how much is really still up in the air with me and Peyton, but I can't seem to help myself.
Grabbing my cell back off the nightstand I head downstairs to the kitchen where I noticed the phone directory sitting on a shelf underneath the counter. An hour and a few ruffled florists and caterers later I headed back upstairs with another bottle of Fuji to dive back into the next journal entry.
April 11th, 2003
The last few months have been insanity, that's my excuse for not writing in here more. The strangest thing happened today. Brooke had set her sights on the new star of the varsity basketball team this past winter. But he barely paid any attention to her. I really had no idea what could be wrong with him. I figured the odds were even on blind or gay. I'm firmly on the side of blind now though after the disturbing cheerleading practice I just got home from.
Mr. Basketball asked me out.
Me, not my best friend. That was enough confirmation for me. I can't imagine why he would want me and not Brooke. I mean I'm not completely without any exterior aesthetically pleasing qualities, but compared to a goddess like her I'm nothing special.
His name is Nathan Scott. He's arrogant, smug, self involved, and I have to admit, pretty cute. All dark hair and bright eyes. Charming in the way that he's completely aware of it and uses it to his full advantage. He's got trouble written all over him.
And yet I agreed to go on a date with him. I'm not sure what I've been smoking, but I think I need to get off of it. As we were talking after varsity practice, I could feel Brooke's eyes on my back, watching intently. After he confidently asked me if I wanted to check out the latest Chow Yun something or other kung fu movie. Completely stunned I nodded my head yes, paralyzed as he leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, before heading out of the gym.
I was still standing there like a complete idiot when I felt Brooke sidle up beside me. I didn't have to even look at her to know that she was less than pleased with the situation. I couldn't be sure what she was more upset about. That he chose me over her, or that she was viewing my acceptance as a betrayal to her. Before I even turned around to face her fully I was working on the apology. But the look she wore stopped me cold. It was half amused and half annoyed, and for the life of me I couldn't read her at all in that moment.
She shocked the hell out of me by reaching her fist out in the space between us, uttering what apparently has become our new mantra. Hoes over Bros. By the tap of our fists together, we agreed to never let any guy, no matter how cute or sexy, come between our friendship. I just hope we can stand by it.
I hoped we could have too. I'm honestly not sure which one of us really broke our pact. I knew she liked Lucas, I teased her about it, and yet I still went after him with both barrels. I guess maybe it really was my fault.
I remember how jealous I was that day when I saw Nathan saunter over to Peyton. I think my entire field of vision hazed over to a nice bright shade of green. The funny thing was, while I thought Nathan was cute, still do actually, I wasn't so interested in him that I should have had such an abrasive reaction to them going out on a date. He had been a conquest I had hoped to attain, but nothing more really.
In fact, I really should have been happy for my best friend. She had been rather mopey most of the school year, sticking to staying home on the weekends, drawing her freaky little drawings, and leaving me on my own to party with the rest of the cheerleading squad. I was starting to miss her, and not just her physical presence either. I remember feeling like she was slipping farther and farther away from me and my world and into her own dark, closed off self imposed solitude.
And then once she started dating Nathan she seemed to snap out of it. Peyton's never been bubbly and happy go lucky, it's one of the reasons we get along so well, we balance each other out. But once she was someone's girlfriend, she slowly started hanging out with us more, went to parties, at least gave the semblance of looking like she was having some fun. And while I enjoyed having my best friend back, I was more than annoyed that it took Nathan Scott to pull her out of the funk. I had tried every trick in my fairly large book to get her to cheer up, and nothing worked at all. In fact at times it seemed as though my mere presence made it even worse.
I get it now though. At least I think I do. And I'm beginning to wonder how much of an idiot I must have been to not see all the signs that were there for so long.
I glance at my watch, wondering how much more time I have to kill before I can talk about all of this with Peyton. Nine more hours to go. Plenty of time for a few more entries. I skim over the next few pages, not wanting to read in Peyton's disturbingly descriptive detail the intricacies of her more intimate moments with Nathan. I heard about it first hand from her the morning after any way.
As I'm skipping through the paragraphs, a couple of sentences catch my eye, piquing my curiosity and making me go back to the beginning of the entry to read more in detail.
August 20th, 2003
A year ago I made an entry in here complaining about how my best friend was driving me nuts. Now I'd give anything for those days back. To be snuggled up against in a bed too small for even one of us. Her fingers unconsciously trailing up and down my ribcage, testing my limits in pleasurable torture.
Now all I can think about is what a mistake I've made.
Last night I lost my virginity. And while normally it's a huge milestone for a young woman, the minute it was over with, and Nathan curled up on the other side of the bed, presenting his back to me, I knew I had given it to the wrong person.
All the magazines tell you that it should be special. It should be with someone you love and trust unconditionally. Someone who knows you inside and out and loves you just the same. It's something special and one of a kind that shouldn't be jumped into cavalierly. Your partner should be The One, the person you want to remember for the rest of your life, even if they aren't the one you end up with.
Nathan Scott is not that person.
Brooke Davis is.
But I'm not delusional enough to think that it would have ever happened with her. I would have ended up dying an eighty year old virgin if I had waited for a moment that was never going to come. Which is probably why I gave in to Nathan so readily. My mind was a jumble of all kinds of thoughts, most of them in the vein of downright depressing, and in that moment, I just wanted to feel something, anything else. And I thought that what Nathan was offering me was as good as I could get at the time.
Besides, he's Mr. Basketball. Most popular guy in school, loved by the entire student body. Why wouldn't I want to lose myself to a guy like that, right?
Because he's just not Brooke. But then, no one else will be.
Peyton
God! She never said a word, not one. Sure, I didn't expect her to come right out and tell me something like that. But she outright lied to me. Peyton told me that it was everything she expected and then some. That Nathan was a fantastic lover and how glad she was that they had taken that step. I hadn't even questioned her. In fact, I really didn't want to hear any of the details, which was so odd for me. But then again, she never seemed to think anything of my lack of interest in her details.
She wanted it to be me? I just…………..I don't even know what to think about that. It's such an incredible gift to give, and she wanted to give it to me. That's probably the sweetest thing I've ever known. I have to figure out a way to thank her for the sentiment, and to come up with a plan to make it up to her. What I have in motion for Peyton's arrival tonight will help, but it's not anywhere in the vicinity of being enough. How does one go about making up for something like that though?