Summary: Sequel to Bruises; she should have known. Complete, Peyton POV.
Spoilers: Vague ones for season 1.
Author's notes: I wasn't aware I was a Nathan/Peyton shipper, LOL. But I wanted to capture their relationship, because it couldn't have all been bad. And because I've been watching s1 and I find them strangely appealing to write.
I hadn't planned on writing a sequel/continuation to Bruises, but there you go, LOL. If I write anymore, and it's highly doubtful that I will, I'm guessing it'll be from Nathan's POV. But yeah, it was only supposed to be a standalone.
Disclaimer: Characters within aren't mine. Nathan being abused is cliché, so it's kind of not mine. I just have this twisted desire to write about it.
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She should have known. All those nights he'd come to her; kissed her, touched her… she should have known.
He'd talk about his dad sometimes; he'd talk about Lucas more. It would annoy her; and she wouldn't listen for long.
She'd pull him back to her, kiss him deep and hard. And sometimes he'd sigh and kiss her back and sometimes he'd get mad and leave.
It was the other nights, though. When he came in and leaped at her, kissing her no matter what she'd been doing. Once, she'd been painting her nails. His shirt and skin took the brunt of the damp nail polish.
He'd kiss her before she could do anything else. Long, crushing kisses, she thought were just about lust.
She should have detected the desperation behind them.
But she hadn't.
She'd noticed bruises before; some faded, one clearly fresh. Most of the time she was too far gone to comment others she was too scared he'd leave. Scared he'd leave and she'd be alone again; cold again.
She'd usually fall asleep first. They didn't sleep curled close, like people in love would. In fact, she rarely knew how they slept; he'd usually be gone when she woke.
Sometimes though, he wasn't. Once, she'd woken to feel something… wet against her hair. He was wrapped around her, pressed in close. But it wasn't passionate; it was urgent and not in a sexy way.
His arms were holding her so hard she was the one with bruises. His face was buried in her hair which was soft and curly, free and unguarded like Nathan at that moment.
She hadn't said anything; he hadn't seemed to realize he'd woken her. But when he was asleep, when the torrent of tears had stopped, when his trembling had lessened, she'd turned and kissed his cheek. Because he wasn't her jerk of a boyfriend right then; he was the boy she glimpsed sometimes; the one she could know more, if she didn't push him to kiss her, kiss her and make everything else fade away for a little while.
She knows things are better with Haley. With Haley, she knows it isn't about sex. Haley takes Nathan's pain away in another way, a way Peyton hadn't been able to. Haley holds him when he needs her to, and kisses him when he's awake.
Haley is the one to tell Peyton about the bruises. And when she's gone, Peyton cries the tears she hasn't let Haley see. The tears she never lets anyone see. Because she'd seen them, too.
If only she'd realized; if she'd confronted him. If she'd been better.
She creeps into his apartment that night. She doesn't know why she's come but she's here and Peyton needs to see him.
He's asleep when she finds him. Blankets tossed everywhere, bare chested and looking small. His face is buried in the pillow; like it had been pressed in her hair that night. He clutches it and she hears the whimper muffled by the materiel.
She smoothes the blankets over him before she realizes what she's doing. She strokes his hair and he calms slowly, his grip loosening on the pillow.
And then she's on the bed with him, slipping under the covers before she knows it.
And he's turning over, still asleep. Pulling her close, transferring his face from the pillow to her hair.
He thinks she's Haley, she's sure. But she lets herself relax for the first time in weeks; months, maybe, because she's in Nathan's arms for what feels like the first time.
And they sleep like lovers do.