Hey everyone! So I've currently been majorly grounded so I apologize for the lack of updates on Always Love, Something to Believe In, and the fact that this hasn't been posted sooner. So this is going to end up being a two parter and I have to say that I'm going to try REALLY hard to get this story to end in a happy place. But as of late I've been feeling kinda down in the dumps and trying to turn this story into something happy is proving to be difficult, especially since this is such an emotional subject. OKay, I've rambled long enough! I hope y'all enjoy this part!

Everyone used to know Brooke Davis. She'd prance around school in tight shirts and short skirts with her perfect body, making boys drool and girls jealous. She'd insult someone who looked at her the wrong way and laugh at a joke one of her fellow cheerleaders made even if it wasn't funny. She'd soak up the constant attention like a sponge and was proud of her 'Queen Bee' title. Now, Brooke Davis is rarely seen at school. She lurks through hallways in old jeans and oversized sweatshirts. Now people look at her differently. Some with judgment, those are the ones that can't believe she'd hook up with her best friend's ex, especially since they are so clearly 'meant to be'. Others look at her with confusion, unsure and ill informed of why she is no longer the cheerleader everyone loved to hate and the social butterfly everyone knew her as. And then there are the rare few who look at her with pity and sadness, the select few who know what happened.

Brooke Davis used to love being looked at. Now she hates it. Although, she seems to hate everything now. She hates how she looks; like a bloated train wreck who doesn't get enough sleep and will occasionally have wet stains on the front of her shirt from the milk that has been slowly leaking out for the past month. She hates how she feels; like a numb bitch who can't careless about anyone. She hates how people look at her since, really, no one understands the depth of what happened. She hates how people talk about her; like she is this ghost who can only be whispered about. She hates how her parents haven't seen her in almost eight months and have absolutely no clue what happened to her.

She hates how every time she sees her walk down the hall, apologies form on her lips yet they never seem good enough so she keeps her mouth shut. She hates how every time she sees him walk down the hall she wants to hit him for doing this to her, for ruining her life and carrying on with his. He's managed to gain status of co-captain on the team and from what she's heard, he and Peyton had reconciled, the douche bag.

But then, there's that small tug inside her that just wants to have him whisper those sweet lies in to her ear and wrap his arms around her.

She sighs and curls a little further into her seat, finishing the homework due next period. Haley sits down next to her, eyeing the brunette cautiously. Brooke sees her open her mouth slightly and before any words can be said, Brooke mutters "Fuck off," and continues to do her homework.

"Brooke." Her name comes off almost helpless and it seems fitting. She is helpless. She looks up at her ex-roommate with unamused blank eyes. She cocks an eyebrow as if daring Haley to say more and when she doesn't, Brooke returns to her work. Before getting up, Haley shakes her head. Brooke knows that it's out of frustration and maybe a little bit of sadness but like it was said before, she really can't careless.

Lucas sits in front of his open locker in the white towel he brought from home. He had had another grueling practice and the shower had only taken a little of the hurt off of his aching muscles. The rest of the team had already gone home leaving him alone in the locker room. He sighs halfly before standing up and getting dressed. It's almost time for dinner and he really should hurry up but what's the point?

Over the past month he's thrown himself into everything he possibly could so he could stop thinking about what had gone on between Brooke and him. But it's when he's alone like this with his thoughts that it all comes rushing back. It's always then that he starts imagining what color eyes he would have had or what color hair she would have had.

Haley's come over for dinner again, the twelfth time in the past month. Though she doesn't say anything to Karen, she notices. She's begun to tell him to take it easy and that he's pushing himself too hard, but that's it. She isn't as aggressive as Lucas knows she can be and the only reason she's not is because she was there. She had been the one to pull Brooke off the floor and get her dressed. She had been the one who cleaned up the broken glass and who searched that small apartment from top to bottom for that small flimsy piece of paper with the gray scatter plot image. She'd been the one to find him at the rivercourt, dunking the orange ball into the hoop and landing on his knees so they bled after he had left Brooke's. She was the one who had let him cry on her shoulder and the one who covered for him when his mother got suspicious.

Haley got it. She understood. But that didn't stop her from worrying. "How was school today?" The two teens look up from their plates and place their eyes on Karen who sits across from them, her fork spearing a piece of broccoli.

Like always, Haley goes first. "I got a B on my trig test. Very disappointing especially since it was 89 out of 100. One stupid point away from an A." Karen smiles in that polite way Lucas knew she would. It's the only thing that stops her from calling Haley crazy.

"And what about you Luke?"

He looks back down, swirling his mashed potatoes around before scooping some up. "Same old same old," he says with a shrug before adding, "practice was tough," just to ensure his mom wont question him. Karen smiles at him in the same way she did to Haley. She knows something's up but she'll wait until he tells her.

Looks like she'll be waiting a while.

He knocks on the door a couple of times without getting an answer. He knows she's home, her VW bug is parked in the parking lot around back. He pulls out his key ring and puts Haley's old key into the lock and turns it, opening the red door with the golden knocker. The whole apartment is dark and silent but he already knows where she's at.

He walks into the doorway leaning on the white frame as his eyes adjust to focus on her in the dark. "Why do you torture yourself like this," he asks. She sits against the far wall of the bedroom, her eyes fixed on the almost empty cork board.

"Go away Nathan," she whispers in the silence as she pulls her knees towards her chest. He dismisses her words and enters the room, sitting down next to her. "I said go away."

"The only person as stubborn as you is me Davis. I'm not going anywhere." She scoots a little to the left, putting a little more space between them but not objecting to anything more. "Ya know," Nathan starts in order to break the silence, "it's not going to show up. No matter how much you stare, it's gone."

"Shut your mouth," she retorts, her voice louder than he's heard in a while.

"It's true whether you want to admit it or not," he pushes, his eyes fixed on her as she gets up.

"Shut up," she exclaims louder as she tries to get further away from him. "Get the fuck out Nathan!" He sighs and almost shakes his head. He wants to stay, to tell her that yelling wont help it hurt any less but then Haley's voice plays in his head. It tells him to stop being an insensitive jerk and give her time. A month isn't going to help her get over what's happened. So, he stands up and brushes imaginary dirt off of his jeans. Shoving his hands in his pockets he mutters, "Fine," and leaves the apartment.

When she hears the door slam, she creeps to the living room, sliding the chain across its clasp, locking her in from the rest of the world.

Peyton stands next to her car, looking around for the one thing she can barely stand yet can't live without. She tosses her half smoked cigarette to the ground and steps on it to make sure it goes out. It's Saturday and she would normally be in her room drawing away at her latest emo picture. But the past two weekends she's made an exception.

Lucas pulls up next to her and cuts the engine of his old beat up truck. He steps out and gives her a curt nod before beginning their walk to their destination. When they reach her mother's gravestone, Peyton drops down next to it, sitting Indian style as she looks through her bag. He stays standing for a few more moments before sitting next to Peyton. "How was your week," she asks as she pulls out her sketch pad, flipping open to one of her current work-in-progresses.

"Hard," he mumbles. "Does it ever get easier?" He looks at her with heavy eyes, hoping for an answer that would make it better.

"No," she responds, her answer not the one he was searching for. "But over time you just think about it less."

The wind picks up a little, the few leaves that are left on the trees holding on for dear life. "I don't think I can do that." He pulls out his book from his back pocket and opens it up. His bookmark is starting to look worn and it worries him. It's liable to rip soon and he can't let that happen. So, he carefully takes out his wallet and slides the filmy piece of paper into it, making a mental note to take it out when he got home.

"Sure you can," she adds," but only when she can too."

She walks down the hallway Monday morning during her free period, her eyes planted on the ground. She counts each step she takes from Ms. Dasani's room to her locker, something she's done numerous times. The number usually stays the same, thirty six, but sometimes it changes. Sometimes it's thirty two and other's it's thirty eight and it makes her smile every time it's not thirty six. Because then in some small way she's proving Nathan wrong. She can stare at the ground and facts will change.

When she gets to her locker she pushes her grown out locks behind her ears and quickly does her combination. Six to the right, nine to the left, two to the right and her lock pops open. She pulls out her Calculus book and holds it underneath her arms as she takes out a tattered copy of 'Oedipus the King'. She flips through the pages mindlessly until she hears heavy foot steps on the scuffed linoleum. She looks up and there he is, reminding her all too much of the first day of school.

She opens her mouth slightly before closing it and swallowing hard. They stare at each other for a good two minutes before his eyes stray to his book. SHe follows his eyes and bends the softbound book in half before tossing it to him.

It falls a little short, landing three steps from his feet. He doesn't reach for it, not until she turns and walks away. He wants to tell her that he took it but he can't. Because that means he'll have to give it to her and he's not sure he can do that either.

His mother's getting more suspicious as time goes on. Another month has passed and it's nearly Christmas before she says anything. "You've changed these past few months," she says lightly as they're decorating the nearly perfect tree they had picked out earlier that day.

He sets his favorite ornament, the white rocking horse with blue trim, on a branch before looking up at her. "Have I," he asks, trying to make it seems like it wasn't as obvious as it was.

"Yeah, you have." She doesn't say more, instead waits for him to continue. When he doesn't, she lets out a breath and takes a sip of hot chocolate. "Lucas, you know you can tell me anything."

He nods. "I know Ma."

He can't tell her this.

Christmas in California is nothing like Christmas in Tree Hill. In Tree Hill snow is on the ground and everyone is bundled up, singing carols or making snow men. They rush around doing last minute shopping and go home to their families and drink hot chocolate as they sit by the fire. The whole house smells of pine, their freshly cut trees decorated with hundreds of sparkling lights and ornaments.

In California the weather is a balmy 65 degrees. People brush past you and yell to move out of their way when walking down the street. Carolers are only found at Christmas parties. Fake trees in each room are decorated specifically so that ornaments and lights are in neat rows. Brooke's dad is still never home and Brooke's mom sits by their fireplace drinking vodka.

She doesn't really know why she came out. Being in California is almost as bad as being in Tree Hill. In Tree Hill she just locks herself in her apartment. In California her parents make her go to countless parties and the constant fake smile she wears is starting to hurt her cheeks.

She leans against the black bar, waiting for the bartender to finish her drink. The only good thing about these parties is the free booze. She looks around the crowded party, trying to find the location of her parents. Five more minutes and she's done. She'll down her drink, go home, and curl into her bed underneath her heavy down feather blanket. Tomorrow's Christmas and all she wants to do is never wake up.

The bartender places her gin and tonic in front of her and she finishes it in three gulps before slamming it back down on the counter.

Christmas morning has always been the same for Lucas. He'd wake up at 6 and stumble into the living room, and wait patiently on the couch for his mom to wake up. When she'd walk into the living room five minutes later, she'd perch herself on the edge of the couch and smile before telling him to open his presents.

The routine has changed a little since he's gotten older. He and Karen wake up at virtually the same time now. He always puts wood into the fireplace and starts a fire before he even goes over to his presents. Karen still perches on the edge of the couch and smiles at him to open his gifts.

This year is different. He doesn't want to get out of bed but he knows that he will in a few more minutes so that his mom won't worry. He lays on his bed staring at his plain white ceiling that has one small crack in it. He closes his eyes and tries to remember when that crack first appeared. He wants to believe it happened sometime during his high school career but he thinks it happened even more recently. He squeezes his eyes tight and then it hits him.

The first time he saw the crack was when he broke up with Peyton. He remembers in getting slightly bigger the night after he slept with Brooke and right now it looks like it's grown a little since then.

He hears the floorboards creak and in exactly three seconds his mom's head pops into his room. "You awake?"

He lets out a strangled 'Yeah' before crawling out of bed. His mother smiles at him before continuing her walk to the living room, expecting him to follow. He stops at his dresser, wanting so badly to reach for that filmy piece of paper that was tucked away in an envelope underneath his T-shirts. He sighs and keeps walking because he knows he can't.

It's 3 am and even though she had only planned on staying out for five more minutes, she stayed out for five more hours. She stumbles back into her shiny new house without her parents on the very beginnings of Christmas. She hadn't seen her father since they got to the party and she had found her mother cock deep in some man who wore a stupid holiday tie. That definatly caused her to drink about 100 more drinks.

Her heels hang around her wrists by their straps, her tube dress inching down her body. She closes the door hard, the sound echoing in the big empty house. She starts to laugh, that low laugh that isn't produced by something funny. It's the sad laugh that almost leads to crying, the one let out just before you meet your wits end. She sniffs lightly in the dark and begins her walk upstairs when her foot hits a box.

"Shit," she says, bringing her foot up and squeezing it to try and relieve the pain. She turns on her heel and uses the railing to ease herself down on the maple steps. Her eyes adjust to the darkness and once the throbbing in her toe stops she picks up the Fed Ex box and holds it in her small hands. She stands up and walks into the dinning room, flipping on the light switch. She blinks a few times to get use to the light and reads the label to see who it's to.

To: Brooke Davis

273 North Harbor Drive

San Diego, California

92122

Return Address: Tree Hill, North Carolina

She blinks again to try and rid the shock of seeing Tree Hill as the return address. She leaves the box on the table and goes into the kitchen to grab a knife from the wooden block on the counter. She walks slowly back into the dinning room and slices open the box before putting the knife down. She moves back the flaps and digs through the packaging peanuts, a present underneath the white fluffs. She pulls it out, the feather light box wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper with small bounds of holly printed on it.

She runs her fingers over it gently, outlining the design before taking a deep breath. She turns with the box still in her freezing hands and walks out on to the deck right outside the dinning room. She takes another breath as she lifts up the top of the box, and looks down at the present amidst the white cotton.

He lays in his bed, tired from the events of the day but not tired enough to sleep. After his morning ritual with Karen he walked over to Nathan's to give Haley the presents his mom had sent over. They had all sat in the kitchen munching on cereal and not doing much talking at all. Then around noon they all drove back over to Lucas' for Karen's big Christmas lunch. There had been, of course, more small talk and holiday movie watching until 7 when Haley and Nathan decided to go home.

And in his bed he's been laying since 8. He hasn't done much at all, just rolled over a few times and attempted to read the new book Karen had given him. The older woman has been asleep since 8:30 and he truly wishes he could enter that beautiful escape where the pain of what's happened can't haunt him.

His phone vibrates on his night stand and he almost doesn't pick it up. "Hello," he answers moodily, upset with whoever's on the other line even though he's still almost perfectly awake.

"Don't sound so bitchy. I know it's semi late but I just wanted to say Merry Christmas and tell you that I've got a present for you."

"Merry Christmas and you really didn't need to get me a present."

"Oh I know, you totally don't deserve it," Peyton says amused, "but you need it."

They hang up a minute later and he's left in his bed surrounded by noisy silence once more. It's moments like this when he's alone with his thoughts that it all comes rushing back. It's when he can't shut up his mind and it runs rapent that he starts remembering things he just wants to block out.

The knock on the door jolts him, saving him from himself. He climbs out of bed, pushing his thick blanket to the foot of the bed. He grips the door knob and pauses for a second, wondering if he should check to see who's there. He shrugs before opening the door to see Brooke on the other side.

"Brooke?"

It reminds him all too much of the night they slept together. She looks like she could start crying at any moment but instead of looking sad like before, she looks angry. "How could you give me it then take it away!" She's practically screaming at him and he wonders if the neighbors can hear her. "After what had happened to me you just took it! The only fucking thing I had left!"

"It didn't just happen to you Brooke! I was there! That was my bab-"

"Don't you say that! Don't you dare say that word," she yells, cutting him off. "You may have been part of it but it did not happen to you! You didn't see or feel the blood. You didn't have to lie on that table with your legs spread so they could empty you! So don't give me that shit!" She's pointing at him angrily and he's worried that she'll start hitting him again. His eyes travel to her other hand, the ultrasound in between her fingers. The rest of her body is so tense that that hand looks out of place. It's almost limp but she's holding on to that filmy piece of paper with enough force so it wont fly away or crumple.

"You make it seem like I don't care about any of this," he whispers helplessly, letting his head drop a little before looking back up at her.

She has to have heard him and truth is she did, but she ignores it. "Merry fucking Christmas Lucas Scott," she says, unzipping the sweatshirt she wears and throws it at him.

She turns and leaves, running back to her car and driving away. He looks down and realizes it's his sweatshirt.