She Cries on Him
Here guys, it's a kind-of reworked version of the story that me and Jacqueline started. I kind-of stole our idea and made a new story, lol, but it's okay, cause we're gonna write a new one together. So yeah, please r+r
Chapter 1: Here Without You
The thing about Mondays, is that something always goes wrong. The day that comes with a painful strike at the beginning of the work week, has never been favorable to Brooke Davis. And even now – when her days had become so boringly routine and predictable that they all blended together in her mind and she had lost idea of when the day ended and the night began – the Mondays stood out.
Today was no exception.
The voicemail was short and sad. Karen had always hated to be the bearer of bad news, and that combined with the pleading in her voice was enough to make Brooke crack – but just barely.
She wasn't exactly sure why anyone expected her to return this time. She didn't come back for the last funeral. And that one had hit far more close to home than the one of a basketball coach she barely knew. But in a way, Brooke knew it was easier to grieve for those you didn't really know – then to face the pain of admitting the one you love is gone.
She stopped going on dates. They seemed to irksomely remind her, when she couldn't pick up the phone the next day and drone on and on to Peyton about the new guy, that her best friend was really gone.
It was as if the last four months she had been living in a trance. She cut her hair into a shoulder length layered mess, with block-like bangs. She started wearing black pants and collared shirts to work, instead of her normal eccentric skirts. She let her apartment go – didn't have much of a will to clean it anymore.
And she didn't call. Cutting ties with everyone in Tree Hill, save Karen, seemed like the easiest way to move on.
But with each fake cheerful note from Haley, with each short message from Nathan on her voicemail, and with each long and painful email from Lucas, the days got harder and harder. The support system her friends had built after Peyton's death was certainly strong enough to bear Brooke, broken down and unaware Brooke, but her only problem was with letting them.
She simply didn't know how.
"I'm going to need a week."
The look on her bosses face was unnerving. "What do you mean 'you need a week?'"
Brooke wasn't sure why she stayed in a job where she hated her colleagues, didn't enjoy the work she did, and was terrified of her job. Just half a year ago she was on her way to becoming an editor for a prestigious fashion magazine. But then she stopped caring – stopped caring about anything – and her work seemed irrelevant.
"I'm going through some personal things, and I need to go home for a few days."
"We are in the middle of our biggest issue of the year. You cannot just pack up and leave because you are having petty issues with your boyfriend."
"It's not that!" She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but it had slipped out.
Kendra stared at her for a minute, before putting her eyes back on her work.
Brooke didn't stay for an answer.
Somehow she was back. In the rental car, weaving her way through the unchanged streets of Tree Hill. She spotted the movie theatre, drove by the Rivercourt, stole a glance at Tree Hill High, and turned onto Oak Road.
She was driving by, and the For Sale sign popped out to greet her. Her vision began to blur, her shoulders began to shake, and she had driven onto the lawn.
It seemed as though the car was closing in on her. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, and her feet came off the petals. Peyton's house looked unchanged, despite the fact that it had been a good year since Brooke had been on this lawn. Her eyes were tightly screwed shut, but she heard a knocking, and wiped her eyes before unrolling the window to speak to a concerned looking woman.
"May I help you?"
It registered with Brooke that this woman must be the one selling the house. Brooke shook her head quickly, and put the car into rear. She muttered an apology, and backed up onto the road.
Soon she was driving down yet another familiar street. And soon she was at the house. That house. Which, in some ways, was where she least wanted to be. But in others, it seemed like her best bet.
Reaching the porch, she extended her hand to the doorbell, and pressed it once. She could hear it echo through the house, and flinched slightly at it's loud noise. She'd taken the redeye, and it was still only 8am – she doubted Karen was even up yet.
But then the door was flung open to a very shocked-looking Karen. The woman Brooke had almost known as her mother just stared for a good 20 seconds. Then it was simply an envelopment of hugs and tears.
"I wasn't sure if you were going to come," said Karen, as she poured the hot coffee into Brooke's mug.
Brooke yawned. "I wasn't either."
Karen reached out and tucked a wisp of hair behind Brooke's ear. "Your hair. It's shorter – and…"
"I added some red," Brooke finished. "I just needed a change."
"It looks gorgeous," Karen responded with a soft smile. There was a small pause. "Are you ready to…"
"Talk? Not really, no." Brooke gave Karen an apologetic look.
"That's fine," the older woman responded with a soft smile. "You look exhausted dear – why don't you take a nap?"
"That doesn't sound too bad actually," Brooke said with a grateful smile.
"Lucas' bed is made up. He won't mind," she added, seeing the look on Brooke's face.
"Thank you."
The room hadn't changed much, but the funny thing was, it seemed much smaller. Back in junior year, it was so new and mysterious – she was always snooping through his drawers and closets, always treading lightly on his floor, as if she was trespassing. But then came senior year, and the room transformed into more of her own. A pair of her jeans and a hoodie took up the bottom drawer of Lucas' dresser, a jacket of hers hung in the closet. Her toothbrush had found it's way into his bathroom – her flip flops were a permanent fixture next to his bed. And the bed itself – that became her own.
"Brooke?" The side door to his room swung open and closed, and Lucas glanced over at his clock, which read 2am.
"Hey Broody." She murmured a curse as she bumped into his nightstand, before climbing into his bed. He snaked an arm around her, felt the soft material of her tank top, and knew she had driven over in her pajamas.
"What's going on?"
She buried her head into his chest. "Tutorwife and your brother are doing the nasty, and my couch is uncomfortable."
Lucas laughed. "Not an image I need of Nathan."
"Sorry, Broody," she said, bumping her lips against his chin, missing his mouth by a few inches, before finding his tongue with her own.
Then the pressure was gone and she was snuggling closer to him. He leaned into her ear and whispered an "I love you."
Sleep had almost taken her as she mumbled something incoherent, but Lucas knew that it was "I love you too."
The sheets were the same – he hadn't bought new ones – not even after he started going out with Peyton. And there wasn't much sense in changing them when he got back from college and moved into his own apartment.
She had assumed the bed would feel foreign and odd. But her tiredness overcame any awkward feelings she was having, and she finally let sleep take her.
But she didn't sleep soundly. Mirages of her best friend overtook her dreams, and faded into oblivion, confusing Brooke as to what was reality, and what was purely her imagination.