Bright Lights Disclaimer: I don't own this deep, depressed Haley, or Nathan; however, I own Brad, Nathan (not Nathan Scott, I own Nathan Singer), James, and Scott.

Author's Note: I know that Haley would seek help (or so I think) for her problem, so I'm sorry. The Tree Hill gang would have been born in the late eighties, if I worked the math right. You may think, why do I care, but you will, I promise. I hope you enjoy this tragedy of Naley. So it's very AU. Right now, I'm very inspired by the Matchbox 20 song 'Bright Lights', that's why this fic is called Bright Lights. Summary

She keeps a picture of me in her apartment in the city
"Bright Lights" Matchbox 20

Haley still has Nathan's class picture from senior high in her apartment. It sits on her wooden table, framed with Nathan's face, half-smiling, and half-serious, sitting there. You can see his broad shoulders, jetting out and making there way into the picture.

Haley hates looking at the picture. But she feels that if she put it away that she would be letting go of him. And she doesn't want to.

The first night back from her honeymoon with Brad Singer, the picture sat on its table. When she brought her first son, named Nathan, back from the hospital, the picture sat there. When her second child, named James, cried in the middle of the night, and Haley rocked him around, the picture stared at her. When her final child, a daughter named Scott, came home, there it was.

When the younger Nathan was twelve, and first going to junior high, he asked his mom who the picture was of.

"It's Nathan Scott, one of my old friends."

That is the answer Haley always gives.

Brad Singer knows that this Nathan, her first husband, whoever he was (Haley rarely spoke of him), was a big part of Haley's life. So the picture stays.

Whenever Scott has a bad dream, and she comes to sleep in her parent's bedroom, Brad moves out to the sofa. He fluffs up his pillow, and spreads his blanket out. Brad spends a little time staring at the picture. Then he turns it so it faces the window. The eyes on this Nathan were so piercing that it scares Brad. And Brad Singer doesn't get scared by a lot of things.

The day that Haley turns 50, Scott is taken to college. Haley can't believe that she has lived half-a-century.

Brad has to work after dropping Scott off, so after telling Brad that she loves him, Haley goes home alone. She turns on her anniversary Beatles CD, turning it to 'Eleanor Rigby,' her favorite Beatles song.

Haley sings along, her voice rising and falling. That song has always made her tear up.

As the CD drifts into another nameless song, Haley grabs Nathan's picture in her hand.

"God, Nathan." She murmurs, blinking, letting tears wash down her face. She has a quavering smile on her face, it wasn't happy, but it tried to be.

The smiling Nathan smiles back as the sun set, flooding darkness into the apartment.

Haley goes to her hall closet and digs out the articles.

Scott, Nathan. May 23rd, 1988-December 1st, 2014 Nathan Scott died last week due to a drunk driver.

Father Dan Scott, mother Debra Scott, brother Lucas Scott, grandmother May Scott, aunt Emma Bloomington, cousin John Bloomington, Uncle Matthew Bloomington, and his wife Haley Scott survive him.

Royal Scott, his grandfather, precedes him in death.

May Nathan rest in peace.

Haley clutches the article. She closes the closet door, putting the 'Nathan' box on her hip. She brings it over to the couch, and sifts through the box. Nathan's Tree Hill jersey, his shoes, the article, his favorite CD, and a watch she had given him were inside.

Haley gets up, ripping off a piece of paper from the pad that sat in the kitchen.

Dear Brad, Nathan, James, and Scott, I'm sorry. I realized that I turned 50 today. I've lived for 50 years. And for the most part, they've been happy. But I was depressed. Depressed because of Nathan Scott, my first husband. So that's why I'm doing this.

Brad, I truly love you. I just need to leave.

Nathan, I named you Nathan because of my Nathan. Please, grip that name like life, okay? I love you.

James, I love you too. Congratulation on Tara, your fiancée. She's so cute!

Scott, You're so big now! I love you with all my heart. Good luck at college. It's too much for me to bear.

I love you,

Haley James Scott Singer

I have no purpose, and that's what scares me.

Haley folds the letter up, giving it a gentle kiss.

She enters her bedroom, the one that she shares with Brad, and reaches under the bed, where Brad keeps his pistol.

She takes it in the living room, looking it over, touching the trigger.

Haley turns up 'Eleanor Rigby' to the maximum level until the neighbor to the left, Mrs. Potter, comes to complain.

"I'll be right back." Haley promises with a smile, leaving Mrs. Potter at the door.

Mrs. Potter waits. She hates loud music, of any kind. She is getting old and the music doesn't help her mood. She taps her foot, waiting for Mrs. Singer to come back and say she was sorry.

But Mrs. Potter will never hear an apology, because she hears the worst sound ever-one lone gunshot to the head.

The End

Review much. This was my 1st deep, sorrowful, and tragedy story. Or the one that counts the most. Please review once again because I want to see what you think about this Haley. Flames accepted. If you think about it, the title is weird because for Haley, there were no bright lights. And I incorporated "Eleanor Rigby' in the story for a reason. It's a ballad about lonely people. "I look at all the lonely people..."