Thank you so much for your reviews guys! I'm taking all of your opinions into consideration when I'm writing. This chapter is a little bit more of a setup for the ones to come, and I'm sorry that there isn't that much dialogue or confrontation between the characters yet, but don't worry, it's coming!
Disclaimer: I own a really awesome pair of fuzzy slippers and a movie ticket stub for House of Wax. Other than that, nope, nothing's mine.
"No one wants advice—only corroboration."
That was a line from a book that she had never wanted to read, but she did, for a boy that she never wanted to love. Brooke Davis gazed deeply at the musty old copy of The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck, perched precariously on the edge of her bed. Well, her ex-boyfriend's bed… or maybe it was her ex-boyfriend's ex-bed, because this was her room now. It was sitting on the end for reasons unknown, but Brooke felt as if the book were symbolic of Lucas, watching her, as she sorted through the paper shreds that he had stored in his/her/their closet before he left for the racetrack with Nathan and his Uncle Cooper. She just wondered what Lucas would think…
Brooke couldn't explain it, but she got a tiny thrill whenever she sat down on that bed. Bevin had come in before and said that she had always fantasized about that room, only it was Lucas on the bed. Brooke then got a feeling that she tried desperately to ignore, but it warmed her up inside, knowing that she was the only girl that had been in Lucas's bed before. She knew she was definitely not the only girl he had ever slept with (Bar skank, anyone?) but she liked knowing that there had never been any other girls in the bed she currently slept in. Territorial? Yes she was, but only when it came to Lucas Scott.
'God, what's wrong with me? It's OVER.' She thought to herself, and was shocked at how painful she found that concept. Brooke Davis had recently begun to realize that it wasn't over, and for her and Lucas, it might never be over.
"I miss Nathan," Deb sighed.
"I miss Keith," Karen admitted.
"I miss Jake," was Peyton's submission.
"I don't really miss Felix at all… or my parents… I do miss my money though." Brooke had chimed in. However she did leave out one thing she missed, and he was blonde, around 6'2, had eyes that pierced her soul, and something she felt she could never again have…
Felix had come and gone, and honestly, she could care less. All the money and sex in the world couldn't have kept them together, because there was no love. Lately Brooke had been wondering when love had started to matter in her life, because before, she had only loved two people, and one of which was herself. The other was Peyton, the best friend she'd ever had, the one she would've given up anything for. But that all changed when Lucas Scott came into the picture…
She always felt naked in front of him. He saw right through her, and that scared her like nothing else. He saw her, and he had rejected her… sort of. Maybe it was more accurate to say he saw her, and saw her best friend, and liked her better. But now he was back, and she still felt the same, and he felt… he felt what, exactly? It was a question Brooke could never answer. Sometimes she felt his eyes linger on her, or that special smile cross his face when they were around each other. But maybe that was wishful thinking of her part…
She tried hard to remember the last time she had a dream that he wasn't part of. He haunted her thoughts. His voice echoed in her mind.
'This is wrong,' Brooke thought to herself suddenly, and hurriedly shoved all the scraps of paper into the bag. What would Lucas say if he walked in on her looking through all of this stuff? It was his private business, if he wanted her to know, he would've shared it with her. Somehow the thought that he had secrets perturbed her, but she realized that he would tell her in time. But she knew he wouldn't be so thrilled to see her going through his stuff, and so she crossed the room quickly and reached up to place the bag back in the closet.
Then Brooke Davis heard a voice, and she knew it wasn't her imagination. She felt eyes on her back, and knew it wasn't just wishful thinking. She felt the familiar butterflies, and a thrill of dread, and as she heard his voice echo through the smallish room, she noted dimly that this is the first time she ever wished that the boy she loved was, in fact, a figment of her imagination, and not in the very same room as her.