Disclaimer: We all know I don't own anything, so don't ask, and don't sue.
A/N: OK, people I'm wrapping this up. This is going to be the last chapter, and I'm sorry for that and it being forever since I updated, but I've been BUSY! School's all kinds of crappy and my homework takes up too much time. I'm sorry, cuz it's really short and this isn't how I wanted to end it, but I had to end it. Let's just say it died an untimely death. Um, see the bottom of the page for additional notes. Feedback, always appreciated. So, yeah...
I think I left too many messages on your cell phone. I'm not good at the whole not-looking-needy thing, apparently. But I figure you just need your space to think about things. Trust, right? Yeah, trust, that's what I need right now. Not worry, or fear, or both times ten. I say it over and over in my head until I'm thinking it without thinking it, "Brooke loves me, she loves me."
I decide to make myself useful. I peruse the internet in search of anything about the rules of high school cheerleading. I mean, they must have rules and regulations, they can't just kick you off the squad, its discrimination. Serching... searching... Hmm, lots of "XXX Cheerleaders" and that's not exactly what I'm looking for. I'm going around in circles before I find anything worthwhile. Stupid Google... My eyes are sore and probably red and the words have gotten a little too fuzzy to read so I stop trying. Whoa, when did it get dark? Damn, it's 9:00 already and I still haven't heard from you.That's not so good.
Against my better judgement, I lie down. I don't want to sleep yet, but better in my bed than in my computer chair. I'll just rest my eyes for a second. It's been a long day. I can't believe what Theresa did, that she'd say things like that to you. Just thinking about it pisses me off again. I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have since I wake up when you get here. You're stroking my hair as my eyes open. I bolt upright as soon as I see you.
"Oh god, Brooke, I'm so sorry. I swear to you, I didn't know the camera was on. I never would've--"
"Peyton," you raise your hands to quiet me. "Peyton, it's all right. I know you didn't do it on purpose." You sigh and climb on to the bed next to me and assure me that it isn't the end of the world. You settle into my arms and I'm happy because that means we're okay. But still, you're upset. You're so upset, I can feel it. I want to do something, anything to make it better.
So I do the only thing I can think of; I kiss you. And it it seems to be working. One of my hands slides down to your waist, and the otherto the back of your neck, and a hug quickly becomes a hold. You pull away suddenly and ask me all wide-eyed if I turned the web cam off. I laugh a little, tell you it is, and your lips find mine again. You run your tongue over my bottom lip, silently seeking permission to enter, permission I'm all too happy to give.
Then I'm on my back and it's so much easier to breathe with your body on top of mine than Jake's or Nathan's. Clothes melt away and it's hard to remember ever not being this. You don't try to hide or cover up. I look at you and gasp. Seeing you like this, so unabashedly naked, takes my breath away. I know you're never like this with them. And I know I've never loved anything more.
Hands roam where lips follow and just before it's over, it starts again. It's better than anything I could've dreamt. All those dreams and fantasies and realities don't come close because all those were just sex and this is so much more. Sex, I've had. But something tells me I've been saving the love making for you. I get it now. I used to think that "making love" was just a fancy synonym for sex, like coppulating. But it's not. It could never be just sex with us. Because this isn't scary, it's not difficult, it's not wrong or dirty or anything but perfect. It feels like fire, but not in a bad way. Maybe it hurts, but it hurts so good.
I had no idea you could be this vocal, I had no idea I could be this vocal. I guess that's the difference, among other things. We're a mass of sweaty limbs and flushed skin when we're done and I can't tell where I end and you begin. I roll over and try to find my voice; it's kind of raspy from the screaming. Tears are rolling down your cheeks and you cover your face as soon as I see you.
"Was it that good?" I pull your hands from your face and wipe the tears from your eyes. "Was it that bad?"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," you sniffle, wipe your face, and sit up. "Peyton, I'm sorry. No, that was amazing, I was just thinking about Theresa."
"Well, whatever works for you," I joke.
"No! God, no. Just, what happened today. I'm PMSing or something, I keep getting emotional. I shouldn't have just left you like that."
"She was just being such a bitch and that's exactly what I didn't want to happen, and I knew it would be like that if people found out and I just got so scared 'cause people had been looking at me funny all day and it was like I knew what they were talking about, but I didn't want to hear it--"
"Slow down, Brooke, you're babbling." And I don't like where this is going. I'm finding something to put on and hand you something to wear too. But I know I'm just biding my time so you don't start talking again.
"I knew it was gonna be like this, Peyton, this town is just too small for it not to be. This what I was afraid of, and I feel like it's only gonna get worse. I don't know... I just--"
"What are you saying?" Now I really don't like where this is going. And there are tears springing to my eyes and yours.
"I don't know if we should keep doing this..."
"Doing what, Brooke!" You flinch because I'm yelling.
"Please, don't get upset."
"Don't get upset! How can I not be upset?" I push you away from me and get off the bed, pacing and trying not to scream or cry or both.
"I'm just trying to be honest with you, Peyton."
"No, you're not, this isn't what you want. Breaking up with me isn't what you want," I sit down in the chair acroos from you and try to will my voice from cracking. "Is it?"
"No, but--" I rise from my spot on the chair and join you on the bed. I take your hand in mine and turn it over, tracing the lines on your palm.
Do you remember that time when we were eleven? And we took the bus to the boardwalk and we found that little fortune teller booth? We had our palms read and you made Madame Zorini give us our ten dollars back because she didn't tell you that you'd be famous and marry rich. But I remember what else she said, after you stormed out. About us. I never told you, though.
"It's only been four days, Brooke. You couldn't even give me a week like anyone else? Or did you just wanna screw me bfore you screwed me over?"
"God, Peyton, it's not like that," you reach my hand, but I can't let you touch me right now.
"You said you loved me," I say so quietly, I barely heard me. "Were you lying?"
"No, of course not--"
"Say it again."
"Of course not?"
"No, Brooke. Tell me you love me," I look you right in the eye and wait for you to answer. You take your time.
"I love you, you know that."
"Yeah, I thought I did, but you keep breaking my heart." You look away, at your hands, at the bed, anywhere but me.
"All right, you know what? I'm going to make this really easy for you. We're through, okay? Over. You don't wanna be with me, fine. You should've just said so in the first place," I get up and start gathering your things and you start crying, then apologizing through the tears. I don't why this makes me angry, but I through your things at you and tell you to leave.
"Can't we at least try to be--"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence!"
"No! I don't even wanna hear it. I'm tired of your exscuses, Brooke. I'm tired of your compromises and the promises you don't keep. God, you can't keep doing this to me. You can't run me around in circles like this, you just can't. You think you can just bend me back and forth to the breaking point and expect nothing to happen. I don't know what it is with you, why you insist on hurting everyone around you. You can't see a good thing when it's right in front of you, and even when you do, you just throw it away! And for what? What could you possibly get out of being alone?"
You don't answer and I can't stop.
"Nothing, Brooke!" I sit down in front of you, lower my voice, and take your face gently in my hands so you'll look at me. "I know what you wanted, what you're looking for. I could've been that for you, I wanted to be so badly. But you're Brooke Davis, and nothing you can get is ever good enough for you. I thought I might be, but at this point I don't think anyone is."
I let go of you and sit back. You've stopped crying, you're all cold and defeated because everything I said is true and now you can see it. I can see that wall again. There's a wall up around your heart that's gotten too hard and high for me to climb. And after all these years, I'm tired of trying.
I pick up all your stuff and it's a quick hug and I quicker kiss and I tell you no one loves you like I do. But you can't even look at me, you just leave. Walking fast, breaking inside and trying to make it look like bending. People always leave. It's the one thing I've come to expect and the only thing I can count on. It's what they're good at and I know this, but it hurts just the same. The world stopped again, but it's not as fun this time. I crawl back into bad and try to ignore the fact that the sheets still smell like you. I'm not trying to sleep, it's all I can do to breathe. I watch the shadows play across the dark window and curse the sun because I know it will rise tomorrow and I won't dream tonight.
Additional author's note: Ok, don't kill me! I know, I know... You're probably yelling at the computer and cursing my name, but there's a but! I'm planning be doing a sequel that will be MUCH happier. It'll be a future fic, I'm gonna call it "Sometimes They Come Back." It'll be Breyton-centric, but with lots of twists and stuff. And hopefully, it'll be longer. I've already got ideas and plots and storylines planned out, but nothing actually written, so you gotta let me know if your interested and I'll get started.Thanks to those of you who were dilligent enough to leave feedback, as a writer I cannot tell you how much that means. Always an ego boost to know I have fans and followers. I'd like to thank each of you personally but I wouldn't make you sit through all that. Thanks again and let me know.