AN: This story will be Chris/Brooke. Not Lucas/Brooke, not Lucas/Peyton, not Nathan/Haley, etc. Just so we're clear from the get go. Feedback much appriciated!

She is doing so, so many things that she shouldn't be doing.

Like tequila. Tequila and her haven't mixed since Bevin's post homecoming party freshman year, when she drank an entire bottle of Cuervo Gold. Well, ok, Peyton might have had a few sips, but Peyton didn't wake up the next morning half naked on the trampoline with Mark Chaplan and Peyton didn't have to search everywhere on the patio for her underwear and Peyton didn't have her entire back covered in tic tac toe games written in purple marker. So really, for all intents and purposes, Brooke drank that whole bottle, and since then, she's avoided tequila like she avoids white shoes.

Plus, she's in a bar that is the poster child for all those Lifetime movies where girls go to the wrong side of town and end up doing things that they tearfully testify about in court several months later. The floor is so dirty that she thinks she actually sees footprints, and if it weren't for the fact that she's placed her taser in plain view on the bar top, she's pretty sure the biker gang in the dark corner would've done much more than leer at her. So, yeah, seedy bar could be added to the list of things she shouldn't be doing.

Oh, and she shouldn't have randomly hopped in her car and started driving after that emotional fuckfest of a wedding. She should've stayed, and tried to talk things out with Lucas, and with Peyton, and tried to be a good friend, but all those regrets are slowly going away each time she takes another shot of tequila. She stopped when the car ran out of gas, somewhere in southern Ohio, and she figures that maybe tomorrow she'll fill up her tank and head back. Or maybe not. Maybe she'll stay here in Bumblefuck, USA, population twenty-seven inbred hicks, and she'll reinvent herself. She could be Brooke the Teacher. Brooke the Dentist. Brooke the Astronaut.

She looks up at the sound of the bell over the door clanging (seriously? there are places that still have that?) and in walks one more thing she shouldn't be doing.

"Chris Keller," she says, or maybe yells, because even though he's all the way across the room, he hears her voice and walks across the room to join her at the bar. He's grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and Brooke thinks about tasering him, just to make her day a little better.

"This officially means God hates me." Brooke signals for another round as Chris just laughs and slings an arm around her. Her hand reaches for the taser, and his arm retracts.

"Brooke Davis! Of all the gin joints. It has been far, far too long since we have seen each other."

Brooke turns to glare at him. "Listen, you pompous asshole, I -- " She pauses, because the song on the jukebox has just changed to some emo tune, and that makes her think of Peyton, and you know what? Screw it. "Forget it." She pounds another shot. Next to her, Chris gapes.

"Forget it? That's it?"

"That's it." She grabs his bottle of beer, and drinks half of it. "In the grand cosmic scheme of things, honestly, I just can't give a damn about you, Chris. Sure, you had sex with me as a cheap, manipulative ploy, and nearly ended my relationship with my boyfriend, but considering he has now cheated on me twice with the girl I thought was my best friend, I think I can better deal with being screwed over by you."

Chris frowned. "Haley slept with Lucas?"

Brooke drank the rest of his beer. "Peyton, you jackass. Peyton kissed Lucas."

"You know..." Chris spins her barstool, forcing her to look at him and to spill part of her drink. "They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

Brooke debates throwing her drink at him, decides it would be a waste of perfectly good alcohol, and finishes it instead. She stands up, stumbles a little, and then waves at the bartender.

"Hi. This guy right here? In the stupid shirt? He's got my tab. Thanks." She grabs her taser and her keys, and fights back a set of drunken giggles as she hears him sputtering at the bartender.

Outside in the parking lot, her car keys have never been so confusing.