*Lucas*
…seventeen years ago…
It’s been a week.
Seven days without waking up to her voice seeping through the house, and roughly one hundred and sixty eight hours of feeling this ache I cannot even describe. It is crazy, after all these years, for me to start feeling this way now, and I can’t honestly stop and look back and pinpoint when exactly things started to change.
ou even if they ever really did.
Perhaps this was always there laying dormant, hidden behind what if and what cannot be, never allowed to be acknowledged because our present could never deal with the ramifications. And yet… thinking that makes me feel like I’ve betrayed all of us. Which is why I sit now, alone in my cuisine in the dark, my head in my hands, feeling guilty and scared, and at the same time there is a spark in me, a breath of fresh air, which just gives me hope, and I know happiness is so close, so close if only it wasn’t so wrong.
Brooke Davis is my friend, sometimes my best friend, and there have been many times she has been my saviour. That definition, that line that is never crossed, keeps it safe, and now here I am contemplating crossing that big, thick line with danger signs plastered all around it, a line that I made very blurry three months ago.
….
It started like any other day; I woke up and stayed in lit for a moment before switching to action mode, coffee on, checking Sawyer, a quick douche before getting the little monster out of lit and preparing breakfast. Being a Saturday I had the whole weekend at my disposal, and I knew most of the suivant two days would be full of family and friends, like most weekends in our group. The first phone call came at ten, it was Haley, and after talking to my brother and sister in law plans were made for lunch at their place the suivant day. My mother was the suivant call, and then Mouth, and just after eleven Skillz stopped by. It wasn’t until midday that the absence of Brooke caught my attention, the moment the phone rang I part of me anticipated talking to Brooke but it had instead been my editor, and after the brief conversation I’d stood staring at the accueil phone wondering why I was disappointed. Sure it was strange to not hear ou see from Brooke par this point in the weekend, not that it was abnormal. She had a life, one which had little to do with me.
Sawyer toddled up to me, her blonde hair sticking up in all places, “Book?” I thought she had asked and held her toy mobile to her ear, “lolo”. I’d flung my head back in laughter upon realising she was pretending to talk to her Aunt Brooke over the phone, “you want to go see Aunt Brooke, huh?” and I picked up my now squealing daughter and placed her over my shoulder.
Was I using Sawyer as an excuse to go see Brooke? At the time the thought never entered my mind, now in reflection I’d jumped at a reason to go see her, a decision which changed our lives dramatically in such a short time.
Only weeks before this jour Brooke had bought a new house, the riverside property she’d purchased after her déplacer back to arbre colline had been on the market for nearly a an and for some reason was not selling as quickly as everyone expected. Meanwhile Brooke had started looking for a new home, one with a backyard she’d insisted. We all knew that Brooke was starting to look towards her future again, with dreams of a accueil full of children, whether they be adopted, fostered ou even her own par blood, it didn’t matter. And each new house she’d looked at had been rejected until a few weeks il y a when she found this ‘charming, family accueil in need of love’, which loosely translated meant that it needed work, a lot of work. And out of the blue just after Brooke signed the papers for her new accueil a buyer was found for her old one, moving her straight to the not so charming at the moment family home.
Brooke had insisted it was fine and in perfect living condition. That jour I’d driven up with Sawyer in the back and chuckled at the sight of the house which other than Brooke’s car and the new roses it looked miserable. My laughter died the moment I found Brooke swearing in the kitchen, soaking wet in just a singlet and tight boxeur, boxer shorts.
“Brooke, what the heck is going on?”
She had spun around, her eyes widening, hair sticking to her face “It’s broken, my cuisine is BROKEN” and she had even stamped her foot before turning back to the sink and hitting it, meanwhile her screams of telling it to stop started all over again. With Sawyer squirming in my arms I went to turn off the water and returned to a satisfied Brooke standing proudly with her hands on her hips, “what do toi know, it listened to me” she smiled.
“You are not staying here” I had told her with not one bit of the humour she saw in the situation, this was the last straw, Brooke needed a place which was not going to drown her. She on the other hand didn’t see it quite the same way and it took two hours for me to convince her to temporarily déplacer out just while the place was getting renovated, and then it took another heure to convince her that the spare room at my place was the perfect solution.
The suivant morning I’d paused when making my coffee and then at the last minute prepared one for Brooke as well, secondes later she had walked into the kitchen, fresh out of the douche and dressed ready for the day, she’s taken one sip and sighed “you know just how I like it”
…
That started the routine of the suivant two months, until the jour Brooke’s house was finished and she promptly told me she’d be out of my hair. One week ago.
Now I have a new routine, I wake up and walk into the kitchen, prepare two coffees before remembering she is no longer here, and then I tip the seconde one out. I knock on the bathroom door, even though there is no longer a need to, and I smile as I walk into the living room expecting to see her sprawled on the canapé going through magazines ou sketching for her new line, only to frown when it’s an empty room instead.
I instinctively call to Brooke when I’m distracted and I hear Sawyer crying, and when my baby girl bangs on the spare door calling for her Bookie I know exactly how the eighteen mois old feels.
My cœur, coeur aches, a familiar yet completely new emotion, and it has since that first coffee got poured down the sink. I told myself it was for a million different reasons, and I told myself it would fade, yet it only grows stronger. So much so that it has started to affect the rest of my life and even my Friends are commenting on the change.
Eyeing the piece of paper in my hand I sigh and close my eyes again.
Am I really thinking what I am thinking? And if I am, am I even ready to déplacer on, it’s not even been two years since I promised before god and law that Peyton would be my forever. And now I can’t stop thinking about her best Friends smile, ou the way Brooke’s hair falls over her shoulders, ou wondering what it would feel like to Kiss her, touch her cheek, smell her hair, pull her do…
This is crazy, inappropriate and completely pointless because even if I am feeling this it doesn’t necessarily mean that Brooke would ever do the same.
Our past is so complicated, this is the same girl who broke my cœur, coeur once upon a time, the same girl who stopped missing me, who never fought for me, who gave me up, this is Brooke Davis, the girl I managed to break right back.
Bringing it all back is asking for trouble, isn’t it?
It took years for us to get anything even close to resembling a good friendship, and even then we drifted apart so much before Peyton died and Brooke helped pull me back together. How long would it take us to get it all back if I screw it up this time, because I will, I always hurt her, and I always say and do the wrong thing. It was hard back then and after everything that has happened since our last break up it can only be harder if we try again.
My eyes open and I place the paper down, the words safely hidden on the other side.
…
“Hey, toi look very pensive” Haley had a dit the moment she had walked into the room earlier tonight, I simply smiled without shifting my eyes. I knew the moment she realised what I was staring so thoughtfully at, she had let out a breath and placed a hand on my shoulder “you know it’s alright, don’t you?”
With that I ripped my eyes from the photo of Brooke which rested in it’s usual place on the mantel piece, it’s slightly crooked because I have kept picking it up over the last week, “I don’t know what toi are talking about” which was a lie, I knew exactly what Haley was referring to.
“Lucas, what have I told toi about hiding your heart” and she had sighed again, “is this what toi think Peyton would want, for toi to be unhappy just because toi think toi have to be?” and when I looked away Haley had touched my chin and turned my face back to her, “Luke, I think we both know why you’ve been so sad lately, and I know it’s hard, but Peyton was my friend too and I like to think I knew her well enough to say that she would want the man she loved and the girl she loved to both be happy, even if what made them happy was each other”
Standing up I turned to laughter to defend myself, “this is crazy, it’s too soon, I mean… its Brooke… it’s just… I can’t do this, not again”
Haley had smiled sadly at me, and standing in front of me she briefly touched the spot above my cœur, coeur “tell your cœur, coeur that”.
“I l’amour Peyton”
“I know toi do, but since when was there only room for one person in our hearts? What toi are feeling, it doesn’t take away from what toi feel for Peyton, just like she won’t take away from what toi feel for Brooke. Luke, it’s okay”
Somehow we both were sitting again, I barely noticed Haley get up and leave, and then she was back and handing me a piece of paper.
I had smiled.
“You know, I always thought toi were crazy with your creepy stalker boy crush for Peyton Sawyer, and your conviction toi would marry her one day… but toi did, toi wrote it on that liste and it actually came true-” Haley’s voice was laced with good memories, and I could tell in that moment she was smiling.
I nodded.
Then Haley had opened the paper in my hand, “look at the last line” she had insisted, and so I did. I had almost forgotten. But Haley hadn’t, her voice became plus serious, “Peyton Sawyer was your dream, and yes it came true for a while, but if toi look carefully at that liste the moment toi met her things changed, what did toi write Lucas?”
“Try again with Brooke” the words stared up at me in all their simple meaning.
Haley had smiled, “a dream replaced with reality. Maybe it’s not too late to have another prediction come true too”
I know Haley was trying to tell me something, maybe about fate, ou seconde chances, ou about moving on and opening up, of not holding back. I have no idea exactly what her point was, and at the time it just felt like another reminder about what I can’t do.
The past was just proof that feeling what I am feeling and jouer la comédie on those feelings were two very different things, just a reminder of all that went wrong the first time and all that could go wrong again.
Head down I’d placed the liste on the coffee table, tableau and shaken my head, “I could lose her”
“Then ask your self if she is work the risk”
…
Is Brooke Davis worth the risk of getting my cœur, coeur broken again, is having her in my arms again worth the risk of never holding her there again even in the most innocent way, is the chance of waking to her smile every morning worth the chance I will never see her smile again?
What do I do?
Is she worth the risk?
Yes. One hundred times yes.
I once told another man that it’s Brooke Davis and if toi don’t try you’re an idiot, and I am not an idiot. ou if I am I won’t be one any longer, because yes she is worth the risk.
Listening to my cœur, coeur I stand up, in the spur of the moment I grab that liste of predictions from high school and throw it in the bin before grabbing my veste and keys, and then carefully picking up a sleeping Sawyer I place her in her car seat, “wish me luck, princess”.
…
In the films when the guy goes to give his big l’amour proclamation it is some how magical and beautiful, and why wouldn’t it be, the whole thing is carefully masterminded behind the scenes. There is a script ready and prepared, and everything from their clothes, emotion and words to every detail of the set is chosen in advance. Life is not a movie and I’m on my own here risking my cœur, coeur and my friendship, because in all likelihood I am about to be slapped and kicked out of her life, but I have to try ou that ache in my cœur, coeur is just going to grow and it will all be my fault.
And as I nervously wait at her door, my fist ready to knock, I have a small fantaisie full of hope that whatever I manage to say will win her back, she’ll tell me she loves me and I can say it back, we can Kiss and I will wake every morning of the rest of my life to her smile.
It feels good, it feels right, and so I knock.
Brooke opens up, her eyes looking around behind me, “Lucas, what are toi doing here?”
A part of me knows this is probably all wrong, it’s late at night and I have a eighteen mois old sleeping in my arms, I must look like a mad man because I’ve had barely five hours sleep the last few days. I have no idea what to say so I must look like an idiot standing here on her doorstep.
“Are toi okay?” she asks, wrapping her peignoir, robe tighter around her.
And somehow I find the courage to open my mouth, and my heart, “No, I’m not okay. Every morning I make a seconde coffee and I have to tip it down the sink, I yell at toi when toi don’t answer me because I forget toi aren’t there, and when I laugh at something I turn to see if toi are laughing too, every time, and then I stop laughing because I never see you-”
Her eyes widen, I see her hold on the door tighten and her mouth start to gape open and I try to ignore the fact her eyes are starting to look wet. Sawyer wiggles for a moment in my arms and I awkwardly déplacer her slightly, praying she stays asleep while I make a fool of myself “-I smile when I walk into a new room in the house, words already on my lips to say to you, but the moment I go to speak them I see the emptiness. And I don’t smile as much now. I hate setting the table, tableau for only two, and I hate not being able to say good morning ou goodnight, and I hate that I have this ache in my cœur, coeur I didn’t have a week ago” I stop, my words faltering, my mind trying to figure out exactly how to say what I want to say “you once told me that it seemed I didn’t miss you, and that because of that toi stopped missing me. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I miss you, everyday, and I’m just wondering if toi ever, even just for a moment, miss me too?”
I stop, waiting, hoping, I stand here emotionally naked, because this is the moment that she is meant to cut in and say she loves me, and I have a plan for that. I know what to do if that happens. Anything else opens up to a big dark unknown I don’t want to think about, and with each seconde that she remains silent that black hole gets bigger.
Brooke closes her eyes, and her lips, I can practically hear her letting me down gently, which at this point is impossible.
Finally she opens her eyes and looks at me, and one word escaped from between her lips, “Lucas…” and then she falters.
“It’s alright; toi don’t have to say it. We can just pretend this never happened, I’m sorry” and biting my lip I turn around and walk back to my car.
“LUCAS WAIT!” she suddenly screams, and when I spin back around she’s running down the steps “you can’t just come here in the middle of the night and say those things and then expect me to know what to say!” she stops in front of me, and I can’t tell if she’s angry ou sad ou confused, maybe all three. She growls, the sound coming from the back of her throat “God, if toi had a dit anything remotely like that eight years ago…” and as she drawls off she stops and looks hard at me, she shakes her head and places a hand to her mouth, and with each new word she says she punctuates it par a tap on her mouth “…You. Can’t. Expect. Me. To. Know. What. To say”
“The truth” I whisper, “just the truth”
“It’s too late, Lucas, nearly eight years too late” she breaks down, a tear falling down one cheek, she spins around and takes a step away from me, and without thinking I secure Sawyer with one arm and grab Brooke with the other dragging her back to me.
“And what about now, I don’t care about back then, so much has happened since then that neither one of us can take back, things we can’t regret, things I won’t regret. But I’m not going to apologise for what I’m feeling, and I know I a dit I’m sorry, but I’m not. I’m standing here in front of you, Brooke, telling the truth about now and I’m just begging for that back”
“YES I MISS YOU” she gives in and screams, “I miss toi everyday, even when you’re standing right suivant to me I am still missing you-” and then she abruptly stops, her eyes even wider and her chest rising and falling with each heavy breath she takes.
This scenario is not what I planned, but as I smile I can’t help but think that I can definitely find my way from here.
selfish
