The first few tentative steps towards home, that's how I put it, right?

Tentative my ass!

Tentative, Brookie dearest, would have been to send a postcard or two to Tree Hill. Tentative would have been maybe phoning up Haley or Mouth and testing the water first.

This? This getting on a plane at six in the morning with a hastily packed bag?

That's leaps and bounds like Superman would give. Difference being that Superman is indestructible, while I'm very much human and breakable. We do both look very good in blue though, don't you think?

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that this could blow up in my face, big time. This could lead to pain and tears and one very broken heart. Thing is, it could also lead to the one thing I've been lacking in my life for the last four years.

Happiness.

So here I am, sitting on a plane listening to a pilot announcing we're about to take off and wondering when I can order a drink. Thinking in the back of my mind that being on this plane despite my fear is the first brave thing I've done in ages and it feels good. It feels liberating and dangerous and just a little exhilarating, a mixture of feelings that I thrived on when I was a girl. When I was Brooke Davis, head cheerleader. When I was seventeen and unknowingly in love with my best friend.

I'm imagining the frown on Victoria's face when she realizes I'm missing, enjoying the fact that when she frowns she actually looks her age. I wonder how long it'll take her to realize where I am? I mean I booked the tickets myself, paid with my personal credit card and everything, but the woman has Satan and everyone else by the balls, so I'm guessing she'll find me eventually.

That just means I'll have to use whatever time I have wisely. Not the easiest thing in the world when you're Brooke Davis. I mean how many times have my name and the word wise been used in the same sentence? Hmm...don't even answer that, the answer is just too damn depressing.

Now where's that flight attendant with the drinks cart? Don't these people know that I'm in desperate need of some Vodka right now?

Two hours into the flight and I've successfully managed to get a nice buzz going, despite the attendant's raised eyebrow and offer of coffee instead. I mean really, would you be drinking coffee if you're faced with seeing the girl that broke your heart and the people that may or may not be pissed at you for disappearing without a word for four years?

At least there's Haley.

Haley helped pick up the pieces that was left of me after Peyton left, helped me put them back together, despite the fact that most of the pieces just wouldn't fit right again. Still, if it wasn't for Haley? God, I don't even want to think about that.

So not surprisingly she's first on my list of people I plan to see. Is it going to be an easy meeting? Hell no, I mean she's not going to approve of this. Of me coming home to patch things up with Peyton, which she'll see as me trying to break up Peyton and Lucas. Which, just between you and me may be the plan, but for the most part I'm really just here to find myself again and for that I'm going to need my Tutor Wife. She was always the heart of the group and if there's something I've lacked in these last few years, it's a bit of heart.

Plus I've seen pictures of Jamie. That kid is cute as a button and I plan on squeezing those chubby little cheeks the first chance I get.

By the time the seatbelt sign flashes on, I'm stuffing those little bottles of Vodka and Whiskey in my jacket pockets. I mean you never know when you're going to need a stiff drink, especially if you're in my position. Besides, this is first class and I paid enough for the ticket to warrant a few miniature bottles of booze finding it's way into my pocket.

I ignore the tight feeling in my stomach as the plane touches down, even as I exit and make my way to the baggage claim. Even in the taxi I pretend that I'm not seconds away from either throwing up again or forming a stomach ulcer. My assistant has one of those and she's forever worried that the thing is going to cause an internal bleed or something, so I'm not casting my vote for that one. Internal bleeding just sounds gross, you know?

So here I am. Here being a large double story house with a nice garden and 'happy family' stamped on the front door. ( Metaphorically speaking of course.) I walk up the steps and wait a full minute before I knock, my hand trembling slightly and I hate that. I hate that I can stand in my home town, in a place that I ruled and that my hand can shake with fear. I want to tell my hand that there's nothing to be afraid of here, that this is the one place on earth that maybe fear doesn't have to exist for me, but four years of knowing nothing else but fear is hard to push away in just a few hours.

So I settle for ignoring the tremor and go for it, only to find myself a minute later still knocking rather fruitlessly.

No one's home.

I mean I really hadn't planned for that. This takes the wind out of my sails for a moment or two, but I recover quickly when the taxi driver honks his horn impatiently.

I know where they are, or I at least have a very good hunch.

Karen's Cafe.

There's not that many places you can go to in Tree Hill on a Saturday for a late breakfast, but Karen's was always the choice spot. I should have known right off the bat that that's where they'd be, but I was so hoping I would get at least a little lucky on this one thing. Now you see why I stole all those little bottles?

So I'm off in the taxi again, my eyes drifting over houses and streets and even trees I recall seeing everyday for the first eighteen odd years of my life. I smile when we pass the park where I first met Peyton, wondering if the tree near the swings still have the initials B&P carved into them. Wondering if I close my eyes tight enough if I could still remember the way Peyton squeeled out loud when I pushed her so high on the swings that she could see almost over that very same tree we carved our initials in.

'Higher, Brookie, I wanna go higher!'

She always wanted to go higher, always said she wished she could reach out and pluck a cloud down for us to sit on. Later she'd settle for drawing pictures of two little girls with matching pig tails floating around on white, fluffy clouds.

After her mom died...well, she never did draw us any clouds again. I asked her why once, when we were lying on her bed watching the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling and I don't think I'll ever forget her answer.

'Because dad said mom's in heaven now and that heaven is far up in the sky. So I don't ever want you anywhere near there, Brookie. I want you right here with me, so I won't ever draw you on a cloud again.'

Such simple words, but thinking back on them now means everything to me. Means that she once cared for me, once wanted nothing more than for me to be with her. Today that's my simple wish.

God, where's that damn Vodka!

Then while I'm slugging back the last of the little bottle's contents, the driver pulls the car over. I can see the cafe, see the same old sign on the door and even the same old guy that came in for coffee and sat staring out the window for a good few hours everyday. Peyton drew a picture of him once, drew his sad eyes to perfection and I remember wondering why he sat there each day, why he seemed so sad and lost and lonely.

Now I realize that me sitting in my apartment at three in the morning probably looks a lot like that. Sad eyes and memories of what was, what could have been. The only difference is he's old and ugly and I'm young and beautiful, that he's had his chance in life and blew it while I'm finally at the point where I realize this is my chance.

It's now or never for me. I can walk in that door and take my chance or turn tail and go back to my apartment. Back to only having three in the morning by myself to sit and think of all the things I could have had, of all the things I've lost.

And the whole point of coming here was to learn to be brave again, to learn what it really means to be Brooke Davis again, right?

So I step out of the taxi. Another leap disguised as a tentative step, another Superman stunt pulled off by a girl that's more breakable then she's ever been. I walk with my old confidence, with that sway in my hips and my chin held high and a smile that I know makes me look both wicked and divine at the same time. Maybe I've used that walk and that smile in the last four years, but it's never fit me as comfortably as it does in this town, it hasn't felt as genuine.

Sadly that feeling lasts about as long as it takes me to glance in through the window and see my girl with his arm around her. To see her smile so wide and so happy and for the thought to register that maybe the only thing I'll ever manage to win back is her friendship.

Fucking Tree Hill and it's freaking tree's with little girl's initials carved into their trunks!