Disclaimer; I own nothing. Not even the title. That's all The New Amsterdam's.

Summary; Peyton arrives in Tree Hill with an unspoken past and wrapped in mysteries, with only the intention to keep moving. But what makes Peyton stay?...and how long will it be till she feels she's out stayed her welcome?

Warning; Eventually Breyton slashyness. The warnings there so if you don't like, turn away.

All Our Vice.

The highway was dark with only the shimmering full moon and a few headlights to illuminate the dusty stretch of road, which is surrounded by large fern trees and wooded area.

If truth were to be told the old road saw more cars and vehicles during these unsociable hours than in the chaotic daylight when the world would spring to life. The new by-pass was people's preferred way to travel through North Carolina. It was the shorter route, although lacked the views and scenery any good traveller anticipates to see.

However there was another reason many avoided the dangerous and un-kept highway and that was fear at trekking the lonely road, as the small towns which populated nearby had superstitions and myths of the reasons behind the terrible accidents, which had taking its fair share of victims.

Stories had spread like wild-fire of people who had survived and had stared straight in the face of one of the highways fatalities.

Although these people were always 'a friend of a friend's third cousin.'

However once the by-pass was built, the highway was used less and less, which mirrored the number of tales told. The motels and small gas-stations that ran alongside it soon closed due to lack of business.

All that regularly occurred was the ritual teenage dare night, which would see a group of high school students crammed in one car and they would ever so gentle throw an unwilling peer on the side of the road and leave them deserted and horrified.

The ones who drove away would automatically lock the doors and return home. Some may return when guilt would weigh heavily on their shoulders and they would commonly find their discarded friend sprinting toward them, jumping at the hoot of an owl or the rustle of the bushes.

There was the rare person who held no fear and saw the myths as they were; stories. They openly welcomed the area that would surround them.

One of these would be Peyton Sawyer.

She had arrived by this highway and always planned to return on the same path when she felt it was time for her to leave.

That time had come for the blonde curly haired beauty as she read the sign 'Thank you for visiting Tree Hill.'

"No, thank you." she muttered cynically, while increasing the volume on her stereo allowing the heavy beat to cascade into the silent night air.

The roof of her Classic Mercury Comet was down, allowing the cool air to surround her bitter angry state.

It had been just over a year since Peyton had drove into Tree Hill on an impulse having thought the name had a nice ring to it.

Had she known what she knew now, Peyton may have just kept heading forward, looking for the next uniquely named town she could have explored and made her own.

At almost nineteen, Peyton had more life experience than some adults twice her age. Her parents had not been a factor in her life for some time and she had become fiercely independent, having learnt you can only rely on yourself.

…and Tree Hill had only solidified that theory for her.

Granted it has taken me a year to have this concrete epiphany, she mused bitterly to herself, …but better late than never.

The soft vibrating sound and a flash of light from the seat next to her gained her attention, which caused her to roll her eyes in disgust. She grabbed her phone and proceeded to turn it off, not giving a thought to see who had been calling.

It no longer mattered. They no longer mattered.

Nothing mattered…just Peyton and the beaten road that lay in front of her.

This was her. This is what she was meant to do.

Some called it drifting.

Peyton called it exploring and refreshingly eye opening.

Why be bound to one place, when there was a world of possibilities.

Tree Hill was a stop that had lasted far too long.

Letting out an invigorated and relaxed sigh, Peyton allowed the lyrics of the current song playing to roll over her and evaporate into her being.

A little past three in the morning, Peyton had pulled into a small motel car park. Having been travelling for the best part of four hours, she had needed to stop and at least gain an hour sleep. Not that she could say she was tired. It was more of the awareness she had barely slept for the past two days.

When she spotted the rather run-down establishment, she allowed common sense to prevail; relaxed in the knowledge Tree Hill and the highway were long behind her.

Grabbing her bag of essentials, the blonde made her way to the front reception, wrapping the worn leather jacket around her tiny frame.

Standing behind the desk in the tiny office was a balding thick set man ready to greet her. The middle aged male eyed her appreciatively, with his stained shirt showing the mass of hair covering his over exposed chest.

Peyton placed a look of disdain on her face before speaking, regretting her decision to stop here instantly. "Room, please."

"For one?" he leered.

"Do I look like I have someone with me?" Peyton returned in a snarl. If this thing knew what was best for him, he would leave her well alone.

"I could always..."

The fiery blonde cut him off before he could even complete the disgusting sentence his over active imagination had created. "What? Join me?" she questions with a smug glance and an eyebrow raised at him. "Please. I would rather sleep with the rats out back than the possibility of you even gaining entrance to my room, let alone enduring whatever is currently running through your perverted and disturbed mind. So will you run along and get me a damn key to a room, preferably as far from this office as possible. Can you do that, Chuck?"

Peyton didn't even know his name but felt it was the most condescending one she could think of at that time.

She watched with a straight face as he turned to grab a key from the back wall. Then placed it on top of the desk with a clipboard beneath. "Please sign and I'll be sure to stop by a little later."

Peyton signed on the dotted line then looked at the guy's sweating face in complete revulsion, before smiling a sweet fake smile.

"May I make a suggestion, Chuck?"

"Of course darling." he slimily responded, still not correcting her with his given name.

Peyton's false smile dropped immediately and a stern and berating expression appeared. "There's a new thing out. It's called soap. Use it."

With her final words, she turned and left the nauseating room, needing a very long hot shower.

Half an hour later, Peyton emerged from the cramped bathroom clean and refreshed, with a new set of clothing she instantly felt more comfortable in.

Despite the first impression she had been bestowed, the room itself was not bad. She had stayed in far worse, although she was apprehensive on the condition of the bed sheets.

I'll sleep on top of the covers, she decided before placing her clothes from earlier into her larger black bag, which lay near the only chair in the room.

Sighing and checking once again her door was locked, Peyton flopped down on the bed, drifting into thought unwillingly. She hated to think because thinking lead to regrets and the young blonde had enough of those to last her a lifetime.

To distract her wandering mind, Peyton pulled a black folder out from her bag and opened it up to find her current unfinished sketch. It was of a girl with noticeable curly hair and undefined silhouette of another person. The caption above the two read; This is who I am.

Deciding to leave that one unfinished for now, Peyton flipped through the countless other sketches she had accumulated over the years. She would only admit to herself that some of them weren't all bad memories but those that were spoke volumes of Peyton's frame of mind.

Those who had briefly come to know Peyton, knew her sketches were her diary. Just as personal and ten times as harmful. They depicted moments in her life that she wanted to keep with her or always would keep with her. Good or bad.

She was the quintessential tortured artist.

Not that she would openly state it.

Turning to her first few sketches, Peyton's eyes roamed the black ink before her and the memory was back, as if it had happened yesterday.

However Peyton shut the folder up harshly and closed her eyes, trying to suppress the images. She didn't want to remember. She wanted to be carefree and reliving the past would not accomplish that.

Shoving it back into her bag, Peyton laid down on the bed, trying to allow sleep to take a hold of her. Peaceful sleep.

For Peyton those to words did not fit. Try as she might, sleep had rarely been peaceful.

What do you think? Worth continuing?