The Easy Kill
Title: The Easy Kill
Author: Kelli (Kellbelles)
Fandom: Dawson's Creek
Pairings/Characters: Pacey/Joey
Rating: T
Summary: This fic was inspired by the song Kill by Jimmy Eat World. It's me playing 'what if' with Pacey's 'off the hook' speech from the series finale (624: ...Must Come to an End). Also, it's kind of long. A plot bunny that just keeps going and going and going...
I always said you’d be the death of me.
Then again, I’ve always been an easy target, the easy kill, but maybe that’s only when it comes to you.
When we were growing up, I know you wanted to kill me on a daily basis, and believe me, the feeling was mutual. You actually threatened me when we were fifteen…
I'm going to kill you. One night in your sleep, a slit throat maybe, or a screwdriver to your temple. Be ready.
I enjoyed those idle threats, though; I loved knowing that I could get that much of a rise out of you. Getting you all riled up was one of my favorite pastimes.
But, at sixteen, you started killing me in a completely different way, slowly, achingly, little by little, murdering a piece of me here and there so that now there’s almost nothing left.
You once said I made you feel alive, but you, you kill me. I die a little each time I lose you, and now, I might lose you forever.
You’re just across the street. I have a perfect view of your apartment building from where I’m sitting, and I wonder in that sea of windows which one is yours. I’ve been guessing. Everyday I pick a different floor, and a different window, and I try to imagine you living your life somewhere behind that pane of glass. Maybe you’re sitting on the couch in a pair of pajama pants and a tank top, with your hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, wisps of it falling down into your face as you read Little Women for what has to be the fifteenth time. You could be on the phone, chatting with Bessie, finalizing plans and assuring her that you have everything under control. You could be laughing, brushing your teeth, taking a relaxing bubble bath, or eating ice cream while cooling yourself in front of a fan because it’s August in New York City and it’s sweltering.
Or, you could be with him.
But maybe, just maybe, you’re standing at the window, waiting and watching, looking down at the crowds of people scurrying along on the busy street below, searching for someone.
Maybe you’re searching for me.
The waitress comes by, asking me if I’d like a refill, and I tear my eyes away from the window, smiling and nodding as I hold out my cup. She fills it to the brim with coffee, and returns my smile, her eyes flashing with both familiarity and sadness. I’m familiar to her because I’ve been coming here everyday for almost a week, and I know she feels sorry for me for exactly the same reason. She tells me to let her know if I need anything else, and as she walks away, I know she’s wondering why all I do is sit here and stare out the window all day.
I’m wondering the same thing, I’m wondering if I’ll ever get the courage to walk across the street.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about life, and fate and chance, and what it all means. You know, the really big stuff that you accuse me of not being deep enough to ponder. For instance, was it really just a coincidence that Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain, all died tragically at the young age of twenty-seven? Or do you think it was all part of some sordid rock n’ roll killing conspiracy? Maybe it was just their time?
I know it definitely was too early for Jen. That’s something that I’ll never be able to make sense of, how someone as young and vibrant as she could just be gone. I can’t even debate the reasons why she’s no longer with us, because for me, there will never be any valid ones. I wonder what she’d tell me if she were here now. Probably that I should get my ass across the street; she’d be pushing me out the door, and maybe in a way, she is. I think I can feel her, tugging on my arm.
And what about the last time I saw you? Do you think it was just accidental that Gale, and then Bessie, interrupted us right after you told me you love me? Or was it destiny’s way of saying, ‘It’s just not meant to be, guys’?
I was trying to tell you that you were ‘off the hook’ anyway, but you wouldn’t let me. You cut me right off and insisted on going first. You always were a little pushy like that, and I’m just a big pushover where you’re concerned. So I shut up and let you have the floor. You told me you that you love me, that I should know that, and maybe I do on some level, but not enough to actually believe you’d want me. You said it’s ‘very real, so real it kept you moving, mostly running, never ready for it’, and all I could do was stand there with my jaw hitting the floor and my heart about to fly out of my throat, because this couldn’t be real, you couldn’t be saying what I thought you were saying.
But then in the same breath, you told me that you were in love with Dawson too, and my heart, which was about to take off and soar, quickly traded places with my jaw, as it plummeted down, my mouth snapping shut, my jaw clenching as I prepared myself for the worst. You started throwing around words like soul mate and childhood, and waxed poetic about a love that is pure and eternally innocent, and all I could think was here it comes, the moment I’ve always dreaded, and prayed would never get here. You were finally going to fulfill your destiny, but you had to let me off the hook first.
I wanted to interrupt you and ask what you were trying to say, but Gale showed up, followed by Bessie, who promptly handed you a tray and asked you to give her a hand.
And you did.
You just left. You gave me that sheepish look, and you left. You left me to my own devices, which as I’m sure you know, is never a good idea. My mind was racing with a million questions, the answers to which I was positive wouldn’t be the ones I wanted to hear. Insecurity can be an ugly and evil thing; it plays on your weaknesses and tricks you into thinking the worst, because why would someone like me get everything he’s ever dreamed of?
I’d had all these grand ideas that I never got to share with you. I thought I could finally be happy, and I wanted you to do the same, and do it with someone who made you feel like I do when I’m with you. Because simply being in love with you is enough for me. And I actually believed that, right up until you blew me right out of the water with revelations of your own, revelations that I was convinced had nothing to do with me being the man you wanted to stop running from, and finally run to.
I’m not the soul mate, and I never have been.
I know I was in the process of letting you go, but in all honesty, that’s not really what I was doing. I’ve had some time to think about it, and I realize my attempt at letting you off the hook, was really only to see if you’d just turn right around and swim back to me.
Because I could never let you go, no matter how much I’ve tried to tell myself otherwise.
As I stood there, watching you walk away, taking all my hopes and dreams with you, I knew what I had to do.
It was survival of the fittest. Self preservation. Kill or be killed.
I took a deep breath, turned around, and walked out of the kitchen. I took the back exit so that I wouldn’t be seen, and I made my getaway.
That was three months ago.
I know a lot can happen, even in that short amount of time, but I didn’t think it would come to this. I don’t know what I expected to happen when I left, but I can tell you, of all the possible scenarios I imagined for you in my absence, this was never one of them, and I can’t help but wonder what if.
What if I would’ve told you all those things?
What if I would’ve told you that I love you too?
What if I would’ve stopped you from leaving with Bessie?
What if I would’ve stuck around and found out exactly what you were trying to say?
I heave a heavy sigh, the rush of air that escapes my lips, washing over the scraps of napkin I’ve been nervously shredding into a pile in front of me, blowing them every which way, in the same way all these random thoughts are being scattered around in my head. None of it matters if I don’t do something about it.
I finally get up after leaving a generous tip for the kind waitress who never lets my cup go empty, and make my way to the cash register. After paying my bill, I head outside, the heat rising off the pavement billowing up around me, consuming me, practically melting me to my spot. The building that you call home looms in front of me, tall and intimidating, taunting me, daring me to cross the street and find you.
But I can’t.
I know you’re so close; I can almost feel you. But at the same time, it seems like you’re miles away. I just don’t know if I can endure the long journey it would take to get back to you. And I’m not sure you’d be waiting to welcome me with open arms if I did.
So I walk away, just as I have every other day. Except today is different, because I can no longer take comfort in the fact that I have more time to
talk myself into making that trip across the street, that I can come back tomorrow and try again.
By this time tomorrow, it’ll be too late.
I’ve run out of tomorrows.
I’ve run out of time.
I’ve run out of chances.
And those pieces of me that you’ve been killing, little by little?
I’ve run out of those too.
~
I’m sitting at the hotel bar, but I’m not drinking. I have a shot of tequila in front of me that I haven’t touched. The bartender put it there two hours ago, but I don’t want it. I thought I did. I went straight for the bar when I got back here with the intent of numbing the pain. I’d like to blame you for that pain, but I think this time the ache that’s encompassing me is self-inflicted. I have no one to thank but myself if you give forever to someone that isn’t me.
No matter who caused me to feel this way, I’d wanted to make it go away, even for just a little while. I walked up to the bar, a man with a purpose and ordered the painkiller of my choice, but then I heard it…
While I give to you and you give to me true love, true love. So on and on it will always be true love, true love…
Do you know that it’s Bob and Rita’s fiftieth wedding anniversary? They danced to that old Cole Porter song on their wedding day, at least that’s what their son Daniel said when he dedicated it to them, right before they took the dance floor and started waltzing around the room. Yes, they were waltzing; I’m sure of it, and I have Ms. Penny Pretty, and you, to thank for that. But their style of dance is irrelevant, although you might be interested to know that their ribcages were touching, and Rita was the perfect lady, letting Bob lead without a fight.
None of that matters though. They could’ve been dirty dancing for all I care, because it was the way they were looking at each other, like they were the only two people in the room, that made me not take my eyes from them. It’s how I’m sure they looked at each other on their wedding day, and how they’ve probably been gazing at each other everyday for the past fifty years.
It’s how I imagined we’d look at each other when you walked down the aisle to me, how we’d gaze at each other everyday for the rest of our lives.
I wonder if you’ll be looking at him like that tomorrow?
I can see your face so clearly in my mind. I’ve been picturing it ever since Bob and Rita, and that song, grabbed my attention, and halted my descent into mind-numbing inebriation. I can picture just how you’re going to look, and you’re beautiful, just how I’ve always imagined.
But does he know how beautiful you are? Does he know how lucky he is, that he’ll get to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room for the rest of his life? Does he look at you like Bob looks at Rita?
For some reason, I know that he doesn’t. I don’t know how I know this, but I just do. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but it’s enough to give me a renewed sense of hope. Because how can I let you go through with it, knowing that he’ll never look at you like that? It’s what you deserve, what you’ve always deserved.
I might not be able to give you much else, but I can give you that look.
The question is, will that be enough for you? You deserve that look, but you’re worthy of so much more.
You’re worth everything, and I’m worthless.
A young man who looks about the same age as me, flops down on the stool next to me, and puts his head in his hands, rubbing his fingers in small circles over his temples, before running them down through his sandy blonde hair. He's clearly upset, and I push the shot of tequila in front of him. He looks up at me, startled, and I offer him a sympathetic smile, nodding to the drink. Understanding registers over his features, and he smiles gratefully, bringing the tiny glass to his lips and throwing his head back.
I get up then, patting the guy on the shoulder in a gesture mixed with ‘goodbye’ and ‘you hang in there’, walking away before he has a chance to say anything. He’s wearing the look of a broken heart that I know all too well, and I know he and I could bond, share our sob stories, but I’m not ready to talk about it.
I don’t want to talk about you in the past tense, speak of how I lost you, because as far as I’m concerned, I haven’t. Not yet.
I go back to my room and stare at the phone. I know it’s not going to ring. No one even knows I’m here. I’m sure a lot of people are speculating whether or not I'll show up, and I know of at least one who’s praying that I do. He’s actually rooting for us, and he’s the reason I’m here.
When I left, I wanted to disappear. It wasn’t like when I went sailing after senior year, after I lost you the first time. I know it seemed like I was running from you; it’s what everyone thought, and what I told myself. But they were wrong and so was I, because once I got to the Caribbean, you were everywhere. In the ocean waves lapping against the side of the boat, the warm sun that beat down on me as I worked on deck, and in the cool breezes that filled the sails and carried us across the sea. And the stars were perhaps the worst of all, both a blessing and a curse, a constant reminder of your face, shining down on me every night, just as Doug predicted.
Everything reminded me of you and our summer together, so much so, that it almost felt like you were with me. I went sailing, not to leave you behind, but to keep you with me. It was the only way I knew how.
But this time, I wanted to forget, not only you, but myself as well. Which I didn't think would be difficult to do, because without you, I’m nothing. I always have been. You make me who I am, and if you don’t exist, I don’t either.
Forget you. Forget me. Forget us.
So I just took off.
I left a note to no one in particular, very generic and brief, and kind of unoriginal...
I have to go. I have no choice.
Don’t worry about me and don’t try to find me.
Love,
Pacey
You always said I was the brave one, but I’m guessing I took care of that misguided notion.
What I did definitely wasn’t an act of bravery, but a choice, albeit an extremely impulsive and stupid one in which I chose to be a coward, but a choice none the less. Because you always have a choice, and you and I, we’ve always made the wrong ones.
You push, when I pull.
I let go, you grab on tight.
You refuse to see what’s right in front of you, and I only hear what I want to.
I once marveled at our back and forth...the sweetness and the sarcasm, proclaiming I wanted you as my Partner in Irreverence forever.
Can I take that back?
Nothing about this endless Romantic Tug Of War we’re engaged in is sweet, and it certainly isn’t funny.
And if we’re not careful, it’ll be the death of us both.
I was wrong. You’re not the only killer among us. I’m just as guilty as you are. We really are the Bonnie and Clyde of Bad Relationships. What we do to ourselves, to each other, and our love, is criminal. We’ve been on a murderous spree for the past ten years, and it has to stop.
It’s time we turn ourselves in, Potter, and face the music.
I reach for the phone, but just as quickly as I bring it to my ear, I slam it back down again. This can’t be done over the phone. I was worried about running into him, but surely he won’t be there tonight, of all nights.
I’m out the door in less than two seconds, and I’m running, a man with a mission.
I have a life to save, and it’s ours.
~
Bessie answers the door. I should’ve known she would be with you on the night before what’s supposed to be one of the most important days of your life. I’d like to say she’s happy to see me, or even surprised, but she’s neither of those things, not in the least.
She’s about to slam the door in my face without so much as a word, but then you appear, asking who it is, your voice trailing off and your face falling when your gaze lands on me. Our eyes lock, and we just stand there staring each other down. I try to read your expression, your eyes, but you reveal nothing but a steely glare and a defiant tilt of your chin. You’re trying to tell me you want me to leave, that you don’t want to hear a word I have to say.
You’re not backing down.
I throw an intense look right back at you, not of desperation or pleading, but of determination.
I’m not backing down either.
We’re frozen like that, and Bessie looks back and forth between us, sighing. She turns to you and shakes her head, telling you she’s going out for a walk, and she’ll be back in a half an hour. She brushes past me on the way out, hissing under her breath that she’ll rip me limb from limb if I hurt you anymore than I already have. I nod stiffly, knowing that I should never take her threats lightly, and then she’s gone.
It’s just you and me.
Oh, and that colossal gulf of pain and awkwardness that’s stretched out between us.
My legs are rubber and my feet are like two lead blocks, but somehow I manage to take a step into your apartment, closing the door behind me. You still don’t move, and I know I’ll have to go to you, but I expected that. It’s how it should be.
I slowly close the gap between us, my eyes never leaving yours, and I envy your iron resolve. Because if you’re as messed up as I am right now, you’re not showing it, not even flinching. I halt my advance when I’m about a foot away from you, take a deep breath and your name tumbles out of my mouth, passing over my lips in a hoarse whisper.
“Jo…”
Your arm shoots up automatically in response, your palm heading for my face, and I brace myself for the slap I deserve, squinting my eyes shut in anticipation. When it doesn’t come, I open them to find you standing there, your arm frozen in midair, just inches from its target.
It’s now that I notice how broken you look. You have that same look I saw on the guy back at the bar, and it’s the one that greets me when I look in the mirror everyday, the one I deserve, but you don’t. This isn’t the look I wanted to give you, and I hate myself for doing this to you, to us.
All I want to do is erase that look from your face, and I reach up to grab your hand, but you pull it away, letting it fall back down to your side. Your head drops and your shoulders slump as they slowly begin to shake, silent sobs wracking your body as you start to cry.
I’m in a daze, watching you suffer. I feel helpless, powerless, because I know you won’t let me comfort you, I also know I’m the only one who can. A whimper that you try to choke back breaks free and escapes from your throat, and this horrible sound seems to pull me from my trance, propelling me forward to take you in my arms. I can’t just stand by and watch this, telling myself that if you resist me, I’ll just hold on tighter.
I pull you to me, and miraculously you comply, burying your face in my chest, your hands clenched in tight fists under your chin while the rest of your body goes limp against mine. It feels so good to have you in my arms again that I break too, tears spilling from my eyes, dampening your hair as I press my face into the top of your head, breathing in your familiar scent that almost causes my knees to buckle.
But then you’re pushing me away, shoving my chest hard, the “no” you shout at me offering up a double blow, hurling me backwards, and I grab onto the back of the couch to regain my balance.
“You can’t do this to me, Pacey! You can’t just waltz back in here on the night before I…” You flap your arms in the air in frustration. “I mean, I’m getting…”
“Don’t say it.” I hold up my hand, the vise around my chest tightening at just the very thought of how you were going to finish that sentence. My eyes go closed for a second, as I try to regain my composure. “Don’t say it, because you’re not.”
You laugh; it’s cold and full of disdain. “Oh really, Pace? I don’t think you have any say in the matter. Not anymore.” You cross your arms over your chest to shield yourself, your protective barriers up once more. “And if you came here to get me to change my mind, you can just save your breath, because it’s not happening.”
“You don’t love him.”
“I do,” you fire back indignantly and without hesitation. “I do and I’m going to marry him.”
Your words kill me, but I deserve to die. We both have made many mistakes, but this time, I fucked up, and I don’t know if I can fix it. I try again anyway.
“Joey, would you please just listen to me? Just for a minute?”
“There’s nothing you can say that will make any difference.”
“But if you would just…”
“Please leave.” You turn your head, refusing to acknowledge me, dismissing me, not only from your line of vision, but from your life.
“Joey…”
“Please.”
Your voice breaks on that one word; it’s so small and fragile, but the request so large with sadness and finality. I know what you’re doing, you’re fighting for survival too. But instead of fighting for our love, you’re defending yourself against me, to keep me from wounding you any further. Because that’s all I’ve ever done is hurt you, even when that’s the last thing I ever wanted. I don’t want to give up, but you’re begging me to release you, to let you heal, and how can I refuse. Protecting you is far more important than anything I want for myself.
“Okay,” I concede, releasing a long breath I didn’t know I was holding, all my hope escaping my body with it. “I’ll go. It that’s what you really want.”
Turning, I trudge towards the door, willing myself not to run back to you and throw myself at your feet, begging for forgiveness, for you not to go through with it. My hand is reaching for the knob, when suddenly, you burst forth, startling me, and I can’t move.
“No, that’s not what I really want! Or should I say wanted.” I face you again and you’re on fire, your whole body raging with anger. “I didn’t want you to leave three months ago! You left then, Pacey, right when I was asking you to stay! One minute you were there, and the next you were just…gone. Do you have any idea what that did to me! Any at all! I mean, we’d just lost Jen and then you…”
You start crying again, but I don’t dare go near you this time, partly out of fear for my own safety, and partly because I know you need to get this out. I’m willing to take whatever you want to give me if it means your pain will lessen.
You swipe at your eyes in frustration, obviously mad because you can’t control your tears. “And that note you left, if you could even call it that. Do you know how many times I read it? Each time I prayed I would find a clue, a reason, something…anything, hidden between those three brief lines, that would tell me why you did it, and where you might be. And you signed it Love, Pacey. Love. I agonized over that one word, clung to it with all my might, thinking it had to mean something, that it was meant for me…your way of asking me not to give up on you. And I didn’t wanna give up on you…I didn’t…damn you, Pacey!” You stomp your foot violently, shouting again, “Damn you!”
You’re firing all this off at me with so much angry force, and so rapidly, your words coming at me like a round of bullets from a machine gun, piercing me in my chest over and over again, and I struggle to keep myself standing. I expected this, I just wasn’t prepared for how badly it would wreck me to see you like this, to actually view the damage I’m responsible for. I bow my head, clenching my fists at my sides and wait for you to continue.
“I tried to find you,” you say softly, your demeanor changing as the anger leaves your voice. “I did…for a whole month, I didn’t eat…I didn’t sleep…I just looked for you. I couldn’t even go to work. I had to take a leave of absence. None of it mattered anymore, none of it…And I beat myself up, every moment of every day because…because it was all my fault that you left.”
My head snaps up at the self-accusation you just made, and I see your anger has been replaced by a burden of guilt and regret so heavy I’m afraid you’re going to crumble underneath the weight of it. I open my mouth, needing desperately to correct this completely false idea you have, but you ignore me and keep going.
“I kept going over it again and again, that last moment I saw you, wondering what I could’ve said or done differently to make you stay. If only I would’ve told Bessie I’d be out to help her in a minute, or made myself more clear that it was you I wanted, because let’s face it, I’ve never done much to alleviate your insecurities. If anything, I’ve only ever made them worse, with all my indecision…the running…my blatant disregard for your feelings…always putting others before you. I’ve never really stood up for you or for us, or declared my love for you, without any reservations, doubts or fears waiting in the wings to take it all back. So why would you believe any differently?”
I’m about to answer you, to tell you that you’ve got it all wrong, but then you’re coming at me again, your voice rising once more. “But why didn’t you believe me, Pacey! Why!” I flinch as you spit the question at me, walking towards me, your eyes flashing. “Part of me thinks that you did believe me, and that was the problem. You realized that it was you I wanted, that I was finally acting on the choice my heart made years ago, and you couldn’t handle it. You’ve always been every bit as afraid of our love as I am, and we’re both guilty of using Dawson as a crutch to hide behind and fall back on when we were too scared to face what it is we have together. And that’s what you did, isn’t it? You convinced yourself I was ‘choosing’ Dawson, and that’s the excuse you gave yourself to leave.”
My eyes grow wide because you’ve got it right, you have figured out what a coward I am. You notice the expression on my face. “I’m right, aren’t I?” you ask somewhat incredulously. “That’s the real reason why you left.”
I close my eyes, barely able to nod. This is the first time I’ve been able to admit this, even to myself.
“The sad thing is,” you say, “is that none of this even matters anymore, because I’m getting married tomorrow.”
I find my voice again. “But it does matter! And even if we can’t get past this, don’t you think you’re jumping into this? I mean, three months ago, just the sight on an engagement ring caused you to bolt, so how can you say you’re ready to commit now?”
“Yeah,” you say, catching my gaze and holding it, “but that was back when I thought I had someone else I should be running to.”
“And now?” I whisper.
Your eyes drop to the floor. “And now I’m going to walk down the aisle tomorrow to the man who stood by me when my heart was broken so badly I thought I might die. He’s a good man, Pacey, and he loves me. This did all happen very fast, but it’s what I have to do to…”
I cut you off. “You don’t have to say anymore.” I know what you were going to say. It’s what you have to do to survive. It’s all about self preservation, survival of the fittest, kill or be killed. You might love me, but he’s the safer bet. He won’t hurt you the way I do. “I’m too late then?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
You nod, your bottom lip trembling as you fight to hold back your tears. I reach out and cup your chin in my hand, running my thumb along your bottom lip to stop it from quivering. I’m going to let you go. It’s what I have to do. If you have a chance to escape all this pain that seems to surround us no matter how hard we try to break free from it, then I can’t deny you that, even though at the same time, I can’t help but feel differently. I can’t help but still wonder about all those what ifs. I’m going to let you go, but not before I say what I should’ve said all those months ago.
“I love you,” I say, moving my hand up to your cheek, catching a tear that’s escaped your eye with my thumb and wiping it away. “I mean, I have always, always loved you. I know you probably don’t wanna hear this right now, but I have to say it. It might not mean anything, but then maybe it never has, because they’re just words. But they’re real, and so is this.”
I lean down and kiss you, my lips gently brushing over yours, tentatively at first until I realize you’re not going to resist me, and then I don’t hold anything back. I wrap you up in my arms so tightly I can feel your heart beating against my chest in time with mine, and kiss you with everything I have, trying to give you enough of my love so that you’ll never forget. Finally, I break the kiss and release you, taking a step back.
I wait for a second to see if you’re going to yell or hit me, but you just look stunned. “I won’t apologize for that,” I say. “Nor will I apologize for loving you until the day I die, because I will. I can’t help it. It’s who I am, who I was meant to be, the man who loves you like no one else can, and I just can’t turn off how I feel. But that’s okay with me…because the simple act of being in love with you is enough for me.” I pause, taking a deep breath to ward off the tears welling up in my eyes. “I just want you to be happy. Please promise me you’ll be happy. Your happiness is the only thing that really matters to me, and if I can’t be the one to give it to you, then I’ll step aside and let someone else try. I am sorry for what I put you through, more than you’ll ever know, and if I could do it all over again…”
My voice trails off, because I can’t go back. All I can do is move forward, and I do. I come to you one last time and brush my lips lightly over your forehead, lingering there to whisper, “Be happy, Jo,” before I turn and walk away.
I’m halfway out the door when you stop me one more time.
“Pacey?”
“Yeah,” I say without turning around because if I look back one more time, I’ll never leave.
“I just need to know…where did you go?”
I thought maybe I could get away without telling you. I know you’re expecting me to say one of the obvious places, the ones where I’m sure everyone thought to search. The Caribbean, the Keys, some other remote island in the Atlantic, or maybe somewhere in the Pacific, a tropical and warm destination by the sea that’s typically Pacey. But everyone was looking in the wrong place.
I still don’t turn around when I answer, “I went to Alaska…I was in Barrow, Alaska.”
I don’t even wait for your reaction as I step out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind me, the soft clicking sound it makes as loud as a gunshot in my ears, signaling the final shot has been fired, the bullet going straight to my heart. And as I walk away, I feel dead inside.
But then again, I’ve always been the easy kill.
~
You’re married now.
Mrs. Josephine…something or other.
Funny. I don’t even know New York Guy’s last name. I know it was on the invitation that Dawson sent me, but that really wasn’t my main concern when I received it.
Did I tell you that Dawson was the one who found me?
I know. Ironic, isn’t it?
Apparently, he’s not a huge fan of Christopher either, and thinks you’re making a mistake too. But wait, here’s the real kicker.
He thinks you should marry me.
I know, I know. But don’t worry. Hell hasn’t frozen over, the end of the world isn’t upon us, and that hellmouth underneath Capeside is still safely sealed off.
Dawson genuinely wants us to be together, and somehow he tracked me down. I received a letter from him two weeks ago, the contents of which aren’t important, although I think he and I can finally say all ghosts are definitely laid to rest. He didn’t beg me to come stop the wedding, or threaten to tell everyone where I was at. Along with the letter, was the invitation, and at the bottom of it he just wrote You know what you have to do. That was it. And he was right, I did.
But I was too late.
I talked to Dawson last night after I left you. I told him I tried, but failed. He didn’t think I should give up yet, telling me it wasn’t over until you said I do. He even wanted me to come to the wedding with him. I’ll tell you, that boy is still relentless, and I think if I would’ve taken him up on his offer, he would’ve ended up throwing me into the aisle when the old Speak now or forever hold your peace… question was raised. Either that or he would’ve come up with some elaborate scheme for us to bust in there and steal you away before the wedding even got started. He’s a hopeless romantic ‘til the very end, and also I think secretly he was hoping for some more material for his TV show. He always did love to use us as his guinea pigs.
Remember that day you accused the Sea Creature from the Deep of grabbing your ass? Yeah, I did, and you definitely had one, because I’d been checking it out for months prior to that. Dawson’s movie just gave me the perfect opportunity to see if it felt as good as it looked.
I loved you even then, but didn’t know any other way to show you than by yanking your pigtails. Back then we had no idea what was in store for us, but I think on some level I always knew it would be you and me. Dawson might’ve claimed your soul, but he didn’t pay any attention to your heart, leaving it free and clear for me to steal. Except I didn’t have to, because you gave it to me willingly, and I don’t care whose last name you’ve taken, your heart will always belong to me, just as mine will always be with you.
I almost did go to the wedding. I got up and put on a suit with every intention of going and wishing you well, but even I’m not that much of a glutton for punishment. So, I’ve just been walking aimlessly around the city all day, imagining that you’re by my side showing me the sights, instead of dancing at your wedding reception with another man.
I can’t believe you got married here, not that it isn’t an amazing city, but I always pictured you getting married on the beach in Capeside…to me. Guess I got that wrong, just like everything else.
It’s almost seven o’clock when I walk back into the lobby of my hotel, just in time to see that guy from the bar yesterday coming out,
holding hands and laughing with a petite blonde girl, staring down at her like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. I smile at them, glad that at least one of us got a happy ending.
The wedding was at three, which means the only way I could stop it now is with a time machine, and sadly, I don’t own one. I guess it really is too late.
I get on the elevator along with an older couple who I immediately recognize as Bob and Rita. They smile at me, and I return the gesture as best I can, realizing that I must look a little worse for the wear. My suit is wrinkled, my tie shoved haphazardly into my jacket pocket, one end dangling out of it, and my white dress shirt has the top two buttons opened sloppily. I haven’t shaved in two days, and I know I have to smell bad, since I’ve been sweating buckets all day, but Bob and Rita still offer me a warm greeting. They reach their floor, and Bob guides Rita out the door, his arm threaded through hers, nodding at me before they disappear around the corner, and there goes another happily ever after.
I guess we’ll never get ours.
The elevator stops on the tenth floor, and I get off, heading down the hall to my left as I fish in my pocket for the card that will allow me access to my room. As I do so, my tie falls to the floor and I bend down to pick it up, but when I reach for it, there’s another hand there doing the same thing.
I stop breathing when that hand brushes mine, and I get butterflies.
It’s a left hand, and the ring finger is empty.
“Joey?” I whisper without looking up, my eyes stuck on our hands, as yours curls around mine, squeezing it.
“You dropped your tie,” you say simply, as you pick it up with your right hand, and stand up, taking me with you.
I can see that you’re in your wedding dress, but I still won’t take my eyes from our hands. I’m afraid if I look at you, you’ll disappear, but I can feel your hand in mine, so I know that has to be real.
“What…what are you doing here?” I manage to ask.
“Do you remember that field trip we took with our eighth grade history class, to Whaling National Historical Park, over in New Bedford?”
“Huh?” Now I can’t help but look at you, because I’m pretty sure you must be crazy, or I have to be dreaming. I have no idea why you’ve come here on your wedding day to ask me this.
“You and Dawson complained the entire time about how boring it was,” you continue, ignoring my confusion, “but I was fascinated by it all, taking in all the information I could, because I was just that much of a geek. And I remember reading at one of the museum exhibits that the park was affiliated with some Heritage Center in Alaska…Barrow, Alaska.”
“Yeah, the whaling industry used to be big there, from what I heard.” I shrug, narrowing my eyes at you, still not knowing where you’re going with this. “What are you getting at here, Jo?”
“What I wanna know is, what were you going to do when the sun set again? I’m guessing you left to come here before that happened, but I’m just curious. You must’ve just missed it by a few days, but had you stayed there, what would you do to escape them then?”
My throat goes dry. “Them?” I try to pull my hand from yours, but your grip on it tightens. “I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ever since you told me that you ran away to Barrow, Alaska, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d heard of that place before, that there was something special about it. It bothered me all night, and it was the only thing I could think of today. I wanted to look it up, but a girl does have a lot of things to do before she gets married.” You laugh. “And looking up information about the place where your ex-boyfriend ran off to isn’t one of them. But still, I couldn’t let it go.
“I was about to walk down the aisle, when it hit me, the field trip, and all the facts about Barrow, Alaska…the place where the sun doesn’t set for eighty some days in the summer…from the beginning of May to the beginning of August. Must’ve been pretty hard to see the stars with all that sunlight.”
By now, I’m looking you in the eyes because there’s no reason to hide anymore. You know my secret. “I couldn’t see them, that was the whole point, but it didn’t matter. They were still up there, above me, whether I could see them shining down on me or not. I thought I could escape them, but I was wrong. They were always with me. You were always with me.”
“Even when you were gone, you were with me too, every time I looked up.” You grab my other hand, not caring about the tears that are staining your cheeks. “I didn’t marry him. I couldn’t go through with it, because I knew, just like you found out, that I couldn’t escape the stars.”
“But…how did you,” I stutter in shock, still not believing this is happening, “I mean…no one knew where I was staying and…”
“Dawson did,” you say, and I remember our phone call. “He brought me here. We tried calling your cell, but…”
“I left it in my room.”
“Which would explain why you weren’t answering. And then Dawson went out to look for you, while I waited here.”
“So let me get this straight,” I say, freeing my hands from yours, and running one through my hair. “You called off your wedding…right before you walked down the aisle, and then came straight here to me?”
You nod, and I feel like I’m going to pass out. “I think I need to sit down,” I say, as I slump against the wall and slide down to the floor. I put my face in my hands, and I can’t hold them back anymore, all the tears I’ve been trying so hard to keep in for three months come pouring out.
I feel you take a seat beside me and place your hand on my arm. “Pace, please look at me.”
Lifting my head, I manage to choke out, “I thought I lost you.”
You take me in your arms, and I bury my face in the crook of your neck as you stroke my hair to comfort me. When I’ve finally calmed down, you whisper in my ear.
“Pacey, you know how you said you wanted me to be happy?”
I pull back to look at you. “Yes.”
“Well, I always have been…when I’m with you. I love you, Pacey. Please don’t leave me again, because I don’t think I’d survive if I lost you again.”
I don’t reply, but instead take your face in my hands and pull your lips to mine, giving you all the reassurance you need in one kiss.
“I love you,” I say, as I pull away, resting my forehead against yours. “And I promise I’ll never leave you again. But do you think we could get off the floor and maybe go to my room? I’m exhausted, and you have to be too. Not to mention we should call Dawson and let him know he can stop looking.”
“Okay,” you reply, and I stand up, but you don’t move.
“Jo?” I raise my eyebrows expectantly.
“Pacey,” you pout, “I don’t think I can get up. Carry me?” you ask, sticking out your lower lip and giving me the Potter Puppy Dog Eyes.
“Oh no, not that again. As much as I’d like it to be, this isn’t our wedding night, and if you think I’m going to carry you across that threshold, you’ve got another thing coming, Jo.”
“Please, Pacey,” you beg, your tone playful and so much different from when you begged me to leave yesterday, that I just can’t resist you, but then again, I never could.
“Alright, fine,” I grunt as I hoist you up in my arms, shifting you around to a comfortable position, while you put your arms around my neck. “God, how much does this dress weigh? How can you even walk with this thing on?”
“My point exactly,” you laugh, as you lay your head on my shoulder, and you’re killing me all over again, but this time I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Potter,” I say, laughing as I reach the door, trying to hang on to you, and put the card in the slot at the same time. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Author: Kelli (Kellbelles)
Fandom: Dawson's Creek
Pairings/Characters: Pacey/Joey
Rating: T
Summary: This fic was inspired by the song Kill by Jimmy Eat World. It's me playing 'what if' with Pacey's 'off the hook' speech from the series finale (624: ...Must Come to an End). Also, it's kind of long. A plot bunny that just keeps going and going and going...
I always said you’d be the death of me.
Then again, I’ve always been an easy target, the easy kill, but maybe that’s only when it comes to you.
When we were growing up, I know you wanted to kill me on a daily basis, and believe me, the feeling was mutual. You actually threatened me when we were fifteen…
I'm going to kill you. One night in your sleep, a slit throat maybe, or a screwdriver to your temple. Be ready.
I enjoyed those idle threats, though; I loved knowing that I could get that much of a rise out of you. Getting you all riled up was one of my favorite pastimes.
But, at sixteen, you started killing me in a completely different way, slowly, achingly, little by little, murdering a piece of me here and there so that now there’s almost nothing left.
You once said I made you feel alive, but you, you kill me. I die a little each time I lose you, and now, I might lose you forever.
You’re just across the street. I have a perfect view of your apartment building from where I’m sitting, and I wonder in that sea of windows which one is yours. I’ve been guessing. Everyday I pick a different floor, and a different window, and I try to imagine you living your life somewhere behind that pane of glass. Maybe you’re sitting on the couch in a pair of pajama pants and a tank top, with your hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, wisps of it falling down into your face as you read Little Women for what has to be the fifteenth time. You could be on the phone, chatting with Bessie, finalizing plans and assuring her that you have everything under control. You could be laughing, brushing your teeth, taking a relaxing bubble bath, or eating ice cream while cooling yourself in front of a fan because it’s August in New York City and it’s sweltering.
Or, you could be with him.
But maybe, just maybe, you’re standing at the window, waiting and watching, looking down at the crowds of people scurrying along on the busy street below, searching for someone.
Maybe you’re searching for me.
The waitress comes by, asking me if I’d like a refill, and I tear my eyes away from the window, smiling and nodding as I hold out my cup. She fills it to the brim with coffee, and returns my smile, her eyes flashing with both familiarity and sadness. I’m familiar to her because I’ve been coming here everyday for almost a week, and I know she feels sorry for me for exactly the same reason. She tells me to let her know if I need anything else, and as she walks away, I know she’s wondering why all I do is sit here and stare out the window all day.
I’m wondering the same thing, I’m wondering if I’ll ever get the courage to walk across the street.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about life, and fate and chance, and what it all means. You know, the really big stuff that you accuse me of not being deep enough to ponder. For instance, was it really just a coincidence that Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain, all died tragically at the young age of twenty-seven? Or do you think it was all part of some sordid rock n’ roll killing conspiracy? Maybe it was just their time?
I know it definitely was too early for Jen. That’s something that I’ll never be able to make sense of, how someone as young and vibrant as she could just be gone. I can’t even debate the reasons why she’s no longer with us, because for me, there will never be any valid ones. I wonder what she’d tell me if she were here now. Probably that I should get my ass across the street; she’d be pushing me out the door, and maybe in a way, she is. I think I can feel her, tugging on my arm.
And what about the last time I saw you? Do you think it was just accidental that Gale, and then Bessie, interrupted us right after you told me you love me? Or was it destiny’s way of saying, ‘It’s just not meant to be, guys’?
I was trying to tell you that you were ‘off the hook’ anyway, but you wouldn’t let me. You cut me right off and insisted on going first. You always were a little pushy like that, and I’m just a big pushover where you’re concerned. So I shut up and let you have the floor. You told me you that you love me, that I should know that, and maybe I do on some level, but not enough to actually believe you’d want me. You said it’s ‘very real, so real it kept you moving, mostly running, never ready for it’, and all I could do was stand there with my jaw hitting the floor and my heart about to fly out of my throat, because this couldn’t be real, you couldn’t be saying what I thought you were saying.
But then in the same breath, you told me that you were in love with Dawson too, and my heart, which was about to take off and soar, quickly traded places with my jaw, as it plummeted down, my mouth snapping shut, my jaw clenching as I prepared myself for the worst. You started throwing around words like soul mate and childhood, and waxed poetic about a love that is pure and eternally innocent, and all I could think was here it comes, the moment I’ve always dreaded, and prayed would never get here. You were finally going to fulfill your destiny, but you had to let me off the hook first.
I wanted to interrupt you and ask what you were trying to say, but Gale showed up, followed by Bessie, who promptly handed you a tray and asked you to give her a hand.
And you did.
You just left. You gave me that sheepish look, and you left. You left me to my own devices, which as I’m sure you know, is never a good idea. My mind was racing with a million questions, the answers to which I was positive wouldn’t be the ones I wanted to hear. Insecurity can be an ugly and evil thing; it plays on your weaknesses and tricks you into thinking the worst, because why would someone like me get everything he’s ever dreamed of?
I’d had all these grand ideas that I never got to share with you. I thought I could finally be happy, and I wanted you to do the same, and do it with someone who made you feel like I do when I’m with you. Because simply being in love with you is enough for me. And I actually believed that, right up until you blew me right out of the water with revelations of your own, revelations that I was convinced had nothing to do with me being the man you wanted to stop running from, and finally run to.
I’m not the soul mate, and I never have been.
I know I was in the process of letting you go, but in all honesty, that’s not really what I was doing. I’ve had some time to think about it, and I realize my attempt at letting you off the hook, was really only to see if you’d just turn right around and swim back to me.
Because I could never let you go, no matter how much I’ve tried to tell myself otherwise.
As I stood there, watching you walk away, taking all my hopes and dreams with you, I knew what I had to do.
It was survival of the fittest. Self preservation. Kill or be killed.
I took a deep breath, turned around, and walked out of the kitchen. I took the back exit so that I wouldn’t be seen, and I made my getaway.
That was three months ago.
I know a lot can happen, even in that short amount of time, but I didn’t think it would come to this. I don’t know what I expected to happen when I left, but I can tell you, of all the possible scenarios I imagined for you in my absence, this was never one of them, and I can’t help but wonder what if.
What if I would’ve told you all those things?
What if I would’ve told you that I love you too?
What if I would’ve stopped you from leaving with Bessie?
What if I would’ve stuck around and found out exactly what you were trying to say?
I heave a heavy sigh, the rush of air that escapes my lips, washing over the scraps of napkin I’ve been nervously shredding into a pile in front of me, blowing them every which way, in the same way all these random thoughts are being scattered around in my head. None of it matters if I don’t do something about it.
I finally get up after leaving a generous tip for the kind waitress who never lets my cup go empty, and make my way to the cash register. After paying my bill, I head outside, the heat rising off the pavement billowing up around me, consuming me, practically melting me to my spot. The building that you call home looms in front of me, tall and intimidating, taunting me, daring me to cross the street and find you.
But I can’t.
I know you’re so close; I can almost feel you. But at the same time, it seems like you’re miles away. I just don’t know if I can endure the long journey it would take to get back to you. And I’m not sure you’d be waiting to welcome me with open arms if I did.
So I walk away, just as I have every other day. Except today is different, because I can no longer take comfort in the fact that I have more time to
talk myself into making that trip across the street, that I can come back tomorrow and try again.
By this time tomorrow, it’ll be too late.
I’ve run out of tomorrows.
I’ve run out of time.
I’ve run out of chances.
And those pieces of me that you’ve been killing, little by little?
I’ve run out of those too.
~
I’m sitting at the hotel bar, but I’m not drinking. I have a shot of tequila in front of me that I haven’t touched. The bartender put it there two hours ago, but I don’t want it. I thought I did. I went straight for the bar when I got back here with the intent of numbing the pain. I’d like to blame you for that pain, but I think this time the ache that’s encompassing me is self-inflicted. I have no one to thank but myself if you give forever to someone that isn’t me.
No matter who caused me to feel this way, I’d wanted to make it go away, even for just a little while. I walked up to the bar, a man with a purpose and ordered the painkiller of my choice, but then I heard it…
While I give to you and you give to me true love, true love. So on and on it will always be true love, true love…
Do you know that it’s Bob and Rita’s fiftieth wedding anniversary? They danced to that old Cole Porter song on their wedding day, at least that’s what their son Daniel said when he dedicated it to them, right before they took the dance floor and started waltzing around the room. Yes, they were waltzing; I’m sure of it, and I have Ms. Penny Pretty, and you, to thank for that. But their style of dance is irrelevant, although you might be interested to know that their ribcages were touching, and Rita was the perfect lady, letting Bob lead without a fight.
None of that matters though. They could’ve been dirty dancing for all I care, because it was the way they were looking at each other, like they were the only two people in the room, that made me not take my eyes from them. It’s how I’m sure they looked at each other on their wedding day, and how they’ve probably been gazing at each other everyday for the past fifty years.
It’s how I imagined we’d look at each other when you walked down the aisle to me, how we’d gaze at each other everyday for the rest of our lives.
I wonder if you’ll be looking at him like that tomorrow?
I can see your face so clearly in my mind. I’ve been picturing it ever since Bob and Rita, and that song, grabbed my attention, and halted my descent into mind-numbing inebriation. I can picture just how you’re going to look, and you’re beautiful, just how I’ve always imagined.
But does he know how beautiful you are? Does he know how lucky he is, that he’ll get to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room for the rest of his life? Does he look at you like Bob looks at Rita?
For some reason, I know that he doesn’t. I don’t know how I know this, but I just do. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but it’s enough to give me a renewed sense of hope. Because how can I let you go through with it, knowing that he’ll never look at you like that? It’s what you deserve, what you’ve always deserved.
I might not be able to give you much else, but I can give you that look.
The question is, will that be enough for you? You deserve that look, but you’re worthy of so much more.
You’re worth everything, and I’m worthless.
A young man who looks about the same age as me, flops down on the stool next to me, and puts his head in his hands, rubbing his fingers in small circles over his temples, before running them down through his sandy blonde hair. He's clearly upset, and I push the shot of tequila in front of him. He looks up at me, startled, and I offer him a sympathetic smile, nodding to the drink. Understanding registers over his features, and he smiles gratefully, bringing the tiny glass to his lips and throwing his head back.
I get up then, patting the guy on the shoulder in a gesture mixed with ‘goodbye’ and ‘you hang in there’, walking away before he has a chance to say anything. He’s wearing the look of a broken heart that I know all too well, and I know he and I could bond, share our sob stories, but I’m not ready to talk about it.
I don’t want to talk about you in the past tense, speak of how I lost you, because as far as I’m concerned, I haven’t. Not yet.
I go back to my room and stare at the phone. I know it’s not going to ring. No one even knows I’m here. I’m sure a lot of people are speculating whether or not I'll show up, and I know of at least one who’s praying that I do. He’s actually rooting for us, and he’s the reason I’m here.
When I left, I wanted to disappear. It wasn’t like when I went sailing after senior year, after I lost you the first time. I know it seemed like I was running from you; it’s what everyone thought, and what I told myself. But they were wrong and so was I, because once I got to the Caribbean, you were everywhere. In the ocean waves lapping against the side of the boat, the warm sun that beat down on me as I worked on deck, and in the cool breezes that filled the sails and carried us across the sea. And the stars were perhaps the worst of all, both a blessing and a curse, a constant reminder of your face, shining down on me every night, just as Doug predicted.
Everything reminded me of you and our summer together, so much so, that it almost felt like you were with me. I went sailing, not to leave you behind, but to keep you with me. It was the only way I knew how.
But this time, I wanted to forget, not only you, but myself as well. Which I didn't think would be difficult to do, because without you, I’m nothing. I always have been. You make me who I am, and if you don’t exist, I don’t either.
Forget you. Forget me. Forget us.
So I just took off.
I left a note to no one in particular, very generic and brief, and kind of unoriginal...
I have to go. I have no choice.
Don’t worry about me and don’t try to find me.
Love,
Pacey
You always said I was the brave one, but I’m guessing I took care of that misguided notion.
What I did definitely wasn’t an act of bravery, but a choice, albeit an extremely impulsive and stupid one in which I chose to be a coward, but a choice none the less. Because you always have a choice, and you and I, we’ve always made the wrong ones.
You push, when I pull.
I let go, you grab on tight.
You refuse to see what’s right in front of you, and I only hear what I want to.
I once marveled at our back and forth...the sweetness and the sarcasm, proclaiming I wanted you as my Partner in Irreverence forever.
Can I take that back?
Nothing about this endless Romantic Tug Of War we’re engaged in is sweet, and it certainly isn’t funny.
And if we’re not careful, it’ll be the death of us both.
I was wrong. You’re not the only killer among us. I’m just as guilty as you are. We really are the Bonnie and Clyde of Bad Relationships. What we do to ourselves, to each other, and our love, is criminal. We’ve been on a murderous spree for the past ten years, and it has to stop.
It’s time we turn ourselves in, Potter, and face the music.
I reach for the phone, but just as quickly as I bring it to my ear, I slam it back down again. This can’t be done over the phone. I was worried about running into him, but surely he won’t be there tonight, of all nights.
I’m out the door in less than two seconds, and I’m running, a man with a mission.
I have a life to save, and it’s ours.
~
Bessie answers the door. I should’ve known she would be with you on the night before what’s supposed to be one of the most important days of your life. I’d like to say she’s happy to see me, or even surprised, but she’s neither of those things, not in the least.
She’s about to slam the door in my face without so much as a word, but then you appear, asking who it is, your voice trailing off and your face falling when your gaze lands on me. Our eyes lock, and we just stand there staring each other down. I try to read your expression, your eyes, but you reveal nothing but a steely glare and a defiant tilt of your chin. You’re trying to tell me you want me to leave, that you don’t want to hear a word I have to say.
You’re not backing down.
I throw an intense look right back at you, not of desperation or pleading, but of determination.
I’m not backing down either.
We’re frozen like that, and Bessie looks back and forth between us, sighing. She turns to you and shakes her head, telling you she’s going out for a walk, and she’ll be back in a half an hour. She brushes past me on the way out, hissing under her breath that she’ll rip me limb from limb if I hurt you anymore than I already have. I nod stiffly, knowing that I should never take her threats lightly, and then she’s gone.
It’s just you and me.
Oh, and that colossal gulf of pain and awkwardness that’s stretched out between us.
My legs are rubber and my feet are like two lead blocks, but somehow I manage to take a step into your apartment, closing the door behind me. You still don’t move, and I know I’ll have to go to you, but I expected that. It’s how it should be.
I slowly close the gap between us, my eyes never leaving yours, and I envy your iron resolve. Because if you’re as messed up as I am right now, you’re not showing it, not even flinching. I halt my advance when I’m about a foot away from you, take a deep breath and your name tumbles out of my mouth, passing over my lips in a hoarse whisper.
“Jo…”
Your arm shoots up automatically in response, your palm heading for my face, and I brace myself for the slap I deserve, squinting my eyes shut in anticipation. When it doesn’t come, I open them to find you standing there, your arm frozen in midair, just inches from its target.
It’s now that I notice how broken you look. You have that same look I saw on the guy back at the bar, and it’s the one that greets me when I look in the mirror everyday, the one I deserve, but you don’t. This isn’t the look I wanted to give you, and I hate myself for doing this to you, to us.
All I want to do is erase that look from your face, and I reach up to grab your hand, but you pull it away, letting it fall back down to your side. Your head drops and your shoulders slump as they slowly begin to shake, silent sobs wracking your body as you start to cry.
I’m in a daze, watching you suffer. I feel helpless, powerless, because I know you won’t let me comfort you, I also know I’m the only one who can. A whimper that you try to choke back breaks free and escapes from your throat, and this horrible sound seems to pull me from my trance, propelling me forward to take you in my arms. I can’t just stand by and watch this, telling myself that if you resist me, I’ll just hold on tighter.
I pull you to me, and miraculously you comply, burying your face in my chest, your hands clenched in tight fists under your chin while the rest of your body goes limp against mine. It feels so good to have you in my arms again that I break too, tears spilling from my eyes, dampening your hair as I press my face into the top of your head, breathing in your familiar scent that almost causes my knees to buckle.
But then you’re pushing me away, shoving my chest hard, the “no” you shout at me offering up a double blow, hurling me backwards, and I grab onto the back of the couch to regain my balance.
“You can’t do this to me, Pacey! You can’t just waltz back in here on the night before I…” You flap your arms in the air in frustration. “I mean, I’m getting…”
“Don’t say it.” I hold up my hand, the vise around my chest tightening at just the very thought of how you were going to finish that sentence. My eyes go closed for a second, as I try to regain my composure. “Don’t say it, because you’re not.”
You laugh; it’s cold and full of disdain. “Oh really, Pace? I don’t think you have any say in the matter. Not anymore.” You cross your arms over your chest to shield yourself, your protective barriers up once more. “And if you came here to get me to change my mind, you can just save your breath, because it’s not happening.”
“You don’t love him.”
“I do,” you fire back indignantly and without hesitation. “I do and I’m going to marry him.”
Your words kill me, but I deserve to die. We both have made many mistakes, but this time, I fucked up, and I don’t know if I can fix it. I try again anyway.
“Joey, would you please just listen to me? Just for a minute?”
“There’s nothing you can say that will make any difference.”
“But if you would just…”
“Please leave.” You turn your head, refusing to acknowledge me, dismissing me, not only from your line of vision, but from your life.
“Joey…”
“Please.”
Your voice breaks on that one word; it’s so small and fragile, but the request so large with sadness and finality. I know what you’re doing, you’re fighting for survival too. But instead of fighting for our love, you’re defending yourself against me, to keep me from wounding you any further. Because that’s all I’ve ever done is hurt you, even when that’s the last thing I ever wanted. I don’t want to give up, but you’re begging me to release you, to let you heal, and how can I refuse. Protecting you is far more important than anything I want for myself.
“Okay,” I concede, releasing a long breath I didn’t know I was holding, all my hope escaping my body with it. “I’ll go. It that’s what you really want.”
Turning, I trudge towards the door, willing myself not to run back to you and throw myself at your feet, begging for forgiveness, for you not to go through with it. My hand is reaching for the knob, when suddenly, you burst forth, startling me, and I can’t move.
“No, that’s not what I really want! Or should I say wanted.” I face you again and you’re on fire, your whole body raging with anger. “I didn’t want you to leave three months ago! You left then, Pacey, right when I was asking you to stay! One minute you were there, and the next you were just…gone. Do you have any idea what that did to me! Any at all! I mean, we’d just lost Jen and then you…”
You start crying again, but I don’t dare go near you this time, partly out of fear for my own safety, and partly because I know you need to get this out. I’m willing to take whatever you want to give me if it means your pain will lessen.
You swipe at your eyes in frustration, obviously mad because you can’t control your tears. “And that note you left, if you could even call it that. Do you know how many times I read it? Each time I prayed I would find a clue, a reason, something…anything, hidden between those three brief lines, that would tell me why you did it, and where you might be. And you signed it Love, Pacey. Love. I agonized over that one word, clung to it with all my might, thinking it had to mean something, that it was meant for me…your way of asking me not to give up on you. And I didn’t wanna give up on you…I didn’t…damn you, Pacey!” You stomp your foot violently, shouting again, “Damn you!”
You’re firing all this off at me with so much angry force, and so rapidly, your words coming at me like a round of bullets from a machine gun, piercing me in my chest over and over again, and I struggle to keep myself standing. I expected this, I just wasn’t prepared for how badly it would wreck me to see you like this, to actually view the damage I’m responsible for. I bow my head, clenching my fists at my sides and wait for you to continue.
“I tried to find you,” you say softly, your demeanor changing as the anger leaves your voice. “I did…for a whole month, I didn’t eat…I didn’t sleep…I just looked for you. I couldn’t even go to work. I had to take a leave of absence. None of it mattered anymore, none of it…And I beat myself up, every moment of every day because…because it was all my fault that you left.”
My head snaps up at the self-accusation you just made, and I see your anger has been replaced by a burden of guilt and regret so heavy I’m afraid you’re going to crumble underneath the weight of it. I open my mouth, needing desperately to correct this completely false idea you have, but you ignore me and keep going.
“I kept going over it again and again, that last moment I saw you, wondering what I could’ve said or done differently to make you stay. If only I would’ve told Bessie I’d be out to help her in a minute, or made myself more clear that it was you I wanted, because let’s face it, I’ve never done much to alleviate your insecurities. If anything, I’ve only ever made them worse, with all my indecision…the running…my blatant disregard for your feelings…always putting others before you. I’ve never really stood up for you or for us, or declared my love for you, without any reservations, doubts or fears waiting in the wings to take it all back. So why would you believe any differently?”
I’m about to answer you, to tell you that you’ve got it all wrong, but then you’re coming at me again, your voice rising once more. “But why didn’t you believe me, Pacey! Why!” I flinch as you spit the question at me, walking towards me, your eyes flashing. “Part of me thinks that you did believe me, and that was the problem. You realized that it was you I wanted, that I was finally acting on the choice my heart made years ago, and you couldn’t handle it. You’ve always been every bit as afraid of our love as I am, and we’re both guilty of using Dawson as a crutch to hide behind and fall back on when we were too scared to face what it is we have together. And that’s what you did, isn’t it? You convinced yourself I was ‘choosing’ Dawson, and that’s the excuse you gave yourself to leave.”
My eyes grow wide because you’ve got it right, you have figured out what a coward I am. You notice the expression on my face. “I’m right, aren’t I?” you ask somewhat incredulously. “That’s the real reason why you left.”
I close my eyes, barely able to nod. This is the first time I’ve been able to admit this, even to myself.
“The sad thing is,” you say, “is that none of this even matters anymore, because I’m getting married tomorrow.”
I find my voice again. “But it does matter! And even if we can’t get past this, don’t you think you’re jumping into this? I mean, three months ago, just the sight on an engagement ring caused you to bolt, so how can you say you’re ready to commit now?”
“Yeah,” you say, catching my gaze and holding it, “but that was back when I thought I had someone else I should be running to.”
“And now?” I whisper.
Your eyes drop to the floor. “And now I’m going to walk down the aisle tomorrow to the man who stood by me when my heart was broken so badly I thought I might die. He’s a good man, Pacey, and he loves me. This did all happen very fast, but it’s what I have to do to…”
I cut you off. “You don’t have to say anymore.” I know what you were going to say. It’s what you have to do to survive. It’s all about self preservation, survival of the fittest, kill or be killed. You might love me, but he’s the safer bet. He won’t hurt you the way I do. “I’m too late then?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
You nod, your bottom lip trembling as you fight to hold back your tears. I reach out and cup your chin in my hand, running my thumb along your bottom lip to stop it from quivering. I’m going to let you go. It’s what I have to do. If you have a chance to escape all this pain that seems to surround us no matter how hard we try to break free from it, then I can’t deny you that, even though at the same time, I can’t help but feel differently. I can’t help but still wonder about all those what ifs. I’m going to let you go, but not before I say what I should’ve said all those months ago.
“I love you,” I say, moving my hand up to your cheek, catching a tear that’s escaped your eye with my thumb and wiping it away. “I mean, I have always, always loved you. I know you probably don’t wanna hear this right now, but I have to say it. It might not mean anything, but then maybe it never has, because they’re just words. But they’re real, and so is this.”
I lean down and kiss you, my lips gently brushing over yours, tentatively at first until I realize you’re not going to resist me, and then I don’t hold anything back. I wrap you up in my arms so tightly I can feel your heart beating against my chest in time with mine, and kiss you with everything I have, trying to give you enough of my love so that you’ll never forget. Finally, I break the kiss and release you, taking a step back.
I wait for a second to see if you’re going to yell or hit me, but you just look stunned. “I won’t apologize for that,” I say. “Nor will I apologize for loving you until the day I die, because I will. I can’t help it. It’s who I am, who I was meant to be, the man who loves you like no one else can, and I just can’t turn off how I feel. But that’s okay with me…because the simple act of being in love with you is enough for me.” I pause, taking a deep breath to ward off the tears welling up in my eyes. “I just want you to be happy. Please promise me you’ll be happy. Your happiness is the only thing that really matters to me, and if I can’t be the one to give it to you, then I’ll step aside and let someone else try. I am sorry for what I put you through, more than you’ll ever know, and if I could do it all over again…”
My voice trails off, because I can’t go back. All I can do is move forward, and I do. I come to you one last time and brush my lips lightly over your forehead, lingering there to whisper, “Be happy, Jo,” before I turn and walk away.
I’m halfway out the door when you stop me one more time.
“Pacey?”
“Yeah,” I say without turning around because if I look back one more time, I’ll never leave.
“I just need to know…where did you go?”
I thought maybe I could get away without telling you. I know you’re expecting me to say one of the obvious places, the ones where I’m sure everyone thought to search. The Caribbean, the Keys, some other remote island in the Atlantic, or maybe somewhere in the Pacific, a tropical and warm destination by the sea that’s typically Pacey. But everyone was looking in the wrong place.
I still don’t turn around when I answer, “I went to Alaska…I was in Barrow, Alaska.”
I don’t even wait for your reaction as I step out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind me, the soft clicking sound it makes as loud as a gunshot in my ears, signaling the final shot has been fired, the bullet going straight to my heart. And as I walk away, I feel dead inside.
But then again, I’ve always been the easy kill.
~
You’re married now.
Mrs. Josephine…something or other.
Funny. I don’t even know New York Guy’s last name. I know it was on the invitation that Dawson sent me, but that really wasn’t my main concern when I received it.
Did I tell you that Dawson was the one who found me?
I know. Ironic, isn’t it?
Apparently, he’s not a huge fan of Christopher either, and thinks you’re making a mistake too. But wait, here’s the real kicker.
He thinks you should marry me.
I know, I know. But don’t worry. Hell hasn’t frozen over, the end of the world isn’t upon us, and that hellmouth underneath Capeside is still safely sealed off.
Dawson genuinely wants us to be together, and somehow he tracked me down. I received a letter from him two weeks ago, the contents of which aren’t important, although I think he and I can finally say all ghosts are definitely laid to rest. He didn’t beg me to come stop the wedding, or threaten to tell everyone where I was at. Along with the letter, was the invitation, and at the bottom of it he just wrote You know what you have to do. That was it. And he was right, I did.
But I was too late.
I talked to Dawson last night after I left you. I told him I tried, but failed. He didn’t think I should give up yet, telling me it wasn’t over until you said I do. He even wanted me to come to the wedding with him. I’ll tell you, that boy is still relentless, and I think if I would’ve taken him up on his offer, he would’ve ended up throwing me into the aisle when the old Speak now or forever hold your peace… question was raised. Either that or he would’ve come up with some elaborate scheme for us to bust in there and steal you away before the wedding even got started. He’s a hopeless romantic ‘til the very end, and also I think secretly he was hoping for some more material for his TV show. He always did love to use us as his guinea pigs.
Remember that day you accused the Sea Creature from the Deep of grabbing your ass? Yeah, I did, and you definitely had one, because I’d been checking it out for months prior to that. Dawson’s movie just gave me the perfect opportunity to see if it felt as good as it looked.
I loved you even then, but didn’t know any other way to show you than by yanking your pigtails. Back then we had no idea what was in store for us, but I think on some level I always knew it would be you and me. Dawson might’ve claimed your soul, but he didn’t pay any attention to your heart, leaving it free and clear for me to steal. Except I didn’t have to, because you gave it to me willingly, and I don’t care whose last name you’ve taken, your heart will always belong to me, just as mine will always be with you.
I almost did go to the wedding. I got up and put on a suit with every intention of going and wishing you well, but even I’m not that much of a glutton for punishment. So, I’ve just been walking aimlessly around the city all day, imagining that you’re by my side showing me the sights, instead of dancing at your wedding reception with another man.
I can’t believe you got married here, not that it isn’t an amazing city, but I always pictured you getting married on the beach in Capeside…to me. Guess I got that wrong, just like everything else.
It’s almost seven o’clock when I walk back into the lobby of my hotel, just in time to see that guy from the bar yesterday coming out,
holding hands and laughing with a petite blonde girl, staring down at her like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. I smile at them, glad that at least one of us got a happy ending.
The wedding was at three, which means the only way I could stop it now is with a time machine, and sadly, I don’t own one. I guess it really is too late.
I get on the elevator along with an older couple who I immediately recognize as Bob and Rita. They smile at me, and I return the gesture as best I can, realizing that I must look a little worse for the wear. My suit is wrinkled, my tie shoved haphazardly into my jacket pocket, one end dangling out of it, and my white dress shirt has the top two buttons opened sloppily. I haven’t shaved in two days, and I know I have to smell bad, since I’ve been sweating buckets all day, but Bob and Rita still offer me a warm greeting. They reach their floor, and Bob guides Rita out the door, his arm threaded through hers, nodding at me before they disappear around the corner, and there goes another happily ever after.
I guess we’ll never get ours.
The elevator stops on the tenth floor, and I get off, heading down the hall to my left as I fish in my pocket for the card that will allow me access to my room. As I do so, my tie falls to the floor and I bend down to pick it up, but when I reach for it, there’s another hand there doing the same thing.
I stop breathing when that hand brushes mine, and I get butterflies.
It’s a left hand, and the ring finger is empty.
“Joey?” I whisper without looking up, my eyes stuck on our hands, as yours curls around mine, squeezing it.
“You dropped your tie,” you say simply, as you pick it up with your right hand, and stand up, taking me with you.
I can see that you’re in your wedding dress, but I still won’t take my eyes from our hands. I’m afraid if I look at you, you’ll disappear, but I can feel your hand in mine, so I know that has to be real.
“What…what are you doing here?” I manage to ask.
“Do you remember that field trip we took with our eighth grade history class, to Whaling National Historical Park, over in New Bedford?”
“Huh?” Now I can’t help but look at you, because I’m pretty sure you must be crazy, or I have to be dreaming. I have no idea why you’ve come here on your wedding day to ask me this.
“You and Dawson complained the entire time about how boring it was,” you continue, ignoring my confusion, “but I was fascinated by it all, taking in all the information I could, because I was just that much of a geek. And I remember reading at one of the museum exhibits that the park was affiliated with some Heritage Center in Alaska…Barrow, Alaska.”
“Yeah, the whaling industry used to be big there, from what I heard.” I shrug, narrowing my eyes at you, still not knowing where you’re going with this. “What are you getting at here, Jo?”
“What I wanna know is, what were you going to do when the sun set again? I’m guessing you left to come here before that happened, but I’m just curious. You must’ve just missed it by a few days, but had you stayed there, what would you do to escape them then?”
My throat goes dry. “Them?” I try to pull my hand from yours, but your grip on it tightens. “I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ever since you told me that you ran away to Barrow, Alaska, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d heard of that place before, that there was something special about it. It bothered me all night, and it was the only thing I could think of today. I wanted to look it up, but a girl does have a lot of things to do before she gets married.” You laugh. “And looking up information about the place where your ex-boyfriend ran off to isn’t one of them. But still, I couldn’t let it go.
“I was about to walk down the aisle, when it hit me, the field trip, and all the facts about Barrow, Alaska…the place where the sun doesn’t set for eighty some days in the summer…from the beginning of May to the beginning of August. Must’ve been pretty hard to see the stars with all that sunlight.”
By now, I’m looking you in the eyes because there’s no reason to hide anymore. You know my secret. “I couldn’t see them, that was the whole point, but it didn’t matter. They were still up there, above me, whether I could see them shining down on me or not. I thought I could escape them, but I was wrong. They were always with me. You were always with me.”
“Even when you were gone, you were with me too, every time I looked up.” You grab my other hand, not caring about the tears that are staining your cheeks. “I didn’t marry him. I couldn’t go through with it, because I knew, just like you found out, that I couldn’t escape the stars.”
“But…how did you,” I stutter in shock, still not believing this is happening, “I mean…no one knew where I was staying and…”
“Dawson did,” you say, and I remember our phone call. “He brought me here. We tried calling your cell, but…”
“I left it in my room.”
“Which would explain why you weren’t answering. And then Dawson went out to look for you, while I waited here.”
“So let me get this straight,” I say, freeing my hands from yours, and running one through my hair. “You called off your wedding…right before you walked down the aisle, and then came straight here to me?”
You nod, and I feel like I’m going to pass out. “I think I need to sit down,” I say, as I slump against the wall and slide down to the floor. I put my face in my hands, and I can’t hold them back anymore, all the tears I’ve been trying so hard to keep in for three months come pouring out.
I feel you take a seat beside me and place your hand on my arm. “Pace, please look at me.”
Lifting my head, I manage to choke out, “I thought I lost you.”
You take me in your arms, and I bury my face in the crook of your neck as you stroke my hair to comfort me. When I’ve finally calmed down, you whisper in my ear.
“Pacey, you know how you said you wanted me to be happy?”
I pull back to look at you. “Yes.”
“Well, I always have been…when I’m with you. I love you, Pacey. Please don’t leave me again, because I don’t think I’d survive if I lost you again.”
I don’t reply, but instead take your face in my hands and pull your lips to mine, giving you all the reassurance you need in one kiss.
“I love you,” I say, as I pull away, resting my forehead against yours. “And I promise I’ll never leave you again. But do you think we could get off the floor and maybe go to my room? I’m exhausted, and you have to be too. Not to mention we should call Dawson and let him know he can stop looking.”
“Okay,” you reply, and I stand up, but you don’t move.
“Jo?” I raise my eyebrows expectantly.
“Pacey,” you pout, “I don’t think I can get up. Carry me?” you ask, sticking out your lower lip and giving me the Potter Puppy Dog Eyes.
“Oh no, not that again. As much as I’d like it to be, this isn’t our wedding night, and if you think I’m going to carry you across that threshold, you’ve got another thing coming, Jo.”
“Please, Pacey,” you beg, your tone playful and so much different from when you begged me to leave yesterday, that I just can’t resist you, but then again, I never could.
“Alright, fine,” I grunt as I hoist you up in my arms, shifting you around to a comfortable position, while you put your arms around my neck. “God, how much does this dress weigh? How can you even walk with this thing on?”
“My point exactly,” you laugh, as you lay your head on my shoulder, and you’re killing me all over again, but this time I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Potter,” I say, laughing as I reach the door, trying to hang on to you, and put the card in the slot at the same time. “You’re going to be the death of me.”