This wasn't supposed to be a huge deal. I was supposed to grab a gallon of milk and begone. But trips to the grocery store are never that simple, at least not in a town like Capeside. I see Andie, intently examining the magazine rack and try to hide my face behind the latest copy of the Weekly World News. I pay very little attention to the article about the child who thinks he's a dog because his parents kept him in a cage, but try desperately to will the line to move faster. I just want to get the hell out of here.
I learned last night through one small word that Pacey's just as confused about what has happened as I am, and the one thing I know for sure is that I don't need the added complication of Andie right now. I'm not even sure I could look her in the eye.
I shove three dollars in the hand of the cashier, shaking nervously as she slowly makes my change. Once outside the coins hit the ground. I trip over my feet trying to pick them up until I freeze when I hear her say my name.
"Andie," I say, drawing her name out as I slowly stand. I can't help but to notice the circles under her eyes. She's caked foundation over top of them, but they're still recognizable.
I hadn't stopped for one moment to think about how she was feeling. It had probably killed her to lose Pacey, probably nearly as much as she'd killed Pacey. "How have you been?" I ask absently.
"Fine," she answers mechanically. "I just wanted to stop you to say . . . god, this is going to sound horrible."
"Well, we can . . . save it for some other time," I say, hoping to end this conversation.
Andie shakes her head. "No," she says. "I want to thank you, Joey."
I laugh nervously. "Thank me? I don't understand."
Andie takes a deep breath and leans against the glass window. "Pacey," she begins tentatively. "Even though what I did was horrible . . . unforgivable . . . I still . . . I still care about him."
I look at her blankly. I still don't understand what she's trying to say. Above that, I don't know why she's professing her love for Pacey to me. She has no idea what is going on between Pacey and me.
"I know that you guys have been hanging out . . . And I'm so thankful that he has you right now. He needs someone he can depend on. I'm glad that he found you as a friend rather than hardening his heart any further."
I feel guilt: guilt deep down, starting in my stomach and expanding throughout every single, solitary inch of my body, passing synapse after synapse, leaving nothing untouched. "Andie, I . . ." I fumble my words. I even consider blurting out everything. But I can't. I'm not supposed to speak of it. I couldn't if I wanted to. It would only destroy the illusion. It would destroy her. It would destroy Dawson. Most of all, it would destroy Pacey. And I can't do that, because it would destroy me and my hopes of whatever it is that I'm hoping for.
"You don't have to say anything, Joey," Andie says, placing a sympathetic hand on my arm. "Just take care of him, okay?"
"If you care about him so much, why'd you do what you did?" I ask her.
She thinks for a moment, then looking at me with a sparkle in her eye that could easily be a tear hoping to be sprung. "Because some of the most important decisions of your life are made in a split second, and they change everything before you even realize it."
I nod slowly and look back to her. "I can't promise that Pacey will be okay," I whisper. I can't even promise that I'll be okay.
"I know that, Joey. Believe me, I know that. Just . . . make sure that he's not alone when he's not okay."
"Neither of us are okay," I say, maybe revealing more than I should.
"I think you're both stronger and more alike than you even realize," Andie said softly. She touched me on the arm again before smiling a solemn smile and going back inside.
Now I have no direction. I don't know where to go. If it's possible, I'm more confused than I ever was.
* * * * *
I look at the water seriously. I wonder if it holds all the answers. Hell, it was here long before I was, and it'll be here long after I'm gone. It obviously knows something I don't. It's calm and peaceful today--the opposite of what I am. I wish I could close my eyes and make everything peaceful, but that's hardly a possibility. If it were, I would've done it long ago.
I open my eyes and he's there. I can't help but to wonder if that's some sort of sign. I look for answers and he seems to magically appear.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"I'm thinking," I say softly. He sits down beside me, but we don't say anything. The silence is uncomfortable.
I look at him carefully, weighing the words I want to say. "People on the outside looking in wouldn't have any hint of a reason to believe I cared about you." I pause for a moment, trying to read his expression and failing miserably. "Even you."
"That's because I didn't know," he says softly. "You should've told me."
"I showed you," I whisper.
He shook his head, defiantly looking at his feet. "We said . . ." he begins, "we said we wouldn't talk about it."
"I can't do that anymore, Pace," I say. I've finally reached the point of no return. I can't go around attempting to pretend it didn't exist. I can't live like this any longer. And somewhere deep down inside, he knows that too.
"It changed everything," I say. "That scares the hell out of me."
"This scares the hell out of me too," he says. "You're the one who's walking around as if nothing has changed."
I don't know how he feels like he can make that judgement. I can tell he has no idea what I'm thinking or feeling.
"I'm trying so hard, Jo. But I just don't know how to make this right," he says. "I want it to go away."
I don't quite understand his words. I don't want it to go away. I wish he could understand that. I need him to understand that. "Why?" I ask simply.
"Because in one night I was so careless in what I did that I could've hurt every important person in my life."
I swallow. I can't understand why now, of all times, he has to do this. Why does this have to be about Andie? It shouldn't be. "Does everything have to be about Andie?" I whisper.
He looks confused and shakes his head. "Not Andie. Dawson."
"This isn't about Dawson either," I say.
"No," he says slowly. "It's mainly about you."
"So treat it like it's about me, like it's about me and you."
He looks away and lowers his voice considerably. "I know that there's no possible way for me to redeem myself."
"Why do you care so much about everyone else?" I ask, raising my voice.
"I'm talking about you. You're who I'm worried about. Because I've changed things between us irreversibly," he says. "And I can't take back what I did."
"If we had talked about it," I say softly, turning my eyes away, "you would know that I don't want to take it back."
"Joey, I--"
"Let me finish," I interrupt. "I thought about it a lot, Pace. What happened that night was inevitable in the course of our relationship. It was inevitable because of what we've been through, what we're going through."
"How can you say that?" he asks me.
And I didn't really know how I could. But it makes sense, and perhaps the best times are when you're able to speak from the heart. I let it take over then. I tried to keep my head out of it for once.
"It felt right, Pace," I say slowly, avoiding eye contact with him. I twist my index finger with my other hand. "This happened between you and me. If I thought it felt right and if you thought it felt right, why isn't it right?"
"I don't know how I'm supposed to answer that," he says.
"You're supposed to reassure me by telling me that it wasn't wrong," I tell him. I wait, but he doesn't say a word. "I care about you," I add. "And you care about me," I say, smiling as much as my heart will allow. He looks at me, and I see question in his eyes. "What happened between us happened because we care about each other."
"Is that what you really think?" he asks.
I nod once, looking back to him. "That night . . . we both felt really lousy, and I think we tried to make it better the only way we knew how. And there's nothing about that that's wrong."
"Are you saying that you don't regret sleeping with me?" he asks slowly.
I know that he needs more than a simple "yes." He needs me to say the words. "I don't regret sleeping with you," I say.
"I can't . . ." he fumbles his words, then closes his eyes trying to order his thoughts. "I can't pretend like this makes everything okay. I mean, God, Jo, what happens the next time?"
I wasn't ready for that question. It wasn't something I'd thought about at all. It seems as if the last time we were together had been so surreal, there was no chance for it to happen again.
"Is there going to be a next time?" I ask.
"Yes. No." He stops, rubbing his temples.
"Which one?" I ask.
"If we . . . If we justify this as comfort now, what's going to happen the next time we're both hurt. Will it be okay then too?"
My breath catches and I'm not sure how to answer. He does it for me. "It won't be."
"Pacey, we shouldn't worry about that unless it happens," I say.
"When I look at you, it's all I think about. I have to police my thoughts when you're around, because I can't cross that line again."
"What?" I ask faintly.
"I still need someone, Jo. I just want someone to be close to. I want someone who can make me feel again. And you're the only one who can do that," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "And that scares me, because I've already destroyed what we had by letting those feelings take over me once. It's like I'm in a war every single, solitary second."
"I can't take care of you like you need to be taken care of," I whisper, tears escaping my eyes despite my effort to keep them at bay. "The only way I know how to comfort you is to give you what I've got. I don't have any words of wisdom to share about why she cheated on you or about why she didn't love you enough. The reason that we slept together that night was because I didn't have anything to give you but me."
I take a deep breath and try to be strong as he looks back at me. "Everything between us is so much more intense than it was before," I say. "But we feel stronger, closer. And the one thing I know for sure is that I'll do whatever you need me to do."
"You've given me so much more than you realize," he said, touching the side of my face softly. I close my eyes to feel him. I'm probably not as selfless as I present myself.
"I suppose," I begin, swallowing the lump in my throat, "I suppose that it would be wrong for me to . . ." I stop because I can't continue. There's no way to phrase what I want to say.
He wipes the space under my eye with his thumb, smearing my tears. "No, but it would be wrong of me to accept," he says simply, reading my mind.
"No, it wouldn't."
"You're all I've got, Jo. You're the only one who knows what I need. I can't ruin that."
I nod slowly, knowing I shouldn't say what I'm about to say. "Would it be wrong to make this a standing offer?" He looks back at me, seemingly awestruck. I continue. "Even if it is, I'll be wrong anytime you need me to be."
"Don't make that proposition," he says softly.
"It's made," I say simply. He looks at me questioningly as if he doesn't understand. Even I don't understand.
But it feels right.
* * * * *