I know that I shouldn't be angry.
But I am.
I don't know what she said to get him to take her back, and I didn't ask. After all it's not something I need to know. I'm just his friend, at least as far as everyone else as concerned. Maybe as far as he's concerned too.
When he looked into my eyes tonight and told me that he had gone back to Andie, I'm not even sure how I felt. All I knew was that he'd made a mistake. He shouldn't have taken her back after everything she did to him. In hindsight, he should've known better. Now I feel as if he's gone on with his life, leaving me out in the cold with no other options. Not only is he hurting himself, but he is hurting me. Last night after the rain, he'd said that was the last thing he wanted, but somehow he'd managed to do it again, not even a day later.
After he leaves, I can't sit still. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I have to get out, and I wander to the beach. I hope the open and the quiet can clear my head; help me come to terms with what I'm feeling. I don't want him to be angry at me.
I'm surprised to see him there, sitting closer to the water. I don't know how to talk to him or what to say. I wasn't running to him this time, but here he is. I sit down beside him.
"Hey," he says, looking over at me for a moment.
"Hey," I say back.
"I thought you weren't speaking to me anymore," he says quietly.
"I won't stop speaking to you just because I don't understand you," I say.
"What don't you understand?" he asks.
"I don't understand how, after all she put you through, you'd still take her back," I say.
"You told me I should forgive her," he says.
So I did. It's funny, because I didn't think he was listening. "Forgiving her is one thing," I say. "But I never thought you'd be dumb enough to open yourself up to be hurt again."
"You really think I'm dumb?" he asks, looking over to me.
"When it comes to Andie," I say.
He holds out his hand to me expectantly. I look in his eyes for a second, and then outstretch my palm and place it under his. He drops a stone in my hand. Even in the moonlight, it seems to sparkle a metallic grey. I rub my finger over the smooth surface and look back at him. "It's beautiful," I say.
He nods. "It didn't start that way. It was probably some ugly little rock. It tosses and turns in the water forever, losing parts of it until it's smooth. After all that, it becomes beautiful."
"You're not talking about you and Andie," I say.
"I'm talking about me," he replies. "I have to think that all the shit in my life is for some reason. That somehow it'll make me more beautiful when it's all over."
"We're not rocks, Pacey."
He sighs, wiping his cheek wearily. "I'm trying, Jo," he says softly. "I feel like you wanna pick a fight with me."
"I do," I say. "It would be easier that way. I want to yell at you for not having more faith in yourself; for not realizing that your options are immeasurable."
"I waited a long time to find someone like Andie to love me," he says.
I look at him and I feel so confused. He's not the Pacey Witter that I've known for fifteen years of my life. He's so different. He's vulnerable and apprehensive and scared. Most of all, he's blind to other people. He refuses to believe he deserves anything. "Andie doesn't love you like you deserve to be loved."
"I don't think you can understand, Jo," he says softly. "I know that some crazy shit has gone on between you and Dawson . . . but you're . . . you're smart enough not to settle. You don't have to settle. Some of us, though, have no choice."
"Things between Dawson and me are more complicated than you know," I say softly, carefully not giving away anything.
"But Dawson will always know what you need. And you'd never hurt Dawson. There's something so pure about the two of you. It's almost like you don't live in the real world with the rest of us. I admire that you don't have to. But, because of that, you'll never understand why sometimes the best you can do is take what you can get."
"I understand," I say. "Nothing has been right with Dawson since the day I decided he was more than just my friend." Even though I don't say it, I mentally note that the same is true with Pacey and I. Nothing has been right since we became more than friends.
"But he's not all you've got, Joey. God, you're beautiful and intelligent and compassionate and just . . . everything. We're not all so lucky."
"So you think you deserve a mentally deranged slut for a girlfriend?" I ask. After the words leave my lips I regret them.
He stands up and looks down at me for a moment before turning around. "Tell me why the hell you hate her so much."
"This is about you!" I yell, as I stand up behind him. "You not being smart enough to know that she's not good for you."
"And what's good for me, Joey? Drowning my sorrows in you? Making more mistakes with my life just because I don't know how to let go?" he asks.
"Going back to Andie is the biggest mistake you could've made!" I yell. "She doesn't deserve you!"
"Only people like you and Dawson get the happy ending! In real life, some of us aren't so lucky," he screams.
"When I counted my blessings tonight and I didn't have you or Dawson, I felt really lucky. Right, Pacey."
"He loves you," he says, shaking his head. "Nothing will change that."
"It's simple," I scream. "He's not going to want me when he finds out that I'm not a virgin anymore! Things aren't so black and white, are they?"
His face falls and he takes a step back, but I continue. "He's no different than anyone else. It only takes a second to fuck everything up. And he won't want me anymore."
He squats to the ground, placing his head in his hands.
"Stop it!" I say. "I want you to fight with me, dammit!"
"What did you say?" he says softly.
"Fight with me!" I say again. "It's the one shot at normalcy I've got going for me."
It looks hard for him to breath, and I can almost see tears forming in his eyes. "You were . . . when we . . ." He swallows and stops talking. Suddenly I realize what he's asking me; I realize what I said.
I close my eyes and exhale. This isn't the way I wanted him to find out. I never wanted to be angry at him. I never wanted to be spiteful. I just wanted it to go away. I wanted things to be normal, and I wanted to avoid this added complication at all costs.
I kneel down in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "Pace, I . . ." I begin. I stop because I have no idea what to say to him. It would sound to silly if I were to tell him that this isn't the way I wanted him to find out.
"I didn't know," he whispers. "I swear I didn't know."
"It wouldn't have made a difference, Pace," I say.
"Yes, it would have," he responds.
"It doesn't matter to me," I say. "I wanted to be with you that night."
He shakes his head. "I don't understand, Joey," he says. "I don't understand how you don't hate me."
"Because I don't regret it, Pacey," I say. "I don't regret being with you because you're everything I need."
"No, this was the last thing you needed," he says, looking up at me. "It took one night for me to screw your whole life up."
"You didn't do that, Pace," I whisper. "I think things are finally starting to make sense."
"That's funny," he says, "because I don't understand anything anymore."
"Well, let's make it simple," I say. "Andie broke your heart and you slept with me. And you took her back way too quickly because you couldn't deal with it."
"I couldn't deal with it," he says. "I still can't. It took every ounce of strength my flawed will could take when you offered to sleep with me again. Because I can't deal with whatever emotions you're bringing to the surface. Because I just found out I took your virginity and now I can't seem to understand why you didn't tell me."
"I don't know why you feel like you have to fight it," I say.
"Because we fell into bed together one night when we were both in pain. And I can't deal with the consequences of hurting you. Because of what she did to me, Andie is expendable. You're not. You matter."
"It meant something to me, Pacey," I say slowly. I touch his face gently. "Because it was simple and comfortable. Because it was you."
"I'm sorry," he says, putting his hand on mine. He held my hand.
A tear falls down my cheek. I don't know what he's apologizing for. I don't want to know. It seems too much like an ending. "Don't be sorry."
He lays a soft kiss on my nose and whispers, "I have to go."
I squeeze his hand tighter and don't let go when he tries to leave. "Don't."
"Tomorrow, Jo," he says.
I let go of his hand and lower my head. Whether I see him tomorrow or not, I can't watch him walk away.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Day two in the Potter house without electricity has gone seemingly well, considering I haven't left the house today. Of course, it's just now starting to get dark.
I pick up a book of matches and light the two candles that sit in the middle of the table. Bessie is searching the house for Alex's favorite stuffed giraffe before heading to the Leery's for the night.
"Ah ha," Bessie says, coming out from underneath the table triumphantly with the giraffe in hand. She handed it to Alex as he sat in his play pen.
I play with the rock Pacey gave me last night at the beach, as I watch her sitting across from me, throwing an outfit and some diapers in a bag for Alex. "Are you sure you don't want to come?" she asks me. "It could get cold tonight."
"No," I say, shaking my head.
"I promise I'll pay the bill first thing Monday morning," she says. "This will never happen again."
"Okay."
"What's wrong, kiddo?" she asks. She sets everything aside to look at me.
"Nothing," I say.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." With that, she goes back to folding her clothes. "Do you know that the ancient Greeks had lots of different words for love? Agape was sacrificial love. Philos was a deep kind of love between friends. Eros was sexual love."
Bessie stops for a second and nods. "That makes a lot of sense. Especially considering there are so many different ways you can love someone."
"But they over-lap so much," I say.
"I suppose so," Bessie says. "But think about it, Jo. There are so many things that we call 'love.' I mean, I love you, but not the way I loved Bodie. You love Dawson, and even though you wouldn't admit it to a soul, you love Pacey, but your feelings for each of them are very different from the other. But you still call it love. Even if your love for one of them is deeper than your love for the other, there's no difference as far as the word goes."
"But if you have a special bond with a friend, you make a sacrifice for him. And sometimes that sacrifice even turns into something sexual," I say.
"Sex isn't a sacrifice," Bessie said, smiling softly. "It's an expression of emotion."
"It's an expression of love?" I ask. "Why does it mean more than just telling someone you love them?"
Bessie thinks for a moment before she answers. "Because there's so much more at risk. Words are just words. Sometimes they just aren't enough."
"So can you express Philos through sex?" I ask.
"Philos was?"
"Friendship."
"It's not the way most people would express friendship," Bessie says. That's what I love about her. She gives a lot of thought to what I say, and doesn't always go with the conventional.
"I think sometimes," she continues, "we all do things that don't necessarily make sense. An intimacy exists between two friends that few people know. And I think . . . I think that intimacy can be a prelude to sex. It can transcend the physical and become making love."
Bessie looks at me seriously. I can tell she is giving this a lot of thought. "I think it would beat the alternative of sleeping with someone you didn't care about at all," she adds.
I nod and smile at Bessie. "I think you're right, Bess."
"Is this something hypothetical or do you have something you want to talk to me about?"
"We've talked about it," I say. "Thanks."
"Anytime, sis," Bessie says. And I know she means it. There'll come a time when I'll to talk to her about this, but I know it's not now. There's still so much I can't verbalize.
~*~*~*~*~*~
I feel stuck as if I don't have anywhere to go. I don't know how to make things right with Pacey. I know that I can't go to him, that I have to wait for him to come to me. But the waiting isn't easy.
Now, as I'm climbing up the ladder, I still don't know what in the hell I'm doing. Dawson won't understand. He can't even know. But when things go wrong, this is where I go. Maybe he won't be there and I can sit in my spot alone in the dark so I can think.
I see him lying on the bed as I push the curtain to the side. He smiles at me, sitting up and turning off his television. "Hey," he says softly.
"Hey, Dawson," I say, smiling crookedly. I sit on the window ledge, not wanting to get too close too fast. I guess that I'm tenative because so much has changed.
"I wasn't expecting you," he says. I can tell he wasn't sure what to say, and those were just the words that happened to come out.
I nod. "I know that, Dawson," I say. "I just thought I'd stop by. It's a small attempt at normalcy."
"I haven't seen you since we . . . you know," he says, letting the words hang in the air.
"I know," I answer. "Avoiding you probably wasn't the best idea." I walk over to the bed and sit down beside him. "I still don't know."
He nods his head slowly. "I understand. I mean, I know that it must seem strange, especially after I gave you that whole speech about us needing time apart."
I'm in the mood for some analyzing, for talking about feelings. It seems like it's been so long since I've done that with anyone, much less Dawson. "Tell me what changed, Dawson," I say.
He inhales and his eyes narrowed. "I don't know how to explain it," he says as he nervously rubs the back of his neck with his hand.
"Try."
"I've changed," he says. "I feel like I know so much more about love; how it's not just about feeling the other person, but being in tune to who they are and what they need. Understanding that no matter how big the world is, it can be small enough to encompass only those two people. And no matter what the circumstances that got them there, they're better off for it after it's all over."
An image of Pacey and I together flashes in my head. Something seems strange about that. "What brought on this sudden epiphany, Dawson?" I ask. The moment is strange, almost like some sort of out-of-body experience. I'm waiting for an answer that I'm dreading, probably because I can predict it.
He closes his eyes and exhales. "This isn't how I wanted to tell you," he explained.
"Tell me what?" I ask, surprised at the indifference in my own voice.
"The reason that Eve and I are . . . over is because . . . she did what she set out to do," he says slowly.
"You slept with her?"
"Yes," he says, not stopping before he continues. "But I realized everything that was right and wrong with it."
It surprises me that I don't feel differently. I almost try to make myself feel bad. I want to feel that stab of pain in my chest like he betrayed me, but I don't. I don't feel anything but relief, almost as if the guilt is gone. Maybe Dawson and I were over long before now. He barely reminds me of the man I used to breathe for.
I probably say what he doesn't expect. Hell, he probably expects this as much as I did. "Like the fact that although everything you'd ever been taught about sex and love said it should've felt wrong, there was still something about it that felt right," I say in a hushed tone.
"Yes."
"Like the fact it's already done and there's no taking it back, and even if there were, you're not sure you would," I say.
"What?" he asks.
"Huh?" I say.
"What are you saying, Joey?" he asks quietly.
I shake my head. "I don't know what I'm saying, Dawson."
"I would take it back if I could," he says. "And now I know it's not right."
When I look into his eyes, I see we're so far apart. His experience seems to have been nothing like mine. If anything, it just leveled the playing field. And I see no reason why he shouldn't know that it did.
"I slept with someone too, Dawson," I say slowly, drawing the words out. "And I wouldn't take it back."
"You did what?" he asks.
"I slept with someone who wasn't you," I say, for my own clarification more than his.
"How could you do that?" he asks.
I'm stunned. I don't understand how he can do this. "Save the self-righteous indignation for another time," I say, standing up, walking toward the window. I don't know why I don't say the words. I feel like I don't care anymore. He's not worth my words. He's not worth my fight. He's not worth my tears. Especially not if he's going to judge me now.
"Joey, wait," he says, grabbing my arm as one leg stays outside the window. I narrow my eyes and look down at his hand with precise disdain.
"I didn't think you could do that," he says.
"Well, excuse me because I don't have ideals as lofty as yours, Dawson," I say. "Stop acting as though you have some stake in what I do, Dawson. This is my life."
"Who?" he asks, his voice forced, choking on the word.
"The who has nothing to do with you and me," I say softly. "It has everything to do with you and me if he's the reason you won't come back to me. I can't believe that I don't matter at all anymore." he says.
I shake my head. "You matter," I say, "just not when you act like this," I say. "We're not all perfect. We don't all see perfection even when we do screw up. I can't believe that you would do the same thing I did, but still not understand why I did it."
"Because I never thought that you would sleep with someone you didn't love," he says softly, releasing me from his grasp.
"Who said I didn't love him?" I say softly. Before he can respond, I'm making my escape down the ladder.
Something should've told me trying to talk to Dawson would be a mistake.
* * * * *