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The End
by Kaytee
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Note: This
is set after graduation, and has nothing to do with the what's going on
in the series past "A Winter's Tale" which means there was no lie and no
ensuing stupidity.
Author's Note II: The Dedication:
This is for Bijal. But the rest of you can read it, too.
Rating: PG
Distribution: Ask me
first.
Twilight had settled over
Capeside, painting the sky in vivid shades of pink and gold and purple
that blended gently with the blue. As she sat on the edge of the
dock with her bare legs dangling above the flowing creek, she tried to
quiet her thoughts and listened to the world around her. To the sound
of one cricket and then another beginning their evening song, to the mother
in the distance calling her child in for dinner. Laughter spilling
from the opened windows of the Bed & Breakfast carried on the soft,
warm breeze blowing in off the ocean. She couldn't remember the last
time she'd felt like laughing, though it couldn't have been more than a
week or so ago at the most. How far she'd fallen, how fast.
I can't go with you, he'd
said. We're heading in opposite directions, he'd said.
And she'd wanted to argue
the point, she'd wanted to beg and scream and make him understand that
he could never be the hindrance he imagined he'd be. She'd was ready
to fight for him and their relationship with everything she had and then
she'd seen his eyes and how resolved he really was. How decisive he'd been,
how final.
Could that only have been
a week ago, just seven days?
Joey Potter lifted her face
to the wind and closed her eyes against the beauty of the New England evening.
Spectacular sunsets are supposed to be shared, she thought. And I
have no one to share this with.
This was supposed to be the
beginning of an amazing summer. Of endless conversations with old
friends about nothing in particular while trying not to think about how
much she was going to miss them when she left for college in the fall.
This was supposed to be the beginning of long, lazy days that offered her
no decision tougher than which SPF to use. Or perhaps which direction
to steer the old pick-up truck during the road trip they'd planned on taking;
north or south, it wouldn't matter so long as they had a full tank of gas,
a little money, and each other.
It would have been an amazing
trip, another summer spent exploring the world with him. Another
three months stolen together, the only difference being the scenery.
Open road instead of the open water, neither would have cared. Since
she still had trouble from time to time with the truck's standard transmission,
he'd said, "You can read while I drive." She remembered how she'd
warned him against bursting into song, and how his blue eyes had smiled
before he'd kissed her. Distantly, she thought it sad that she might
never know the ending of the story they'd been reading to each other.
There was no use thinking
about it now, though. No use thinking about a trip she'd never take
with a man she no longer had. It would only depress her further,
and she didn't particularly want to find out to what depths she could sink.
She was already feeling so awful that she'd had to leave the dinner table,
or else she would have brutally kicked the newlyweds playing footsie throughout
the entire meal. Her escape had been clumsily made and she'd barely
been able to hold in the tears that threatened, and she knew she should
apologize to the guests. She should be helping Bessie, by taking
care of Alex or cleaning up the table.
She figured that Bessie was
getting sick and tired of her moping around, glaring at the guests and
shirking her chores. Her sister had been very understanding lately,
but Joey knew that she didn't have much more time available to her for
wallowing in her own despair. The clock was running out on how long
Bessie would tolerate it, and she figured that's who was walking up behind
her. Her sister, fed up with her sullen attitude and determined to
put an end to it.
Joey decided she'd get right
to the point. Without turning toward the approaching footsteps, she
stared out over the creek and sighed. "I know I haven't been easy
to live with lately, and I'm sorry, I really am. And I'm sorry I
haven't been helping out like I should.
"And I'll be better, I will,"
she continued, pausing for a moment to clear her throat. "I just
. . . I just need to catch my breath, you know?"
"I know."
Embarrassment spread through
her like wildfire at the sound of his voice. Why couldn't it have
been Bessie? Why couldn't it have been just about anyone else?
She didn't speak as he sat
down beside her on the dock, didn't look at him even though she knew that
he was looking at her. He smelled so good, so achingly familiar that
she wanted to breathe him in and just fucking feel better.
She wished he wasn't sitting so close she could feel the warmth radiating
from him. Just to be contrary, her body wished he'd sat even closer.
They sat there for what seemed
like forever, and she wondered what he was doing there but didn't have
the courage to voice the question for fear of crying. She felt as
though the dam would break if only she opened her mouth to speak.
Drawing her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her knees
and leaned her head down. As the evening deepened, she watched the
fireflies light up as they flitted carelessly through the air.
As it turned out, he was
the first to speak. She almost didn't hear him, his voice was so
quiet. No, not quiet. Rough, like it hurt to get the words
out. She knew exactly how that felt.
"I miss you."
Anger flared inside her and
the laugh that escaped her was bitter and tinged with sarcasm. "Gee,
I'm sorry I haven't been around lately, Pacey. Wonder what could
have kept me away."
As soon as she glanced at
him, she wished she hadn't. Her eyes drank in the sight of him as
though she'd been thirsting for him forever, but looking at him offered
nothing in the way of relief. He'd had his hair buzzed off again
and her fingers itched to run her fingers through the fuzz that remained,
knowing from memory how soft it would feel to the touch. The shirt
he wore was ugly, the Hawaiian print absolutely hideous, but it was so
Pacey that it nearly choked her. Why didn't he look as horrible as
she felt? Why weren't his eyes red and puffy, why wasn't his face
blotchy from crying so often, like her eyes and her skin were?
He couldn't seem to form
a response, though he tried several times. Sighing in frustration,
he scratched the back of his head and she looked away, back toward the
creek. The fading light made the water appear golden and she found
the beauty appalling. Offensive, even, when everything inside her
felt ugly and miserable. The words catching in her throat, she stared
out over the waves and said softly, "I miss you, too."
"Jo," he began, and she knew
the tone well enough to close her eyes. "I'm - I'm sorry."
She sniffled and wished she
hadn't, because she sounded like a little girl. "But not sorry enough
to change your mind."
"No."
Joey bit her lower lip and
tried really, really hard to keep from crying. "Then why are you
here, Pacey?"
He was quiet for so long
that she wondered if he was going to answer at all. The minutes seem
to stretch on interminably before he said, "I don't know, really.
I just had to see you."
"Well, now you've seen me,
Pacey," she said, tonelessly.
Quietly, a bit uncertainly,
he asked, "Do you want me to leave?"
"I don't ever want you to
leave, Pacey, I never did," she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her
ear with a hand that visibly shook. Though she looked out over the
water, it was hard to focus on anything for the tears that welled.
"But thanks for asking this time."
She shrugged his hand off
her shoulder as soon as he reached for her, rejecting his touch before
she could draw whatever comfort she could from it. She didn't want
to be soothed, she didn't want to be calmed or reasoned with. What
she wanted was to wake up and realize that this wasn't anything but a dream,
a nightmare she'd forget by dawn. If only.
"I never wanted to hurt you,
Jo," he said after a moment.
And somewhere inside her,
she knew that. She knew that the last thing he'd ever intended was
to cause her any pain. But somehow, knowing that didn't make her
feel any better. It didn't make her heart whole again.
It didn't ease the pain.
"I know you think you're
doing the right thing here, Pacey. I know you think you're being
noble and that this is for the best."
"Joey -"
"I know you're completely
wrong, though," she continued listlessly, cutting him off. "And I
know that there's nothing I could say or do to make you change your mind.
Is there?"
She met his eyes long enough
to find the answer she knew would be there. "Didn't think so," she
mumbled dully.
"I wish I knew what to say
here, Jo."
Which was mind boggling,
really. Pacey Witter, who could bullshit his way through anything
. . . at a loss for words. "Well, I don't have that particular problem,"
she told him. "I know exactly what I want to say to you."
The words were perhaps a
little colder than she'd intended, and she could sense him recoiling from
the harshness of her tone.
"So why don't you tell me."
"What?"
"Tell me," he repeated when
she looked at him. "Yell at me. Scream every obscenity you
know, hell, make some up. Get it all off your chest, Jo. I'll
listen."
Why did he have to be the
perfect ex-boyfriend? His earnestness made her itch to slap him,
or perhaps even kiss him. It irritated her that he couldn't just
break up with her and be an ass, no, he had to make sure she was going
to be okay. When she could trust herself to speak without breaking
down, she asked, "What would be the point?"
"It might make you feel better."
Joey couldn't help but laugh,
the sound utterly devoid of anything resembling genuine mirth. "Nothing
will make me feel better right now, Pacey. I'm not like you, okay?"
Confusion written all over
his face, he couldn't seem to stop himself from asking. "What the
hell does that mean?"
"I'm just saying, Pacey,"
she shrugged with careful indifference, though another sniffle gave her
away. "You seem to be doing awfully well for someone who used to
call at midnight to tell me that you couldn't wait for school, you had
to hear my voice right then."
"You have got to be kidding
me," he said. Incredulous, he continued with the first faint traces
of anger in his voice. "Do you seriously believe that I'm alright,
that I don't feel like crap and miss you every moment of every damn day?"
Her voice lacked a certain
confidence when she said, "I find that hard to believe. You don't
look any worse for the wear, Pacey."
"Would it make you feel better,
Jo, would it give you peace of mind if I looked like shit? If there
were bags under my eyes from lying awake at night, wishing things were
different? What if I looked like I hadn't eaten a full meal since
a few days before I broke up with you? Would that make it all a little
less painful for you to bear?"
She looked him straight in
the eye and answered honestly. "Yes. It would."
"Then sleep easy, Jo," he
bit out, his voice growing louder and angrier with each word. "Because
I hurt like hell and I can just barely stand it!"
Silence reigned and they
stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like forever, until the anger
slipped away as quickly as it had flared inside him. He broke the
gaze first, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled."
He sounded so lost and uncertain
that for the briefest moment, she was nearly overwhelmed by the need to
comfort him. Why couldn't she just hate him and move on?
It wasn't fair. Nothing on earth should be this hard, this confusing.
Maybe he was right, maybe
it would make her feel better if she talked about it. Toying with
the strap of her sandal, she wondered where to begin. Watching
him in the fading light, she was struck by inspiration and went with it
before she changed her mind. Lowering her legs into an Indian position,
she reached over and took one of his hands in her own, bringing it closer.
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