2. "Hero"

Ouch, that hurt! Bessie just dropped a pan in the kitchen and I feel like she hit me over the head instead. She might as well have. My head is pounding and I can't bear to open my eyes more than a sliver. Light. It hurts.

Everything hurts. My teeth, my hands, my stomach… Oh God, I need to get into the bathroom now.

Close call. I wonder if I could keep some aspirin down. I turn on the water and realize I don't think I can even keep that down. Did I really drink that much?

"Pacey, I know I don't say it enough but you're a really terrific friend."

Terrific fiend is more like it. I guess I must have had more than I thought. I only remember one, maybe two, before Pacey started taking drinks out of my hand. Wait a minute, he was taking drinks out of my hand—where was Dawson? He was supposed to bring me one before…

That's right. He found Jen, or Jen found him, at that stupid party and suddenly I didn't matter anymore. He left without saying anything, didn't even bring me that drink he promised, and all I wanted to do was take the hurt away…drown it, if I could. Someone kept bringing me drinks, who was that?

"Alright, Jo. Say good-bye to the nice serial rapist man."

I was dancing with this weird-looking guy with long blond hair and… Were we dancing or making out? I just remember how bright the sun was and the sand in my shoes and…he touched my boob! But I was laughing and then…

"Jo, are you okay? You've been in there for awhile."

"I'm fine, Bess."

"Do you want to go to church with us?"

"No, thanks. I'm going back to bed."

"Don't forget we need you at The Ice House this afternoon." How could I forget?

But then I seem to be forgetting a lot of things these days. I start walking back toward the couch and have a sudden flash about kissing someone while I was lying there. And what happened to the rest of my clothes anyway? This isn't what I was wearing last night.

zzzzzzzzzz

"So, Potter, how's it going this bright and shiny day?"

He's being sarcastic, right? I lift my head from my hands, my shield from the disdainful cheeriness surrounding me. All I can do is groan in response; Pacey laughs. I like his laugh, but I would never tell him that. Instead, I give him the eye. "Bite me, Pacey!"

He growls as if he's tempted to do just that. I go to slap his hand, but he flinches and moves away; his knuckles are black and blue, I didn't notice that.

"Alright, cowboy. Party's over."

"Did you want to order something or are you going to make yourself totally useless around here?" I ask, sliding off the counter stool.

"Just checkin' in. I thought you might want to catch a flick at the Rialto when you get off."

"I don't know. The last time I went to the movies with you, you ended up with a shiner."

"And that shiner got me a well-earned kiss."

"Don't even think that I'll reciprocate."

"I wouldn't dream of it. The double feature starts at six, can you make it?"

"Double feature?"

"Jackie Brown and Tomorrow Never Dies." I make another face. "Ah, come on. You can't turn down James Bond! I'll buy popcorn."

"And sodas?"

"And sodas."

"And…"

"Let's not get too greedy, Potter."

I can't help that sly smile that crosses my lips. Ouch. Even that hurt. "Okay," I respond. He gives me a surprised look and even I'm surprised that I'm not giving him more grief. But, actually, a dark movie theater sounds pretty enticing right now—if I don't like the films I can at least catch a few zzz's.

Pacey nods. "See ya, Potter. Don't be late!"

zzzzzzzzzz

"Feeling any better?" Dawson asks, plopping down into a corner booth.

"I should be mad at you," I retort. "You deserted me."

"I came back."

"Only after being dumped!"

"Hey! Low blow, Joey."

"Sorry, Dawson. My head's still swimming. I guess I should thank you for saving my life and all."

"Huh?"

"You know, frat boy?"

"No, it was Pacey who clocked him. He saw the guy hanging all over you, looking to score, and he pulled him off. Luckily, the frat guy swung and missed; Pacey didn't."

"Pacey hit him? But I thought…"

"I saw what happened and before I could get there, you fell down. You were totally wasted, Jo! What were you drinking anyway?"

"Not that I care, but you may want to pace yourself with this stuff."

"I don't know. I didn't do a taste comparison. What were they serving?"

"Beer and vodka shooters. But Pacey told me he'd seen the frat guy sneaking something extra into your drinks." Shit. He was watching out for me after all.

"Mind if I ask how we got home?"

"Pacey." Of course Pacey.

"He borrowed the squad car and we poured you into the back seat—after assuring you that you weren't being taken in, however. By then you were drooling like a basset hound…" Not an image I care to remember. "You passed out muttering something about heroes."

I thought you were my hero, dumbass. I guess I was wrong.

"Well, thanks anyway for bringing me home and getting me into bed without waking Bessie."

"I deposited you on the couch, but I'm afraid you'll have to thank Pacey again for keeping Alex quiet…because you couldn't stop talking once you hit the cushions. When you finally settled down and we were about to leave, he chastised me for leaving you like that."

"Like what?"

"Well, to be honest, Jo, you smelled like alcohol. Pacey took off your jacket—I guess you spilled something on it—and cleaned you up."

It's all starting to make sense. He said he'd always be there for me, but when it counted…he wasn't. Pacey was.

Dawson guffaws in that really irritating manner of his. "What?"

"I was just remembering the expression on Pacey's face when you grabbed him and hugged him like you weren't going to let go. You were holding on so tight, he couldn't even move his arms."

Okay, that's embarrassing. Are my cheeks turning red?

"Finally, you loosened your grip and passed out for good. By the time we made it out the door, you were already sawing up a storm."

"I don't snore!"

"Joey, you could've laid waste to an entire forest."

"Whatever."

"So Pace was telling me about this English Patient conundrum. What do you think it is that Alex likes about it?"

"It's long and boring and never seems to end. But it has pretty pictures and nice music and lots of sand. It puts him to sleep." It puts me to sleep—personally, if I'm going to error on the side of overblown epics, I'd rather watch Titanic.

"I brought you something," he says, handing me a gift bag.

"Dawson, you shouldn't have…" I open the bag and retrieve a video copy of The English Patient along with a CD of the soundtrack.

"Got all your bases covered," he says.

Just then, Jen walks by the bayfront window and I can see that, once again, the bosomy blonde has snared his attention. I pretend not to care, but I do.

It's all a matter of what you can tolerate.