A/N: Two songs in this one – Breathe by Ryan Star and Stay With You by The Goo Goo Dolls. One more part of this story to go. Thanks for reading!
I awaken and frown to find the bed beside me empty. Pacey and I walked a good distance in our silence before we returned and wordlessly dropped into my bed to share a nap. Saying it had been a long night would be an understatement.
But the trouble was—where had he gone now?
I sigh and turn to set my feet on the ground. A week ago, I would've said that he wouldn't be comfortable leaving my room in the house with Jack out there. I'm not sure they have actually exchanged words during any of this but the words Jack had exchanged with me were enough to make Pacey bristle at the mention of Jack's name.
Last night changed the rules, though. I forgave Jack for what he said, although truth be told, in the light of day I'm thinking at least more conversation might be required. Ass kicking is still an option I reserve as well. I'm not sure what will be necessary to repair friendship there. I think, in some way, the damage done to Jack and Pacey's friendship might be worse.
I run a hand over my hair, and fix the messy knot. I stretch as I stand and pad in bare feet down the hallway toward the kitchen, where I can hear snippets of their conversation that stop me before I come into view.
"…no, I think she's dealing as best she can."
"You don't think this, like in Andie's case, might be too much for you to handle?" Jack's voice is skeptical. "It's an awfully heavy load to bear, man."
"It's not the same as Andie," Pacey says quietly. "Joey just plays things a lot closer to the vest. She's never actually dealt with any of this." He sighs. "She doesn't really need anyone's help to deal with it, either. That girl is strong enough to survive anything at this point, she just doesn't realize it."
"You have your own baggage, Pacey. Don't try telling me this isn't stirring that shit up for you, too."
There is a long lapse of silence, during which I can only guess at what Pacey's face might be saying for him. "I've been thinking about trying to get back in touch with my family lately anyway. When Joey saw her dad, I just… I don't know. That isn't how I want to be. I don't want to unexpectedly run into a family member and fall apart because I haven't dealt with the shitty hand they gave me. I want to be free from it. The only way I can be free from it is to go back and to tell them how badly I hate the way I was treated growing up. Once they know how I feel about it… you know, fuck them. I'm done."
I hear Jack's sharp intake of breath. "So if you leave here, go back there, then what?"
"I don't know, man."
"Are you… would you be coming back?"
"I said I don't know," Pacey says in a low voice. "It all depends on someone else in a way."
Jack's voice is soft. "You would do that for her?"
I can sense Pacey's discomfort in hearing his clothing rustle as he moves. I curiously can't move myself, waiting to hear his answer. I sigh, realizing it doesn't matter. I'm not going to let him do that for me.
I take the remaining three steps to put me in their sight before he can answer, with Jack sitting up a little more straight in his chair to indicate my presence and then Pacey looking over his shoulder and seeing me.
"Hey," he says simply, still hunched over the coffee in front of him.
"Hey," I agree. I sink into the chair opposite both of them. "Sorry I slept so long."
Pacey just shrugs while Jack looks over at me with a quiet "That's all right."
It seems the elephant has just entered the room. The silence is long and drawn out. I turn to Jack.
"Thanks for letting me borrow your shoulder last night," I begin, hoping to stir some sort of conversation. I'm sure whatever they've resolved is in a surface way, much like what Jack and I did. I'm sure they aren't ready for much more than that, either.
"Um, yeah. You're welcome," he says. "Joey, I know you don't want to hear this from anyone, especially me. But maybe you should go talk to someone about all this stuff."
I sigh and reach over to grab Pacey's coffee mug so I will have something to fidget with.
"I did, Jack. I talked to you."
"I'm not equipped to help you really handle all that," Jack says. He takes a drink of his coffee and looks over at me seriously. "There are a lot of things to deal with when such an emotional issue is at stake. And the fact that it all happened while you were so young just means there might be more damage."
"Oh, so now I'm damaged?" I say. "Nice."
"No, Joey." Jack rubs at his temples in frustration. "That's not what I'm trying to say. Again."
I sit back in my chair. "So I misunderstood when you called me a whore?"
His face falls, immediately understanding the leap I made because it's the same one he just made. I slide my gaze over to Pacey and his eyes have widened. He's looking at the table, his mouth clamped firmly shut and his jaw clenched.
"Yes." Jack says finally.
"Explain," I respond tightly. I slide Pacey's coffee mug back in front of him before I fold my arms, not needing any nervous gestures as my indignation and a hundred other emotions flare up. He looks almost grateful for the place to divert his eyes, his discomfort radiating off him in waves.
"Andie leaving really rattled me," Jack begins. "She had left just that morning before you two came back and it was still fresh in my mind. One of the wonderful things about Andie is, I suppose you could call it loyalty-"
Pacey snorts and we both look over at him.
"Sorry, continue." He says in that same low voice he's been using.
"No, I'd like to hear a little more about that," Jack says, his voice edgy and slightly caustic.
Pacey sighs, dragging his eyes up to meet Jack's face. "How in the hell do you get off calling someone who cheated loyal? Loyalty does not involve fucking another guy when your relationship is clearly defined."
And we're back to infidelity. My stomach sinks. I refuse to run away from this desperately necessary conversation though; not now, when I feel strong enough to have it out with Jack and defend myself.
I can see retreat all over Jack's face. "All I meant was that, once Andie decides to hold on, she doesn't let go easily."
"See, I would probably call that clingy instead of loyal." Pacey says.
"I'm not here to criticize my sister. Her mistakes, at this point, are in the past," he says, his sharp tone brokering no response.
"Forgive me if I'm not over being cheated on," Pacey mumbles and casts his eyes down.
"What?" I ask in near disbelief. I raise my eyebrows and my hands. "If you're not over that, what are we doing here?"
"Jo…" Pacey says on a tired sigh.
I can feel tears starting in my eyes. I'm still learning here; although my first instinct is to immaturely stomp away from him and refuse to talk this out, I'm not going to do it. I'm going to wait and listen to what he has to say.
I realize, quietly and only in my head, how much I've already changed this summer. I've learned a lot about myself – which was the goal. Now I just have to learn to be okay with, and even proud of, the new person I've gotten to know.
I sit back in my chair again and wait as he looks over at me.
"You're waiting for me to explain?" He asks, looking genuinely puzzled.
"Yes," I say, trying to keep my voice gentle while simultaneously indicating that explanation is required.
He gives me a small smile. While I've been busy learning about myself this summer, someone else has been busy learning me, too. I imagine it must be nice for him not to have to sit and wait while I work something out that he already knows for once and I smile back.
"All right then," he says, still smiling. The smile fades a little. "I just meant I'm not over the experience of being cheated on. It changed me forever, and I won't sit still in a relationship if I think the other person is going to bail out at some point in quite that way." He clears his throat. "As for being over Andie, yeah. That's not really even a question. I am."
He reaches his hand across the table toward me and waits expectantly while I unclench my posture to mirror his gesture. "I didn't realize you could ever sit still," I comment, unable to resist. He smirks at me.
Together, we look to Jack.
Jack seems to realize the spotlight is back on him and squirms in his chair. "Basically I was all keyed up because Andie was so upset when she left. I have watched this girl I know, this bright and beautiful girl, be so wrapped up in him that she can't be bothered to think of anyone or anything else. So I was a little hesitant to walk down that same road again."
"If you think I'm so fantastic, why use the hurtful words you used?" I ask in brow-furrowed doubt.
Jack sighs again, his eyes trained on his coffee mug. "I don't know. I really don't know why those words came out of my mouth. I only know that I'm sorry for them and I didn't mean them. I was just surprised to watch how fast your relationship has gone, I guess."
"But Jack, don't you understand? Our relationship is none of your business. It's none of anyone else's business because it's between Pacey and me," I finish quietly. "Being a real friend, well… all that's required of you is a shoulder and a listening ear from time-to-time." I clear my throat. "The whole purpose in this experience for me is to get to know myself. I can't do that if you're busy yelling."
I drop my voice and wait until Jack and I share eye contact. "So I'm asking you to stay out of it."
He just nods. "Yeah, okay."
My shoulders drop a little. "Okay. Part of that is I realize you aren't comfortable with the dynamic or the history between Pacey and your sister. So I will, as your friend, respect those limits. I'll try not to make it any worse. Okay?"
He nods again. "Okay. Thanks."
I sigh and look him over before I turn my full attention to Pacey. "Now, didn't you say something about a pre-July 4th bonfire that was taking place tonight?"
He nods. "Yeah, but I'm not sure if everything is still too wet with the freak rainstorms blowing through. I'll have to walk down there and check with them."
I give him a little smile. "Do you want me to go with you?"
He looks over at me, dressed in a spaghetti-strap tank top and short matching shorts that are really barely even intended for bed-wear. "Are you going like that?" He asks, eyebrow raised.
I look down and decide to tease him. I mean, of course I'm not wearing this out of the house. I'm not even wearing a bra with it, and even if I were the material is thin enough that just about everything would be on display, especially in bright sunshine. "Sure. What's wrong with this?"
A slow smile spreads across his face. "Why don't I take you back to your bedroom and show you?"
"Pacey doesn't want you on display like that. He's afraid you might get a better offer," Jack teases, throwing a smirk in Pacey's general direction.
I watch Pacey smirk back, which is Pacey-speak for I have no comeback, and stand. "I'll be right back. Give me three minutes or less."
"That's not the best offer I've had today," Pacey says with a frown. He watches me start to exit the room.
"Well, when I come back I'll have a better offer for you," I say over my shoulder. He gives me a sexy grin.
Again, I grab the first two items out of the closet my hands find, and I'm pretty sure the camouflage print skirt is Audrey's because it barely hits mid-thigh on me. The black spaghetti-strap tank top covers a little more than the one I was wearing, but not by much. At least the bra is built in so I don't have to worry about that.
I slip flip-flops on my feet as I walk into the kitchen.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in some ways Joey Potter is officially one of the guys. I do believe that took less than the allotted three minutes!" Jack cheers in a voice lower than his, sounding much more like a cheesy game show announcer.
I smirk at him.
"I don't know a single guy who wears a skirt that short," Pacey comments, very obviously looking me over. "Or a guy who could pull it off quite like that."
"I totally could," Jack protests. He looks me over. "Is that Audrey's?"
"I think." I say with a shrug. I look down and tug at the hem of the skirt. "And if you're drunk enough at the bonfire, I might offer to switch you just to test the veracity of your claim."
"And there she goes with the big words again," Jack says, looking over at Pacey. "It really is amazing, isn't it? I have no idea what the hell she just said."
"Yeah, tell me about it." Pacey says, his eyes lost somewhere just beneath the neckline of my tank top.
"Did you know she said anything?"
"What?" Pacey asks, looking over at Jack again. His eyes flit back to me. "Sorry," he ducks his head on a sheepish grin.
I smirk and hold a hand out to offer him help up from the table. He keeps his grip in mine and we head out the door and up the beach, away from the direction we normally go that would take us to his boat.
"Do you think Jack is right?" I ask, plagued by the thought even though I wasn't technically part of the conversation.
"About…."
"Well, I heard you guys talking before I came into the kitchen. And then he said something directly to me about my needing counseling. Do you think he's right?"
Pacey takes two measured breaths, keeping his gaze down at his feet before he speaks. "If you heard our conversation, then why ask? I told him what I thought."
"If you think I need to, I'll go."
He looks over at me, his glance still guarded. "You're really the only one who can decide. But I don't think you need it. I think you'll be fine. And if you aren't – well, then cross that bridge when you get to it."
"Are you sure that bridge isn't washed out?" I ask, my voice low.
"Yes." He says firmly. "You are strong enough to handle whatever life throws your way. You just have to believe you are."
"Back at you," I agree quietly. He looks sideways at me for a moment, his expression undefined, and then tucks his arm around my shoulders tightly. We walk without a word down the beach several more houses before we see a group mingling around a large fire pit dug right into the sand on the beach.
"Hey, guys." Pacey says easily. They look up and start mumbling various hellos. He tosses off quick introductions – Josh, Juli, Jeff, Anne, Bryce, Carolee, Dan, and Jodi – and I tuck right back into the quiet shell of that girl who first came down here. I stand in awe of him, really. He can make friends with anyone because there is always a well-placed joke or a charming smile at his disposal.
Is that proof that he's okay with such a lonely, heartbreaking childhood? He and I have talked growing up enough that I know the quick wit and charming smile usually come to him as a response to mask insecurity and doubt brought on by a father who taught him that he could only reach the lowest expectations of himself.
What would prove that I'm okay with my childhood? I can't come up with anything. I look over at Pacey. I suppose opening myself up to him, and continuing to open myself up to him will have to do.
She's fine, most of the time
She takes her days with a smile
Moves like a dancer in lights
Spinning around to the sounds
But sometimes, she falls down
Breathe, just breathe
Take the world off your shoulders
And put it on me
Breathe, just breathe
Let the life that you live be all that you need
She likes New York at night
She dreams of running away
Shine on, bright like the sun
But even the sky turns gray
I need you to hear me say
I need you to hear me say
Breathe, just breathe
Take the world off your shoulders
And put it on me
Breathe, just breathe
Let the life that you live be all that you need
Let go of the fear
Let go of the doubt
Let go of the ones who try to put you down
You're gonna be fine
Don't hold it inside
If you hurt right now, then let it all come out
Breathe, just breathe
Take the world off your shoulders
And put it on me
Breathe, just breathe
Let the life that you live be all that you need
Breathe, just breathe
Take the world off your shoulders
And put it on me
Breathe, just breathe
Let the life that you live be all that you need
(Breathe- Ryan Star)
He's been very careful with me. He's been treading rather lightly since the party last week, and I can't really blame him. It shifted something about our relationship.
He sets the mug of tea in front of me, where I'm sitting at the small table in his galley, reading Hamlet yet again. He presses a lingering kiss to my forehead. "Someday I'll make you explain the appeal of that book to me."
I look over at him with a smirk. "Someday, maybe you'll be able to understand the appeal without an explanation."
"The language is archaic and difficult to understand," he argues back.
"The language is precise and controlled and sometimes beautiful, even in its anger." I flip to a well-known passage, which also happens to be my favorite.
"You like it because it's like you then," he says simply. He sits beside me on the tiny bench.
I look up from the book, surprised by the compliment. "What do you mean?"
"It's okay to come undone, you know," he says simply. "I don't think you really know that."
I frown. "It's not that I don't know it intellectually. It's just that I've been burying all this stuff for so long that I don't know how to undo it. It just happens sometimes, in little bits and pieces." I point down to the words on the page. "To be or not to be, that is the question: whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arm against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them." I look up at him, aware of my slumping posture as he frowns while I read the words.
"So is it easier to live in opposition to those things that would threaten you, or to quietly endure?" I ask. "What do you think?"
"I think it depends on the opposition," he says frankly. "I mean, if this outrageous fortune is a bad choice someone else makes, they are the ones with that choice, not you. You just have to keep living. Let them deal with the consequences of their choices."
I sigh. "It's not that simple. In real life, there is a bleed over effect. I'm directly affected by my father's poor choices. I have been directly affected, time and time again. I've tried just living in spite of it, just quietly going on. I can't do that anymore. I have to stand up and oppose it."
"So you're going to tell Bessie?"
My shoulders slump further into the seat. "I don't know. Even if I told now, it could mean consequences for both of us."
"What if I told? What if I said that I'd run into him and you weren't there?"
I shake my head. "There is no way you would recognize my father on the street if you were there alone. You barely know him at all."
"I know you."
"And I am nothing like him," I say quietly. "Grieving for losing a father isn't the same thing as accepting responsibility for his faults. I can barely accept my own faults. I'm not going to take the burden of his on myself."
He gives a small smile. "Should I be concerned that your favorite part of a dark and twisted play is the main character's debate on whether he should kill himself or not?"
I smile and bow my head. "I'm not contemplating suicide, if that's what you're asking." I look up at him. "In fact, I'm not sure Hamlet is here. At least not until he starts talking about a dagger. I think he's asking if it's better to deal with things, to confront them, or to just live in ignorance." I raise an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
He ponders this for a minute. "I'm more of the 'eat, drink, and be merry' philosophy. I'm okay living the unexamined life."
"Are you?" I ask seriously. "Or do you just do what I do—you examine it when you're alone?"
He sighs and levels a heavy glance at me. "I don't want to talk about this now."
I nod. "Okay." I close the book and look at him, turning in the small space so I can face him head on. "What should we talk about?"
"Maybe not so much talk," he says in a low voice, leaning forward. I smile as we kiss; it's been kind of a long week with the tiptoeing and emotional issues forefront. We haven't done as much of this as I would've liked.
I lean up on my knees to get closer to him and he pulls me into his lap. I slide my feet down on either side of him, the intimate contact already almost enough to make me explode.
Apparently, I really enjoy sex. Especially sex with him.
He quickly divests me of the shirt and bra I was wearing and starts in with open mouthed kissed along my neck and down my chest.
It's amazing how quickly we've become comfortable like this with each other. I know just what he's going to do. He knows the anticipation is driving me slowly mad.
He finally moves backwards, taking us both off the bench. Not wanting to break the building intensity, I wrap my legs around his waist as he stumbles backward toward the bed, landing with me pressed on top of him. He guides his hand over my breast, rubbing a flat palm over my tight nipple and I rub against him hard. "Pacey…"
He moves his hand from my chest to the waistband of my shorts, stolen from him, to remove them. I lift up enough to allow this and then reach down to the waistband of his shorts.
I kiss my way back up from his legs, giving extra attention to his thighs with my tongue. He isn't willing to wait for that, though, and pulls me back up to where I'm straddling him. He hands me a condom and watches carefully as I sheath him with it. I move my knees forward to allow him entrance, and he takes the invitation. He puts his hands on my hips to lightly guide my movements as he grinds against me.
It's less than moments, maybe seconds, before the world explodes and all I feel, all I see, is him. It's total sensory overload, being with him like this. In these moments, he consumes my whole world.
He rolls us to the side, so we're tucked tightly against the paneling that makes the wall around the bed. He gently hooks my left leg over his hip, never ceasing in that relentless motion between us, the give and take where we meet each other in the middle. He slows the rhythm and looks at my face, a breath away from him. He brings his hand up to my face and places it to my cheek as he leans in to kiss me gently.
For as wonderful as the fast-paced and hard sex is, it has nothing on this. The tender stuff, the moments right before he gives himself over to me completely where he whispers my name and his love as we both lose control of time and place again.
After a moment to regain his composure, he sighs and drops his mouth to my neck. "Maybe we should go find some lunch. Have your roommates mentioned missing you?"
I turn my head over this. I haven't seen much of any of them since my breakdown. Jack stopped by Pacey's boat yesterday to make sure I was okay, while Pacey was at work and I was here alone. "No."
He nods. "Well, I'm sure they do. Maybe we should plan something for tonight." He gently pushes himself away from me and heads for the bathroom.
"Yeah, maybe." I agree, sitting up and looking around the small cabin to determine exactly where my clothes have gone.
"Um, Jo?" He says, something in his voice that is completely new to me. It sounds a little bit like panic, though.
"Yeah?" I ask nervously, pushing myself to the edge of the bed.
"I think we have a problem." He emerges from the head, already totally pale.
"What's that?" I prompt, pushing myself to stand.
"The condom broke."
We stare at each other for a long time after the words are out of his mouth. I'm not sure if we're both that surprised or if neither of us wants to be the first to react negatively.
"Wh-how does that happen?" I ask, sitting back down.
He shrugs. "I don't know, exactly."
"How do you know it happened?"
"How specific do you want me to be?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.
I sigh and drop my head into my hands. I can't help it. As unfamiliar as I am with how the whole cycle works, I find myself counting anyway. "What's today?"
"Thursday." He says simply. "The twentieth."
Two weeks. It's been two weeks since my last period started. What does that mean? Well, quite frankly I have no idea.
He frowns as he watches me. "Period math?"
I feel the blush creep up into my cheeks as I try to remember exactly how all this works. Yes, I paid attention to the process in school. It's just that the exact math of it has never been relevant to me. "Pacey…"
"I have three sisters and lived through lots of discussion on the topic. I'm sorry; I'm not particularly shy about it."
I roll my eyes and look at him. "You might be in a better position than me to do this math."
"Oh, I don't think so." He says. "While I witnessed various home remedies and much bitching, I am not all that certain on the process itself. Shouldn't you be more aware of how that works?"
"Probably," I agree on a sigh. "Is there a library close?"
He thinks for a minute. "It's not all that close, but maybe like a half hour away." He grins in amusement. "Why am I not surprised that, in the event of emergency, your first thought is to find a library?"
"Where else would you recommend I go?"
"We." He corrects gently. "We could probably go talk to your roommates. Knowing those two lovely ladies as I do, I'm sure they would have the answers you seek."
I close my eyes. "What if we have a problem?"
He sits next to me on the bed. "Well, then, I guess we'll just have to figure this out as we go, won't we?"
"Yeah," I agree emptily.
We make our way, post-run, into the beach house through the back door. Our run was silent, tense; not normal at all.
Jen is sitting at the kitchen table with a sandwich and a book. It looks like a cheap, paperback romance novel that was left here at least a decade ago. "Hey….. What's your name again?" She teases as she puts a potato chip into her mouth.
I smirk. "Very funny." I open the fridge to get a bottle of water and look over my shoulder at Pacey. "You want?"
"Sure, thanks," he says. It's the first time I've heard him speak since at least a mile back.
I toss the bottle to him and turn to pull a chair out from the kitchen table. "So, Jen. I have an awkward question to ask you. There's really no way to beat around it, so I'm just going to spit it out." I say, settling into the chair across from her. She puts her book down on the table, and unfolds her legs so her feet are flat on the ground.
"Okay, shoot."
I feel a blush creeping up over my face, the heat of embarrassment intense and immediate.
My face is red from running, because especially in the early afternoon it's starting to get hot outside, but he can tell. Pacey can always tell I'm struggling.
"Well, the condom broke," he says simply, dropping into the chair next to me. "We figured you might be able to tell us how worried we should be."
Jen nods. "Oh." She stays silent for a minute, thinking. "Well, how long has it been since your last...?"
"Two weeks," I say, looking down at the wood grain of the table and tracing my fingernail along one particularly deep groove.
"Oh." She says, worry more emphatic now. She blows her bangs out of her face. "Did it break before…after…?"
"During, at some point," is all Pacey offers.
"Too bad that Plan B thing is still in trial," she says simply. My eyes widen.
"We need to be that worried?"
"Joey, I would've thought you of all people would know more about this subject."
I shake my head. "I know the basics, but the timing has never really been relevant to me in this way before."
She nods. "Well, Will and I had one break last month so I looked into all this."
"What?" Pacey says, his voice kicking up a notch. "And no one said anything?"
"It ended up not being a big deal," she says simply. She looks over at him. "You're telling me it's never happened to you?" She raises an eyebrow in doubt. He just shakes his head. "Okay, well a girl is most likely to get pregnant right in the middle of her cycle; that's figured from the beginning of one period to the beginning of another. And since it's been two weeks since your last period, I'm guessing it's about two weeks until your next period, which would put you…"
"… Right in the middle." Pacey says, his eyes closing on the frightening words.
"So what do I do?" I ask, my voice sounding very small and foreign to myself.
"We," Pacey corrects again. "What do we do?"
I look over at him, immediately contrite for the slip—again—that implies he's leaving me hanging here. I put my hand over his on the table top and, so fast I barely notice the move, he flips his hand over and laces his fingers between mine.
"Well, you can go to Planned Parenthood, but there isn't much you can do until you know if she's pregnant or not," Jen says, looking between us. "You're going to have to wait and see if she misses a period."
"Two weeks?" I scoff. "You're telling me we have to wait for two weeks?"
She nods. "Sucks. But that doesn't make it any less true."
Pacey blows out a deep breath. "Okay." He looks over at me. "Sounds like we have some stuff to talk about, then."
My eyes meet his. I don't want to talk. I want to hide. "Yeah," I agree emptily. I stand. "Thanks, Jen."
"Welcome," she says, her eyes scrunching a little in concern. "Wish I had better news for you."
I roll my eyes. "Story of my life at this point." I turn to Pacey. "Ready to go?"
He raises his eyebrows. "Do you want to stay here a bit?" He's surveying me closely. I know the reality of the situation: he knows me well enough to know that I need time alone to go to pieces before I can deal with this on any sort of a partnered level.
I wish I could be the person who talks it all through with him calmly; the person who addresses his fears and my own, which are likely all the same. I wish I could be more like him.
Why can't I? Why can't I learn to do that? What's stopping me?
I give him a slow smile. "Let's go."
"Really?" He asks solemnly as he stands.
"Really," I confirm. My heart is pounding in my chest as his expression lifts into a hopeful smile. If I had to guess, I would imagine I feel an anxiety attack building. How do I fight these feelings, how do I turn this part of myself on its ear to include him the way he deserves to be included? How do I become part of an "us" instead of a singular entity? I'm not that good at relying on other people. How do I become good at it? Is that a skill you can practice?
He takes my hand quickly and we go out the back door, the same way we entered. As soon as we're out on the beach, headed back toward his boat, he stops and turns to pull me in for a kiss. If only I could define everything in that kiss. There's so much there to choose from.
I close my eyes and lean into him.
He presses his arms around me. "Your heart is pounding." He says in a soft voice.
"I know," I say, my eyes still closed. "I'm so scared, Pacey."
"I know you are. I am, too."
I nod. "I'm trying to be better at this."
"At what?"
"At letting you in; being partners. I'm trying really hard not to run away."
"I'm glad," he says simply. "I'm not going to let go, you know."
"What do you mean?"
He sighs, still holding me close. "The only thing I'm afraid of here is whatever it is you're holding on to so tight that you don't want to let go of it and hold onto me instead."
I swallow, feeling tears gathering at the back of my throat. "I don't know how to explain it," I begin on a sigh. "It isn't you. It's me. I know that is what always gets said, but it's true here. You have given me no reason not to trust you, and yet here I am fighting with myself every step of the way."
"So let go. I'll catch you," he says. "I swear I will."
I look up at his face from where I'm pressed to his chest. "So what do we do here?"
I feel my grip on the reality I've always known slipping a little.
He sits down, pulling me against him and between his legs. He folds his arms around me. "I don't know what we do. What if we're…" he swallows hard. "What if we're pregnant?"
"I'm not ready for a baby," I say simply. "I'm still pretty much a baby. I'm so emotionally crippled I might as well be one."
He leans down and kisses my cheek. "So would you want to have an abortion?"
I close my eyes and lean my head back against his chest. "When Bessie found out she was pregnant with Alexander, our whole world was already literally going to hell. Although it wasn't ideal, I went to the counseling meeting with her. I was fourteen years old, sitting in an abortion clinic, and wondering what I would ever do if I were in the same situation…"I trail off and chuckle wryly. "Little did I know."
"It's not the same, though. You aren't taking your sister with you through this because you have me. I'm assuming the baby's father wasn't around?"
"Bodie? Um, no. Not then. He finished up culinary school. They had actually kind of broken up because she knew she was going to have to come home and deal with my mom and my dad and… and me. He was visiting her at home every now and then, but the visits were getting further apart." I raise my hand up to my forehead and shake my head. "Bodie didn't know she was pregnant until she decided to keep Alex."
"And what made her decide to keep him?"
I open my eyes and look out at the ocean as I lean into the warm safety he provides. "She said she wanted someone to hold on to. She said after the loss we'd suffered, it seemed selfish to give up something as simply beautiful as a life."
He's quiet for a long time, his breathing steady behind me. "And do you agree?"
"Yeah," I answer eventually. "What about you?"
"My senior year of high school, my older sister returned unexpectedly from college to 'take some time'. That's what she told everyone. My dad had emancipated me when I was sixteen and kicked me out, so I ended up living with her. She told me the real reason she'd left school was that she was pregnant. I was there when she miscarried. We were still moving into the house we rented and she had a really hard time with it. It was only then that she admitted she'd wanted the baby. Not that she had gotten pregnant intentionally, not that she wanted a baby, but she wanted that baby. She believes in the poetry behind unintentional consequences or something like that."
I suck in a long, deep breath. "And do you agree?"
"I think unintentional consequences carry a message. Maybe there is something in that consequence that we need."
"And what would you need out of this?"
He's silent for a moment that feels more like an eternity than a heartbeat. "To stay with you."
"We need a baby to keep us together? That doesn't sound promising."
"No, but it is something that would force us to make a move of some kind and establish some permanency. If it were as simple as just staying together, I think you and I could do it forever without all the external stuff."
I nod. "I know what you mean. I've thought about it. Just throwing everything I've worked for out the window and…."
"You can't do that. Out of the two of us, I'm the more portable candidate." He admits. "I've kind of lived my life in an unattached way until now. You, you're obligated all over the place, but the least of which is not to yourself."
"I know," I echo. "But you are working down here and you're…"
"This was never meant to be a permanent place for me. It was more of an escape than anything else," he interrupts gently. "If we're having a baby, I would be wherever you are."
Having a baby. Having a baby. That seems like such a foreign concept. What do I do here? What's the right answer?
"You need to go," he says softly. It's not angry; it's not anything other than speaking the truth. He's very calm about the whole thing so far, even though I can feel his heart racing as we discuss this.
"What do you mean?"
"You need to go back to the house. You need to write on this, ponder on this… do whatever you do within yourself to resolve things and then we can talk." He says simply. "You need to go."
I sigh. He really knows me better than I know myself. I can already feel myself starting to withdraw from the reality of the conversation. He's totally right. I need time to myself.
"But what about you?"
"What about me? Take the time you need. I'll still be here," he says simply. "I'm learning about you as we go, Joey Potter." He stands up and helps me stand up. He keeps a hand on my waist.
"And what is it you're learning?" I ask in a voice far shakier than I would like it, hoping the answer is good.
"You digest things on your own. Talking through them won't help you until you digest. So you take what you need, and I'll get what I need." He leans in and gives me a soft kiss. "Just don't take too long. And come find me when you're ready to talk, okay?"
I nod. "Okay."
"I love you," he says simply.
"Back at you," I reply. I stand and watch him go up the beach toward his boat. I swallow back the wave of nausea that comes with the entire permanent decision making process and all this thinking of something other than self-preservation. Can I do this? More importantly, do I have a choice?
In the last thirty-six hours, I've done some thinking. To be precise, I've done a little showering, a little eating, very little sleeping, and a lot of thinking. I've done a lifetime's worth of thinking. If we're being fair, it's three lifetimes worth of thinking: mine, his, and ours. There is definitely an "us" here now that, if my gut instinct is correct, will become a threesome in a short nine months or so.
I've done some thinking. What does all this mean? Do I have it within myself to avoid being a total coward like my own father? What if I have the breast cancer gene and I die young like my mother? Would it be fair to ask a child, maybe a young child, to deal with that? Do I have it within myself to trust, that if either of those things happen, that Pacey could be everything to a baby that my father could not be?
I've come to some important conclusions.
Firstly, I've learned from the mistakes of my father. I could never abandon or betray a family. I have a total disdain for drugs and drug culture, and I'm positive that carries over into other areas of discretion. I can say beyond the shadow of a doubt that I would never have an extra marital affair. Never. As eager as I was to rule everything about myself out of character before this summer, and have since found some of it to be actually true about who I am, I am dead certain this is not the case for me. I couldn't do it. I couldn't sneak around behind the back of someone that I love, no matter how rough the going got.
Do I think Pacey could do it? If we're talking available options, yes. This time with him has proven nothing but the fact that he is considered available by the female (and some male) segments of the population. If we're talking desire, I think not. Pacey was so hurt when Andie cheated on him. He knows what it's like to be on the other side of an adulterous affair, and he doesn't seem capable of exceeding the bounds of loyalty to inflict that emotional harm on another person. He seems like the guy who would stick by someone he loves through the fires of hell. Even if the fires of hell were actually her death.
Bessie and I have agreed not to have the test for the cancer gene. We swore, should either of us be diagnosed with cancer, that we would just fight and genetics be damned. We promised each other, so there is really no way I can know without breaking a very important promise, if I have a chance of getting breast cancer. I know it might seem ridiculous to be a nineteen year old who does regular breast exams, but I do them faithfully. I'll continue to do them.
In reality, it's the best chance this child has of growing up with a mother. I'm terrified to admit it, but I'm sure that's the next major role I will play in my life. I'm hoping that role will give me the freedom from other roles I'm starting to feel this summer. I'm shedding the roles as source of town gossip, daughter of a convicted felon, and daughter of a dead mother. I'm losing the identity of being poverty-stricken, painfully shy, and unknown to those around me. I'm learning how to walk the line between protecting my family and protecting myself. I'm learning to become comfortable in my own shoes, and it's going to be so important.
I have to trust myself before I can trust myself to raise someone else.
I have to trust myself in this partnership Pacey and I have built if we're going to be parents. I have to trust myself as equally as I trust him. I have to love myself and be okay with the past I've lived through if I'm ever going to love and accept him. He's very easy to accept at face value, to accept for a summer; accepting him for a lifetime, a committed lifetime no less, will take work. But do I trust that he will stay faithful to those commitments? After a lot of thought and trying to talk myself out of it, I really do. I trust him.
The bottom line here is that it's not my fault. It's not my fault that my father did really, really crappy things to me. It isn't anything other than providence that my older sister stepped up to the plate and finished raising me, giving up her own time to find herself in the process. She made that choice and she feels I'm worth it. With her belief in me, I've finally realized that I can climb mountains. I owe it to her to make this, to make my life, work. I owe it to her to live up to the obligations I'm making here, even if this isn't a path we had discussed or chosen for me. I can do any of this because Bessie has led the way and been a fabulous example of a strong female caretaker. She should be proud of me, and I think she will be, even if she initially has a negative reaction. Change is usually not easy, and this will be a big change.
My father can only hurt me if I choose to let him. I'm done letting him. I hope I've dealt with everything he's dished out, but really I can only accept victim status as long as I'm willing to take it. Even if I'm afraid, I have to fight back against that stigma. I think I'm strong enough to do that now. I think I've been strong enough, and I've been fighting it all along, but I don't think the fight will again catch up to me the way it did a week and a half ago.
Will Pacey resent me? I hope not. He's been saying all summer that we could find a way to truly be together if I would just let go of the fear. I may still feel it, sure, but I'm going to work against it and continue living anyway. In spite of the fear, being with him is so worthwhile and creates the freedom for me to explore so many parts of my hitherto unknown self. He pushes me to do it without force. It's only encouragement, and then he seems to delight when I share my discoveries with him. In that respect, he's the perfect partner for me because I have so much to discover. I've been so busy trying to shove down the negative and the hurt in my life that I've never discovered the good, lasting things about myself.
How in the world am I going to tell him all of this? It's at least thirty-six hours worth of talking. He's got to go to work. I glance over at the clock. It's 5 o'clock in the morning. His boat is docked about seven miles away. Maybe he'll meet me in the middle on the beach if I start running. We seem to have some screwball sort of detection system when each other is around. Although, if I can feel any part of him, I'm sure he's nervously waiting for me to come to him. Maybe there would be drumming fingers or tapping toes to give him away. I grab my small messenger bag, the one I use for school when I return from one or maybe two classes at a time, and put my journal in it. I've done enough soul-searching and answer-finding within its pages that now I'll exercise the ultimate trust in him – I'll let him read it.
Scratch that, he can have it.
My heart is inscribed on those pages. Every thought, errant emotion, or unchecked verbal tirade I've had this summer is in there. And it all seems to revolve somehow around him. It's like an 80-some odd page love letter. It's everything to me.
So is he.
I change into running clothes, noting the cloud covered sky outside that makes the sea look like an inky storm in the pre-dawn darkness. It's probably raining, no misting, as it has been for the last two days. But I don't care. It doesn't matter. I have to get to him.
I layer a long-sleeved t-shirt (I think that might be Audrey's) over my tank top and shorts, strap the messenger bag around me, and blow out a nervous breath. I can do this. I can do this one step at a time, right? There's no rule that says it has to be all at once.
I sneak out the back door, carefully making sure the door latches. The motion sensor lights trigger and momentarily blind me. I pause to let my eyes catch up. I once more survey the thick clouds over the 6-foot high vinyl fence. They're still there, all right. But I'm not instantly drenched, as seems to be the pattern with Florida rainstorms, so for now the weather is at least holding even if the temperature is almost bitterly cold. I shiver through the long-sleeved shirt and briefly consider heading back for long pants. Did I even bring any? I'm not sure.
After a few minutes of debate, the lights turn off and I head away from the house, triggering them again as I slip out the back gate.
It's been a couple days since my last run, but I don't want to get caught in a nasty storm. I drop into a brisk walk that quickly becomes a slow jog, which slowly evolves into a real run. I can't rein this in any longer.
I feel the wind pick up at some point, even feel the misting rain start, but somehow none of that matters.
It takes me a little over an hour to get there, which is actually a personal best. I'm drenched by the time I arrive, and I'm sure I'm just lovely to behold. Somehow I don't think he'll mind.
I slow down as I hit the dock, walking and hoping to even my breathing out just a little before I see him. He always leaves me a little breathless anyway, so I'm sure I won't be able to catch my breath entirely. I survey the world around me, wet and rain slicked, just as day is breaking.
He's just emerging from the bowels of the boat, dressed in that same faded high-school logo sweatshirt he always wears, and sweatpants. His hair is getting too long and is sticking up in every conceivable direction. I smile a little to myself as I see him.
"Jo—what the hell?" He asks, immediately looking concerned. "Did you run here? And you know it's only like six in the morning?" He reaches out a hand for me to help me up onto the boat.
I smile at him. "Hi."
He chuckles a little. "Are you insane?"
"I might be," I admit. A strong gust of sea air washes over us and I shiver involuntarily. The fact of the matter is I'm absolutely soaked at this point, and without the internal friction of running, I'm already starting to get cold.
"You're soaking wet," he says softly as he leans just past me to grab one of the well-worn beach towels he keeps above deck. He tucks it around me tightly and pulls me against him. "It's good to see you." His voice hits that low register that's just for me.
"I was hoping you'd feel that way," I admit, pressing my cool lips to his throat.
He groans and closes his eyes. "You're freezing," he protests. "I need you to take better care of yourself… now." I catch his meaning, the reason he hesitated. He's sure I'm pregnant, too. It's a little strange to feel content and terrified in one breath, and he manages to capture it perfectly.
I close my eyes as I lean into him, able to relax at last for the first time in two days. "Sorry," I mumble sincerely.
"Yeah, well…" he hesitates teasingly. "Let's get you below deck and find you something warm to wear." He tugs on the towel that he wrapped around me and I slip my hand out to take his as he leads me inside.
He's quick about it as he finds me a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt to put on. I ignore the random places he pulls these things from. He's tried explaining what he called his "filing system" to me, but it became abundantly clear that there was less system to it than throwing something and hoping it lands in the right spot. I'm really no longer shy around him, and barely modest, and strip down quickly only to replace my wet clothes with his dry ones.
He spreads out on his bed while I'm getting dressed. "Now why don't you come over here and let me warm you up properly?" He asks seriously.
I smile softly and reach for the messenger bag that was discarded in my haste to warm up. "First things first," I say simply as I pull out my journal.
"What's this now?" He asks as I hand him the book. He takes it and flips it over. "Why are you handing me your journal?"
I take a deep breath and, even though my feet are itching to run again, I say "I want you to read it. And have it."
He frowns. "I'm not following."
I offer a tremulous smile. "The best way for me to explain everything I've thought for the last couple of days, or really even for the whole summer, is for you to just read that."
"But it's your journal," he says simply. "I can't do that."
"I'm telling you to," I reply earnestly. I shrug and sit down next to him. He moves over on the bed so I have room to lay my legs out. He rests the journal against my thigh and looks up at me.
"You don't have to do this."
I swallow hard, looking down at him like this. Here where it's just the two of us, possibly the three of us, it's very easy to imagine this being my whole world. It's very easy to see my whole future laid out in the beautiful map of his face.
"I want to." I cock my head to the side. "Why are you arguing?"
He allows himself a deep breath. "I'm waiting for the neuroses to kick in."
I smile in allowance. "Sure. The thing is I've come to some important conclusions in the last couple days."
"What kinds of conclusions?" He asks as he drops his eyes back to the brown leather cover.
"I want to be with you, Pace. I want to figure all this out. Together."
"Me, too," he says simply. He gestures for his phone. "Hand me that."
I grab his cellular phone out of the small cubby next to the bed that passes for a nightstand. He flips the Motorola open and hits a few buttons. "Hey, it's Pacey." He says softly into the phone. "Is Greg there?"
I scowl a little as I recognize the office manager's name on his lips. I listen further as he leaves Greg a message saying that, unless his presence is mandatory, he has somewhere else he needs to be today. He is quick to reassure that it's of the utmost importance and he would like to speak with Greg one-on-one about it tomorrow.
"You're calling in sick?" I ask as he hands the phone back to me.
"Yes." He says. "The way I see it, I have some reading to do. That's far more important."
I lean down and kiss him on the lips, my fingers finally losing the battle to end up in his mussed hair. He slides a hand around my waist, pressing into the kiss as though his life depends on it. I slide down a little in the bed as we kiss, making the angle more accessible without really even thinking about it.
He pulls away, and then comes back for one briefer kiss before he looks at my face now on the level with his. "You look tired."
I smirk. "I haven't slept much. It's a byproduct of all the thinking."
He reaches his thumb up to run it under first one eye, then the other, where I'm sure there are dark hollows from the lack of attention to my physical health. My eyes yield and close under his soft touch. "I know how that goes."
"Yeah?" I ask, sliding down further into the bed. He moves away just enough that he can pull the covers up around his both. "What did you think about?"
"Well, mostly the stock market. You know, is it more of a bear or a bull? And really, what does that mean for my investing strategy as a whole? Should I be more interested in off-shore types of –"
"I asked," I say to cut him off. "There's really no one else to blame here."
He chuckles lightly. "Why don't you sleep a while? We can dispense with the heavy conversation after I read."
I nod, but it probably looks more like some sort of a twitch as I start to doze under his loving care.
I awaken with a yawn and a stretch and find him curled beside me, my open journal tipped awkwardly between us as he snores lightly. The afternoon sun is bright and intense coming in through the small round window and beating right onto the bed.
I manage to shrug out of the sweatshirt without waking him and then pull just the sheet over me. I'm estimating, because I'm too lazy to roll over and look at the clock, that I've been asleep for at least ten hours.
He sighs in his sleep and I look over at him. He curls toward me, his lips mumbling some incoherent words. He tucks his face in tightly, as if he's trying to escape the sun, but ends up with his nose pressed into the book and he sits up fully, smacking his head on the low rise of wood planking above the bed. He reaches a hand up to rub at the spot on his head and opens his eyes for the first time.
"How long have you been there like that?" He asks, his voice deep and roughened with sleep.
"Long enough," I say with an amused smile.
Every morning for the rest of my life – could I be this lucky? It could really be this wonderful. When plans change, it doesn't have to be disappointing and heartbreaking. It could be this instead.
"So…" he says. He motions awkwardly toward the book. "You trust me. And it only took about 65 pages to realize it."
I smirk. "I'm a little slow like that."
"No," he says simply. His eyes sweep over my face and the amusement fades from his eyes. It looks a lot more like worry now. "You aren't slow. You have just had a lot to deal with. I'm afraid that we've made it worse for you."
I nod. "Yeah."
"I don't want to do that. I don't want to be the one who pressures you, or puts you into this position, Joey."
"It was both of us," I hedge.
"I still feel responsible," he admits in a low voice.
"You take on too much responsibility." I answer sharply. "I know because it's what I do. The real problem with everything – my mom getting sick and dying, my dad being a criminal – is that I take responsibility for things that aren't my fault." I blow out a breath. "I know that now. But this? This is partly my fault. Taking responsibility for it is right and okay and you need to share it with me. That's the only way this is going to work."
"You're the one with a bright and shiny future. I'm the one with the faulty condom."
I roll my eyes. "Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? Or do I have to spell it out?"
He looks out the small window to his left and then lets his eyes come back to me. "You said you would want to keep a baby," he says. I'm not sure, from the way he says it, whether it's a question or a statement.
I nod. "Yeah."
"What if, in ten years, you have a 5th grader and something has gone south with us because you resent that you didn't get the bright and shiny future you had all laid out for you?"
"I can't promise that wouldn't happen," I say as a beginning. "But if that's the case, I'll have to adjust my thinking. I'll have to find a way to change whatever it is that makes me so unhappy at that point. Besides, it's a lot easier to go back to school or whatever when you have a ten year old as opposed to a newborn."
"So you would drop out of school now, is that it? I don't want that!"
I feel heat rising in my cheeks. "Would I really have a choice?"
"You have all the choices here, Jo."
"That is not fair!" I squeak out, moving off the bed so I can stand up. "You can't put all this on me!" My voice is rising. This isn't what I want. I don't want to fight.
"No, that's not what I'm saying!" He protests, scooting off the bed. I step back so he can stand. "It's not going to change anything for me because it's not like I have plans. I'm just going with the flow here. You're the one with plans, with decisions to make."
I shake my head. "Okay, then take this information: I'm having this baby. I'm not sure yet how that's going to fit in with school or anything else. I don't think it's going to. I think I'll have to put school on hold for a bit and go home. I have a support system at home that can help me."
He lets out a deep breath. "Do you want to quit school?"
"No. But I'm not going to be able to work, take care of a baby, and go to school. I especially won't be able to afford it in New York. If I stay in Capeside, I can work with Bessie. There's a community college there I could go to. I could take one or two classes at a time, at night or whatever fits into a schedule. It's a lot more affordable. With an income from the B&B and maybe another part time job, I could at least afford a small apartment and cover the basics."
"So what about me? Is there anything for me there?"
"That's up to you." I say simply. "As far as jobs go, there is all the typical stuff with the water around. It's on a harbor. So there are fishing jobs, jobs with boats…" I shrug emptily. "You could live there with me if you wanted to."
He nods. "Okay." He reaches an arm out to me. "We can live on True Love. Or, or maybe… maybe I could sell her. I'm sure we could use the money."
I sigh and shake my head. "Maybe we could live on the boat. I think docking is reasonably priced in Capeside. It isn't like the Vineyard or anything. I don't want you to sell your boat, Pace. That's asking too much."
"It's okay for you to give up school but I can't sell my boat?" He clears his throat. "If I sold the boat we might be able to afford an apartment in New York for a while. You could stay in school." He pulls me next to him. "It would be enough to at least get us started."
I let out a long sigh. "We'll see. I don't want you to have to sell your boat." I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. My voice is infinitely smaller. "I don't want you to have to give up anything. Or to feel like you have to."
He tips his head as he looks at me speculatively. "Is that why you've been fighting me this whole time on trying to stay together after the summer?"
I can't make eye contact with him. I can't say anything.
"Joey, what keeps me with you – baby or no baby – is not a sense of obligation. Please don't think that. It's as simple as knowing where I want to be and knowing who I want to be with. I know we started this as a short-term thing, but it's taken on a life of its own to me. I'm sorry if you don't feel the same way." He drops his head as if maybe it hurts a little to look at me.
"It's not that," I begin quietly. "It's that you, as you said just a little bit ago, you live your life in an unattached way. You do that on purpose," I raise my shoulders up a little and sigh. "That's how you're happy. Who am I to take away from that?"
After a long pause, his voice is quiet. "Maybe you're the only one who can take away from that."
I give him a soft kiss. "What about setting someone free if you love them?"
"You can set me free. I'll just come back."
Slowly, tentatively, warily… I give in a little bit. "Promise?"
He smiles slowly. "Yes, I promise. You're stuck with me."
I put my hand on my hip. "That sounds a little more like a threat."
"Now I suppose that would be in the eye of the beholder."
"I'll give you something to behold."
"Are you sure that isn't more threat than promise?" He asks skeptically as he walks toward the head.
"Maybe both," I admit. He slips a grin over his shoulder at me as he goes into the small room and closes the door.
These streets
Turn me inside out
Everything shines
But leaves me empty still
And I'll burn this lonely house down
If you run with me
If you run with me
I'll stay with you
The walls will fall before we do
Take my hand now
We'll run forever
I can feel the storm inside you
I'll stay with you
Fooled by my own desires
I twist my fate
Just to feel you
But you, turn me toward the light
And you're one with me
Will you run with me?
I'll stay with you
The walls will fall before we do
Take my hand now
We'll run forever
I can feel the storm inside you
I'll stay with you
Now come in from this storm
and I taste you sweet and warm
Take what you need
Take what you need
From me
Wake up this world
Wake up tonight
And run to me
Run to me now
I'll stay with you
The walls will fall before we do
Take my hand now
We'll run forever
I can feel the storm inside you
I'll stay with you
(Stay With You – Goo Goo Dolls)
