April 12, 2002
"Jen, I'm sorry, I forgot about the time difference. Next time I call, I'll remember, I swear. But, just wait 'til you hear what I have to say!"
"Dawson, whatever it is, can't it wait until morning? Maybe this time I'll forget the time difference and call and wake you up at 5 am."
"But, Jen..." He all but whined.
"Okay, what is it."
"Well, you know that the short that I did over Christmas break went over pretty well? Well, I got to talking to my professor, and I told her how you and Jack go to NYU and how you helped me with my project and with some of my, ahem, earlier work," he laughed at himself.
"Okay, so? You're professor wants me, right? Since I do such magnificent work."
"Not quite, Jen. Not that you aren't an excellent producer, a wonderful leading lady and a great provider of objective assistance with my ailing screenplays. But, when I mentioned NYU she told me that USC and NYU have a kind of partnership between their film schools. So, if I take classes at NYU they count toward my USC credits!" Dawson took a deep breath.
"Oh, no. I think I know where this is heading..."
"So, ummm, Jen. Can you and Jack do me a favor?"
"Um-hum. Just what I thought."
"Since you're both going to be there anyway, can I stay with you for a couple weeks over the summer? I'll pay a third of the rent and utilities and everything." His voice carried a hopeful tone.
"Of course, Dawson. Did you already register for the course?"
"Ummm, yeah."
"Well then, why even ask. Why not just show up on our doorstep, baggage in tow?"
"'Cause I need someone to pick me up at the airport?"
"Funny, very funny. Now can I go back to sleep?"
"Sure, sorry to wake you. Um, tomorrow's Friday, I think this is your week to call, when should I be expecting it?"
"At five in the morning, idiot, when do you think."
"Okay, I get it. Go back to bed, I'll talk to you soon."
"Bye, Dawson."
***
June 18, 2001
"'Storytelling Strategies' and 'Film Theory', each two hours twice a week."
"Sounds cool, you must be so excited," Jen said. She and Dawson were helping Jack rearrange the furniture in what was to become the 'guys' room.
"I'm really glad that I managed to borrow this extra bed from Kevin," Jack said. Referring to a friend who was going home for the summer and, thankfully, left his furniture behind.
The three friends continued to move furniture and help Dawson unpack in relative silence. Listening to the music from the nearby CD player, and communicating with one word sentences and grunts.
"Well, it looks like I'm all set up," Dawson said, surveying his new living space. "Maybe we should celebrate! Where's the nearest Blockbuster?"
This was received with groans from both Jack and Jen.
"Come on Dawson, don't you ever get sick of movies? Let's go out. Jen and I like this little club over on 9th St. Care to join us?" Jack looked at Dawson raising an eyebrow in challenge.
"Sure, change of pace would be good," Dawson replied, although he was certain this change of pace would not have been his choice.
After changing and eating some dinner, they found themselves in a dark, smoke filled room, where a band was playing something that passed for music. They found their way to a table, and sat there together. After giving their drink orders to the waitress, Jack and Jen started talking about work, while Dawson took in the surroundings. People-watching was a favorite past-time for the aspiring director.
"So, Dawson. Dawson.... Earth to Dawson." Jen finally snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention.
"Hunh? Oh, sorry Jen. Just a little day dreaming. See that guy over there, the one in the green button down?" Dawson lifted a hand to point and Jack and Jen acknowledged the man in question.
"What about him?"
"It looks like he's nervous. I found myself building a story over why. Is he here to met someone? Is he avoiding a bad situation by being here?"
Jack and Jen both considered the mysterious man with the nervous demeanor.
"Maybe he's working up the courage to come over and ask Jenny here to dance," was Jack's input.
"Maybe."
The night wore on. Jen made Jack dance with her, and when another guy seemed interested, Jack came back to the table with Dawson.
"Does she do that often?" Dawson asked.
"What?"
"Met people at clubs and dance with them. It makes me uncomfortable to think about, I could never be that forward."
"Well, Jen's never been accused of being shy. But, it's really no big deal. She never does anything more than dance or flirt. We always go home together."
Both Jack and Dawson had their eyes on Jen as she continued to laugh and dance.
"She looks like she's having fun." Dawson sighed and shifted in his seat. "She's so beautiful."
"She is."
***
July 4, 2001
"Thanks again for coming with me, Dawson. I don't know how I would face this alone."
Jen and Dawson stepped out of the idling cab and into the luxury hotel where Jen's father's law firm was holding it's Independence Day celebration on the terrace roof.
"No problem, Jen. I'm just glad that you trust me enough to ask me to come with you." Dawson smiled at her, trying to get her to do the same. "It'll be fine, just let it slide right off your back. Nothing that any of these people say or think is worth a second thought from you."
"Here goes nothing," Jen said, turning her lips up in a confident smile, and taking the arm that Dawson offered her as they stepped off the elevator.
"Why Jennifer, how nice to see you dear. I hope you'll stay a little longer than you did at the New Year's party." Jen's mother spoke to her pleasantly enough. It was almost possible to ignore the implied meaning of her words. "Dawson, isn't it? Surprised to see you again." Smiling sweetly, Mrs. Lindley offered a hand to Dawson, which he shook awkwardly.
"It's nice to see you again, mom. Where's dad?" Jen asked pointedly.
"Your father is off somewhere discussing business, as usual," she said brightly. Missing the snide tone of Jen's question.
"Yeah, right." Jen turned to Dawson, "why don't we find a table and some hors d'oeuvres."
"Fine by me." Turning to Mrs. Lindley, Dawson continued, "you'll excuse us."
They walked away, neither of them realizing that they held hands.
Later that evening, more introductions were made, and before Jen had a chance to protest, a son of one of the law partners was asking her to dance. He gave her little choice in the matter as he took her arm and lead her forcefully to the dance floor. Dawson watched with concern, Jen's expression was one of discomfort. As her partner pulled her closer, she tried to put distance between the two of them. Before long, Dawson found himself striding towards the dance floor.
"Excuse me, I'm sure you won't mind if I cut in," he asked calmly.
"What? Who are you? Go away, loser."
"My name is Dawson, and you are?" He answered smoothly.
"More that you'll ever be." Jen's dance partner turned to her. "Who is this guy, your most recent fuck buddy or something?" His voice raising as he stepped back to look at her.
"Or something. Why don't you just leave me alone, you're not going to get anywhere, so find someone else to prey on." Jen stepped away when given the chance and turned to Dawson. He held a hand up for her, which she took graciously. They moved together slowly on the dance floor, aware that the recent exchange had turned many curious eyes to them. Jen looked up to Dawson, and, placing one hand on his cheek raised up on her toes to kiss him gently on the lips. "Thanks again," she whispered in his ear before she lay her head on his chest.
Dawson took hold of Jen's upper arms to pull her back far enough so that he could look into her eyes. She saw the question in his eyes, leaned up and whispered, "Just for tonight. Just let me pretend." Although confused, he nodded and brought her back against his chest.
When they walked off the dance floor, it was once again, hand in hand.
They spent the rest of the evening quietly talking to each other and avoiding most anyone else. After the fireworks display, they remained on the balcony long after everyone else made their way back indoors. Watching the sky darken completely, and the lights of the city shine like the stars they knew were out. Stars that couldn't be seen in New York. Yet another reminder of the differences between Capeside and New York City.
***
Later that night, the drive home was silent. Jen seemed lost in her own thoughts, and Dawson felt a responsibility to leave her in her reverie. His mind raced with questions, but he didn't dare to ask while Jen was so far away. A part of him knew that it wasn't all pretend, but it frightened him, understandably.
What now, he thought as they walked up the stairs to the apartment. Should I break the silence, or just wait until she wants to talk? Maybe she doesn't want to talk at all. Perhaps she just wants to go to bed, wake up in the morning, and forget that tonight happened at all. Maybe I should let her. His concern and curiosity got the better of him though.
"Jen, what happened tonight?" He asked quietly. She looked at him, but remained mute. He followed her into her bedroom, waiting for an answer. "Jen..." He continued. She turned to him, and with a sad smile answered.
"Can't we talk about this in the morning?" She took his hand and led him to the bed. She took off her shoes and simply lay down. When he didn't follow, she looked up at him and motioned for him to lay down next to her. After a moments hesitation, he joined her, not knowing what she expected, but wanting to give her any comfort he could. She turned her body toward his, placed one hand under her head and the other on Dawson's as it lay on his chest. She exhaled quietly and closed her eyes.
Dawson lay on her bed, unable to sleep. Staring at the ceiling and wondering who the woman beside him was. Who she had become. And what he was to her. What he wanted to be.
***
Jen came into the dark room in a dirty, torn nightshirt. Her shoulders were shaking in an effort to try to muffle the sobs in her throat. He woke with a start, frozen for a moment. In shock. In fear. Then bolted upright. In two strides he was beside her, opening his arms to her. She fell into him and the pain broke free from her throat in loud, choppy sobs.
"What happened, Jen. Are you all right? Please, tell me you are all right," he whispered while trying desperately to calm her.
"I'm... I... Dawson..." The nonsensical words erupted, and the fear in her voice sent a chill directly through him. He pulled her back to touch her face and look in her eyes. It was then that he saw the blood on his hands. Blood that had spilled from her. In the light from the hallway, he could make out bruises and cuts all over her body. Her legs, her arms, her back. He swallowed the lump that came to his throat.
"I'll help you, Jen. I'll take care of you. It'll be all right." The words came from him, but they both knew that he was lying.
The tears continued to roll down her face, but her body had calmed. She dropped her head, looking at the ground. He saw the shame in her gesture, and put his hand to her chin to lift her face to his. It was then he realized that he, too, was shaking. He was sweating in panic. He led her to the bathroom, where he tenderly washed and bandaged her wounds. Then back to the bedroom, he laid her in the bed and brought the covers over her. The room was warm, but her skin was ice cold to the touch, and she was shivering. She pulled the blankets around her tighter so that only her head was visible.
"Dawson, I'm cold. So cold..."
He did the only thing he could think of. As she wrapped the blankets tight around the two of them, he felt her tears burn his chest and her cold, clammy skin against his. Her tears dried and her shivers subsided. She looked at him with eyes red and swollen and her face flushed, her skin glistening with the slick sweat of fear. He bent to reverently kiss her forehead, her eyes. His lips found their way to hers and swallowed her last sob. A sob of relief and release.
Quickly the kiss turned demanding. Jen pressed against him with no regard for her battered body. Tongue slid against tongue, breath quickened, hearts pounded. Dawson could feel the roar of blood in his ears, blocking out all but her. The pressure of her lips against his, the hum from her throat that resounded as a vibration through his body. The urgent need to comfort and take comfort. To close out the world and forget everything but that moment. That rush. That pleasure.
Gasping, Jen broke from his lips only to run her hands down his chest and follow the path with her lips and tongue. She heard him moan, breaking the placid silence. He grasped the back of her neck with his hand and brought her face back to his. He pulled her into an urgent kiss. The pleasure broke over them both like a flood. Breaking away again, he looked into her eyes.
"I want you," he spoke, his voice raspy with need.
"You can heal me, Dawson," she answered in kind.
He trailed one finger down from her cheek, over her arm to her hip. He squeezed her hip and pulled her closer to him. His hand disappeared under her nightshirt up her back, careful of the bandages, and brought it along her side to caress her breast as it lay pressed against his chest.
"Oh, Jen," he whispered. "Jen!" His whisper turned to a shout. There was no ragged breath against his neck. No heat pressed again him. No breast under his fingertips. Just emptiness. The cold air felt like a slap in the face.
"Jen..." He whimpered.
***
"Jen..."
He woke with a start. Sweating, his breath labored.
Dream, it was just a dream. He turned to find Jen sleeping peacefully. Her chest rising and falling rhythmically, her features smooth and unharmed. In a flash, he remembered last night and the confusion in his heart. He shifted in an effort to calm his heart and cool his body. Jen's eyes fluttered open and she looked at him shyly.
"Morning," she said quietly, her throat clogged from sleep. As she looked at him, she noticed his pale face and rapid breathing. "Are you okay?" She asked quickly, clearing her throat and sitting up. She placed a hand on his arm and could feel the chill. "What happened?" Concern creased her brow.
"Nothing, nothing happened. Just a bad dream." He fought to put a smile on his face and quiet his heart.
"Dawson, it's not nothing to find you like this."
"Jen, it was just a dream," he remarking, his voice growing louder with irritation. "I don't want to talk about it." He sat up in the bed and his face regained its color.
"Okay, okay. Just calm down. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, relax. Lay back down and relax." She put a hand gingerly on his chest and felt his muscles tighten.
"I've got to go, I need to get out." Dawson all but leapt out of the bed and dragged on his shoes. Before Jen had a chance to protest, he was out the door.