Chapter Four
"We never had the chance to dance at our own prom…"
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It was supposed to be my chance to get it right, but instead I got it all horribly wrong. Why did I think I could do this? Wouldn't it have been kinder just to let. him. go?
Let him go, damnit. Allow find his way in life without me to mess everything up.
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"In order to make up for our last high school dance experience—in which I did actually buy you a corsage, but then I let it wilt to a lovely shade of brown—I brought you options."
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Options. Did we ever really have options? Was it an option to want him…or a curse?
I don't even have the courage to look him in the face again. "Hope dies last," I told Dawson less than a year ago. True or not, I certainly managed to kill that light in Pacey's eyes. Twice.
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"In Box A, we have the corsage for the fun-loving and whimsical Joey: a carved radish on a bed of baby carrots. And then Option B, the corsage for the classic and sophisticated Joey: roses on a bed of Baby's Breath, which has a creepy name but is a classic flower."zzzzzzzzzz
My heart sinks with the knowledge that this time the damage is permanent and unforgivable. Jen was right: even the fearless can have their hearts broken. Unfortunately, in Pacey's case I've managed to stomp on that vital organ a few times—and once more for good measure, just in case either of us missed it before.
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"When did we get our picture taken in front of the tropical mural?" he asked, innocent and carefree, determined to make this a happy evening.
"That would be prom," she replied, mindful of the poignant memories which swept over her without warning.
"Right. Blocked prom out."
"As well you should," she retorted. The resonance in her voice became more terse as his proximity invaded her senses.
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How could he just block it out? How could he forget? I try, but my attempts at finesse have failed me, leading us both astray, and now I have one hurt, very confused former boyfriend/erstwhile lover on my hands.
I lied. I told him it was the best time I had ever had at a dance, but that wasn't true at all. I don't know why I said that. Did it make him feel better to hear that…followed by my harsh rejection of him?
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"Even with the damage to my unsuspecting eardrum, I did think that tonight was quite nice," he said with poignant tenderness.
"Quite nice," she agreed, smiling. "Perfect. It was... It's been a perfect night."
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Ha! The truth was I was uneasy the minute we walked into that acridly sweet-smelling, decidedly over-decorated gym. I couldn't help it, it just didn't feel right. The dream of us had been a wonderful fantasy, but it was one neither Pacey nor I would be able to sustain. That much I knew. How could there be a here and now when all I could think of, all I could hear were voices from our past?
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"So what, you're scared. Right? You're scared and so am I, believe me. And I'm scared because I don't know where this thing is going… As in, I think it could go anywhere. This could be it," he declared with earnest passion.
She cut him off. "It won't be," she said.
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It couldn't be.
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"I've known you too long and seen you push away too many good things to let you push me away right now. My whole life…my whole life you have been the most beautiful thing in my orbit. And my feelings for you were what proved to me that I could be great. And those feelings were stronger and were wiser and more persistent and more resilient than anything else about me."
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Tears form willingly in my eyes. I want to kiss him, but instead I ask him to stop. He doesn't—not my brave heart.
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"When I was afraid of everything, I was never afraid to love you, and I could love you again. I could. I'm telling you, this could…"
"Pacey, no. Pacey, stop!" she screamed. Determined to end the torture, she blindsided him with an irrevocable though refracted truth. "Eddie came back," she said.
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I'm astounded by how quickly and how easily I was able to blow him away. Why had I never been able to do that with Dawson? But the love of my life? Right. Ready, aim—fire! Hit him with a cheap shot, and bam!—he's gone before he understands what hit him.
But he's not gone. Not entirely.
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"If memory serves, I owe you a dance, Ms. Potter."
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Wallowing in that singular moment of self-destruction, I sit out the rest of the dance waiting for the noise in my head to die down and present a moment of clarity. Pacey reappears, offering his hand—and, with it, a second chance to end this thing between us properly. Dancing.
I look him straight in the eye, I owe him that much, but he pulls me into an awkward embrace and the music surrounds us in melancholy. I recall a song my mom used to play when she was feeling sad. She played sad songs when she was happy, and sad songs when she was sad. But this one had particular meaning for me—a harbinger of bittersweet things to come. "Let's admit we made a mistake," Todd Rundgren sang, "but can we still be friends?"
"It was a mistake…" has become my new mantra.
There is no attempt to make this anything other than what it is: an ending. It is a sorrowful tango of two souls, the poignant and cursed refrain reverberating in my head: I'm sorry, I'm sorry. To ask forgiveness, when heartbreaking sadness and resignation are the only tangible things left in my wake, seems too much…too late.
I love him, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for testing our fragile friendship. I'm sorry my love hurts. I'm sorry for not being strong enough to let go of the past. I'm sorry for tormenting him with the faint promise of a future. I'm sorry for using someone else as an excuse for not moving on. I'm sorry for moving on.
I want to cry but cannot; I will not. The music ends and we stop going in circles. A smile of understanding countenances his face. He walks away in silence, leaving me to face the regret burned into the dance floor. I cede my memory to a journal kept back in 'Potter's House of Pain'…
The dreams of not one but two
—Two who were once one—
Were crushed this night
Despair has replaced hope
Finality overwhelms us
One unassailable truth remains:
He was, and is, my undoing
