Beyond the Pale

Joey sat straight up on her couch bed, looking wildly around the room. She sighed, sinking back down on her pillow. It was very early morning, and it was just another dream. Another hot, torrid dream about Pacey Witter. "I am losing my mind," Joey muttered.

She rolled over onto her side and thought about the tense drive back from Fort Jonesboro. Joey had huddled beside the window, too embarrassed to even look at Pacey, one hand clasped against her neck, covering the vivid red mark that she was certain was there. Pacey had been silent, but she’d felt his eyes on her. Josephine Potter, she’d scolded herself, whatever possessed you to take your shirt off in front of him? Are you insane?

By unspoken agreement they’d gone straight to Joey’s house, abandoning any possible plans for the evening. It was Saturday night, and Joey was back home at 6 p.m. Joey hadn’t cared. She’d just wanted to stop feeling so awkward. She’d fumbled for the door handle, exhaling in frustration when she couldn’t get it open.

Pacey leaned closer to her. "Let me," he’d said. Reaching across her, he had pulled up the lock.

Joey had pushed the door open, preparing to get out.

"Jo?" Pacey’d said.

Joey’d risked a glance at him. The expression in his dark eyes had been serious and a little bit hurt. "Don’t forget the camera," Pacey had said.

Nervously, Joey had tucked her hair behind her ears, then leaned down to pick up the camera from the floorboard. "I, uh, I’ll talk to you later, okay, Pacey?" she’d stammered. Then Joey had fled into the house as fast as she could.

Now, she sighed heavily and flopped onto her stomach, tucking one hand underneath her pillow. Sure enough, she had a bright red hickey on the right side of her neck. It was going to be fun trying to hide that from the sharp eyes of Dawson and her sister. My first hickey, Joey thought wryly.

Eventually Joey fell back into an uneasy sleep.

She didn’t wake up until 11:00. Someone was persistently poking her shoulder. Joey opened her eyes and saw her 18-month old nephew staring hopefully at her.

"Morning, Alex," she said softly. Joey pulled him into bed with her and cuddled him, wishing she could be this young and this innocent again. "I bet you’ve been up since the crack of dawn," she said to him.

"No," Alex said. It was his favorite word, and he said it often.

"Alex," Joey said, "what’m I going to do about Pacey?"

"Ba," Alex said.

"Very insightful," Joey told her nephew, hugging him tightly, "but not a whole lot of help."

Pacey’d pushed past them and left the house. He’d spent a while at the beach, listening to the muted thunder of the ocean, hoping it would soothe his rattled nerves and churning stomach. It hadn’t. Pacey ended up spending the night on the Leerys’ screened-in porch, on the wicker couch. They never locked the porch door. It had served him well on several occasions.

He’d lain awake long into the night, and if he’d shed a tear or two, there by himself in the dark, who would ever have known? There was nothing lonelier than having nowhere to go. He’d wanted his mom, shitty excuse for a mother that she was. He’d wanted Joey. Just seeing her face would have made him feel better.

Joey. There was one complicated girl. She’d been sending him mixed signals for weeks. Sometimes he caught her looking at him with longing in her eyes. Yesterday had been one of those times, and he’d acted on it. Pacey stared blankly at the textbook he held. Her hot stare...the way her mouth had tasted...her tongue, twining frantically with his. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench. Good Lord, her bare breasts. She’d been so incredibly sexy and uninhibited, her trembling hands in his hair as he’d attacked her neck...her soft sighs as he’d given in to the unbearable temptation offered by her exposed nipples.

Then, the spell was broken by the fort security guard. The sexy, willing Joey was gone, and the awkward, tense one was back. He hadn’t done anything she hadn’t wanted, but she’d acted like he’d tried to rape her or something. She hadn’t even been able to look at him for the entire drive back to her house. He’d been wounded by her sudden aloofness. What, exactly, was up with her?

The subject of his thoughts rushed past him, not noticing that he was sitting there. Joey, late for work at the Icehouse. A tall, beautiful girl with an attitude. Just what he needed. Pacey shook his head and returned his attention to studying for his upcoming French test. "J’ai mal du mer," he muttered to himself. "I am seasick...."

Joey hurried into the back room to find her apron. She was fifteen minutes late. Bessie had yelled at her for being irresponsible enough to sleep until eleven o’clock when she was due at work at noon. "It never would have occurred to you to wake me up, now would it?" Joey had yelled back at her. The scene had scared Alexander, and he’d burst into shrill screams. Joey had thrown her hands up in the air and went into the bathroom to shower, slamming the door behind her.

She rolled her eyes. Bessie seemed to be on permanent PMS lately. Joey yanked the apron over her head, smoothed her still-damp hair and grabbed an order pad. Maybe work would take her mind off of things.

The Icehouse was unusually busy for a Sunday afternoon. Joey had the pleasure of serving Grant and Tatia, and she had to struggle to keep a forced smile on her face. Dawson came in for lunch, too, and it was nearly ten minutes before Joey could even get over to his table. Breathlessly, she asked her friend, "Do you know what you want?"

Dawson didn’t answer. He leaned back in his chair and smirked at her.

"Dawson," Joey said impatiently. "Do you see this crowd? Do you realize that they will be hurling knives and salt shakers at me if I don’t get their orders out fast? Why are you grinning at me like an idiot?"

"Well, Jo," Dawson said, "I was just admiring that hickey on your neck."

In her rush to get out of the house, Joey had completely forgotten it. She blushed bright red as one hand flew to cover the incriminating mark. "Don’t give me a hard time, okay?" she muttered.

"Do we need to have a talk?" Dawson teased.

"The other waitress will be here in fifteen minutes," Joey said. "I’ll take a break then. Give it a rest and tell me what you want."

"Fried shrimp," Dawson told her.

When Dawson’s order was ready, Joey brought it over, set it in front of him, and collapsed in the chair across from him. She pillowed her head on her arms, already exhausted.

Dawson slathered his french fries with catsup. "So, Joey," he said. "Looks like you had a more exciting Saturday night than I did."

"Not even," Joey said morosely.

"Who’s been sucking on your neck?" Dawson asked through a mouthful of fried shrimp.

Joey glared at him. "Dawson. Do you have to be so uncouth?"

"I really don’t need to ask," Dawson told her. "There’s only one guy besides me that you’ve been spending time with lately - and I know I didn’t do it."

"You’re so brilliant," Joey said sarcastically. "Why are you wasting your time with high school? You should be off winning the Nobel Prize."

"Are you guys going out?" Dawson asked, calmly ignoring Joey’s barbed remark.

"I’m not sure," Joey said. "We had kind of a date yesterday...but not really." She sighed. "I don’t know what it was."

"It must have been something," Dawson said. One corner of his mouth turned up.

Joey sat up and glared at him. "If you say one word about this to Pacey, I will kill you, Dawson. I really, really mean it." Joey pushed back her chair and stood up.

"Bye, Joey," Dawson sing-songed as Joey stalked away.

The walk home seemed to take forever. Joey sighed heavily as she finally got to her small house. She really needed a long, hot bath...maybe with candles. Yes, that sounded like just the thing.

Joey was alarmed when she noticed a dark figure sitting on the porch steps. She stopped abruptly, trying to decide what she should do. "It’s just me, Joey," a voice said, and she relaxed.

"Hi, Pacey," she said, moving closer. Keeping a careful distance, she sat down three steps below him, sitting sideways, resting her back against the railing.

"Hard day?" he asked.

"Kind of," Joey said. Pacey looked like he’d had a hard day himself. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday.

They sat in silence. Pacey stared up at the moon, and Joey stared at Pacey’s profile. She wished she knew what to do. Her instinct was to throw herself into his arms and hold on for as long as she could. But something in her would not let her move.

After a while, Pacey turned his head and looked at her. The sadness in his dark eyes touched Joey’s heart, and she found herself blinking back sudden tears. "What’s happening with us, Jo?" he asked her.

Joey tried to smile. "I don’t know," she said.

Pacey’s gaze was intent on her. "What do you want to happen?"

Joey was silent. She felt trapped and panicky. Nervously, she rubbed her neck.

Pacey’s expression hardened into anger. "What the hell is wrong with you? You let me put my mouth and my hands all over you yesterday, and now you won’t even talk to me!"

"Stop it!" Joey squeezed her eyes closed, unable to take his derision.

"It’s not gonna go away if you close your eyes, Joey." Pacey sounded grimly satisfied, as if she’d proven something to him that he’d always known anyway.

Joey glared at him. "What do you want from me, Pacey?" she hissed. "What?"

Pacey was startled. He opened his mouth and promptly closed it again. Joey had never seen him look so hurt. "If you don’t know," he said finally, "then you’re more clueless than I thought. You have no idea what you want, do you?"

All Joey could do was sit mutely and stare at Pacey’s unhappy face.

Pacey stood up. He was smiling, but it was a bitter, hollow smile. "When you figure it out," he said, "you come and see me." Then he left her there on her porch steps in the dark.

Joey pressed her face into her bent knees and cried softly as wispy clouds obscured the silvery half-moon.

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