Barely Breathing
Performed by Duncan Sheik
I know what you’re doing, I see it all to clear
I only taste the saline when I kiss away your tears
You really had me going, wishing on a star
But the black holes that surround you are heavier by far
I believed in your confusion, you were so completely torn
Well it must have been that yesterday was the day that I was born
There’s not much to examine, there’s nothing left to hide
You really can’t be serious if you have to ask me why
I say good-bye...
‘Cause I am barely breathing
And I can’t find the air
I don’t know who I’m kidding
Imagining you care
And I could stand here waiting
A fool for another day
But I don’t suppose it’s worth the price, worth the price
The price that I would pay
Everyone keeps asking, what’s it all about?
I used to be so certain and I can’t figure out
What is this attraction? I only feel the pain
There’s nothing left to reason and only you to blame
Will it ever change?
‘Cause I am barely breathing
And I can’t find the air
I don’t know who I’m kidding
Imagining you care
And I could stand here waiting
A fool for another day
But I don’t suppose it’s worth the price, worth the price
The price that I would pay
But I’m thinking it over anyway...
I’ve come to find
I may never know
Your changing mind
Is it friend or foe?
I rise above
Or sink below
With every time
You come and go
Please don’t come and go
This routine is one that I've become all too familiar with in the last few months. It's even gotten to the point where I can almost sense the moment before she knocks on my door. That exact moment when she makes it to my door and stands there in the hallway, deep in thought, hating and berating herself for even considering coming here again. Those few seconds never fail to rip out my heart.
I used to watch her feet through the bottom crack of my door, the soft light from the hallway streaming into my dark apartment and shining on the wood floors. Her feet would make two distinct shadows, sometimes nervously pacing back and forth. I would sit and watch her from my seat on the couch, counting the seconds that she would just stand there before she decided to knock. Each second that she hesitated seemed to drive the knife in a little deeper, if that was even possible.
Despite my better judgment and the little voices that are screaming madly inside of my pounding head, I find myself pouring a drink in a desperate attempt to get my mind off of what I've just done. What I can't seem to stop myself from doing. When did I become like this? So helpless? So pathetic? So willing to fuck up my life just a little bit more just to be with her?
Put down the drink, Pacey, and go in there and tell her to get the fuck out of your bed. Out of your apartment. Out of your life...Forever. Do it, Pacey. You don't need her. You don't need this. Be a man. Be a fucking man.
I've never wanted to listen to those little voices more in my entire life than I do right now, but I won't of course, no matter how much sense they're making. Some part of me, hell, every part of needs this. Needs her. And I guess that I'll take anything that I can get when it comes to her, even if it comes with this gut-wrenching torture.
I don't have to watch her feet through the door anymore. I seem to know when she's standing there and I can almost hear her thoughts as she tells herself to turn around and walk away from me. And with each week that passes, those excruciating seconds only get longer. Each time, a small part of me hopes that she'll finally listen to her better judgement and turn around, walk away and never come back. I could survive that scenario, just as long as she was the one who walked away. Just as long as I didn't have to see her face ever again.
God, who am I kidding? I've been in the kitchen for less than five minutes and I already miss her. Have I mentioned how pathetic I am?
Even though those seconds that she spends at my door have now turned into minutes, she stills comes in for some insane reason that I have yet to understand, plastering a fake smile on her face and pretending like everything is fine. Like we were just innocently getting together to play some chess or something.
Then, after it's over, after she has fucked me in more ways than one, she'll get up and go, leaving me with all of the memories of our time together. Leaving her sweet scent imprinted on my sheets and pillows, only left there to taunt and torture me. Leaving the sound of her voice moaning my name, echoing in my empty apartment. Sometimes I can't take it and I'll spend the rest of the night trying to sleep on my cold living room floor, doing my best to hide from those memories while treasuring them at same time.
I slowly make my way back to my bedroom, stopping in the doorway to lean against the frame and stare thoughtfully at the beautiful woman that is lying naked in my bed, her face turned away from mine and toward the window, where the rain falls gently outside. She hasn't left yet and I can't decide if that's a good or bad sign.
Just looking at her makes my chest tighten, a lump forming painfully in my throat. This is the one woman that should be anywhere but here in my bed. The woman that belongs to another man. And not just any man, but my best fucking friend. God, I'm such an idiot. So fucking stupid for falling for her, for letting her use me like this.
She seems to sense my presence and she rolls over to face me, pulling the sheet up to cover her naked body. I don't know why she bothers to be modest. I know her body better then I know my own.
"You're still here," I say unnecessarily, too scared to ask why she's still here, hoping that she'll answer my unspoken question anyway and tell me what kept her from running right back into Dawson's arms tonight.
She stares at me for a second and then clutches the sheet a little more tightly around her body. "Do you want me to go?" she asks softly, her vulnerability suprising me. I weaken instantly. She has so much more power over me when she thinks that she doesn't, the typical male in me just wanting to take care of her.
"No," I say, gently shaking my head. "I don't want you to go."
She meets my gaze again and smiles faintly. "Are you coming back to bed?" she asks, patting the spot beside her on the bed.
Damn it, Pacey. You don't need this. Be a man. Be a fucking man.
I walk over to the bed without a word and sit down on the edge, placing my glass on my night table and keeping my back towards her. I can't seem to will myself to turn around.
Her hand reaches out and touches my back softly, my entire body stiffens from the contact. She quickly pulls her hand away, almost like I've burned her.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
I shake my head, unable to believe that she even has to question it. What isn't wrong? "This is wrong," I say slowly, surprised at my own words, part of me wishing that I could take them back, just pretend like we were in a different situation and treasure whatever time with her that I can get.
"I thought that you didn't want me to go?"
"That's the problem, Joey. I don't want you to go...ever."
I can feel the bed move under me as she sits up and leans back against the headboard. The longer she waits to respond, the more it hurts.
"Pacey..." she begins, reaching out for my arm, begging me to turn around. I finally give in and let myself face at her.
She looks at me for a moment before her eyes drop to floor and she pulls back her hand cautiously. I don't think that she expected to see so much pain in my eyes. "Pacey, please don't do this. Don't make it harder then it already is."
"Oh, right," I say wryly. "This must be so hard for you, Joey. Fucking me and Dawson both." She flinces at my words, but that only seems to fuel the fire that's raging inside me, the years of love and hurt finally boiling over in one split second. I stand up angrily, putting some distance between us.
I can see her eyes glossing over with unshed tears and I laugh humorlessly. She has no right to cry.
"This is unbelievable! Don't make this hard for you, Joey? What about me?"
She just stares at me blankly, offering me no answer before she starts to cry. She does this to me every time we fight and I always buckle, dropping the argument just so that I won't have to see her cry.
"This is killing me, Joey. You know how badly I want to be with you, so you get to have me however and whenever you want."
She shakes her head. "That's not true. And don't act like some martyr."
"That's not fair."
"Why do we always have to have this conversation? Why do you ruin the time that we have?"
I almost feel like laughing, because she knows me so well. This is usually where I let the issue drop, but I just can't. "You know, I can't do this anymore, Joey. It hurts more to have you when I can't be with you than it would be to never see you at all."
"Pacey, stop it already."
I turn around and leave the bedroom. "You used to know me well enough to convince me that this was okay. But I'm not the same guy anymore," I call over my shoulder. "You've changed him."
I grab my car keys and storm out the front door, doing my best to ignore the sound of her quiet sobs as I go.