i need your arms around me i need your touch

i need your understanding i need your love
so much

It had taken a lot of arguing and a few sleeping pills, but Pacey was finally asleep. Dawson sighed and yawned. Tonight had definitely been interesting.

First, he had learned that Pacey had in fact been raped by Mr. Bristol. Then he was on the receiving end of a violent hallucination. Shards of glass had narrowly missed being embedded into his head. Thank god Pacey didn't have very good aim.

Well, he had been shaking like a vibrating bed in a sleazy motel. But watching a glass fly by your face, just inches from you, could scare anyone. No matter how bad the throw.

Now he was sitting at the Witter's kitchen table, tuning out the serious conversation carrying on just fine without him. Here and there he caught a few words. Therapy, Prozac, insane. Not very complimentary.

What a scene. Dawson had never in his life seen Pacey's family give more than a second's thought to his well-being. And Pacey was sixteen, that was a hell of a long time to ignore your youngest son. Talk about an attention grabber, though.

I won't be able to sleep for a week, he thought. Why am I complaining? Pacey can't without the help of over-the-counter drugs.

Dawson's life had always been a little on the dramatic side, but this was going a little far. His best friend, his male best friend, had been raped by his teacher. His male teacher. When had his life become a soap opera? A bad one at that.

"I don't know!" John Witter shouted. This interrupted Dawson's train of thought. "I guess we should take him to the hospital tomorrow." The family nodded solemnly. Dawson yawned and they all turned to stare at him. "Maybe I should take you home, Dawson."

"Okay." He and Mr. Witter stood and Dawson gave his good-byes to Mrs. Witter and Doug.

As soon as they stepped outside Dawson began to shiver. It had gotten so cold so quickly. He pulled open the passenger side door to Mr. Witter's patrol car and climbed inside.

For a few minutes there was dead silence. "Thank you for coming by, Dawson," Mr. Witter said quietly.

"It was the least I could do," Dawson paused, "after all those awful things I said. I really didn't...I just couldn't..."

"It's okay, I understand. I probably wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." Dawson was confused. With his own eyes? Had Mr. Witter actually seen them in the act? Woah, that would be pretty gross.

More silence filled the car. It seemed deafening to Dawson. His head was swimming and he couldn't focus. The days events had come rushing back way too quickly and this new information didn't make any of it easier to understand. Then again, there might not be anything that would make this situation easy to understand.

Finally, they pulled into Dawson's driveway. He let out a breath of air and opened the door. Mr. Witter said a polite good-bye, Dawson may have responded. He wasn't exactly sure. The whole trip from the car to his bedroom was kind of a haze.

you tell me that you love me so
you tell me that you care
but when i need you

baby

baby, you're never there

Why does Andie have to sit with us? Dawson listened to yet another rendition of Andie and Craig's date the night before. The story kept changing and he was becoming more and more irritated.

She only sat with them, them being Joey, Jen, Jack and Dawson, because Craig had a different lunch period and because Pacey had been absent for such a long time. Her attitude gave Dawson the idea that she had won some personal victory by Pacey not being in school. If only she knew...

"So!" She stared at Dawson with a cocky expression on her face. "Have you talked to Pacey lately?" Before he could respond with a "like you even care," she began to laugh and practically squirted Diet Coke out her nose. "Hey, maybe Pacey was the one who was raped!"

The table burst into a bought of nervous, forced laughter. Andie was in hysterics at her little joke. Dawson felt his blood begin to boil and his face grew red. Joey stopped laughing and watched Dawson's features change. He seemed...angry.

"What's wrong, Dawson?" Andie asked in an "I don't really care" tone of voice.

"What the hell did Pacey ever do to you?! Why do you insist on being such a condescending little snob?!" Everyone looked shock at his outburst. He searched each face and began to feel sick to his stomach. He stood and threw his lunch into the trash before storming out of the cafeteria in search of a place to calm himself down.

***

"I assure you, John, if I could do anything to prevent this story from airing, you know I would," Gail said sadly. Mr. Witter shook his head.

"There has to be something, anything. I took him to the doctor this morning, but even this new medication won't lighten the blow," he said sadly. "I just don't want to him to do anything...drastic."

"What do you think he would do?" Mr. Witter closed his eyes and bit his lip. Could he trust Gail to keep this quiet? That his son had nearly gone insane and the doctors thought he might be suicidal?

He shook his head. "That's not important right now. Do you think you might be able to hold them off for another few days. The medicine is kind of experimental and I want to make sure it works."

"You can't protect him from this forever, John. The kids at school are going to find out, hell, the whole goddamn town is eventually going to find out. Maybe you should just let him experience this now," she paused and tried not to smile at how intelligent she sounded. "That way he'll be able to adjust to it, with time..."

"No! He won't, you haven't seen him lately. He's not as strong as he was before," he sighed, "I'm beginning to think he was never strong to begin with."

***

"Dawson, what happened back there?" Joey asked. He had stormed out of there so quickly, seemingly without reason. She took a seat next to on one of the benches under the covered walk. Silence was her answer. "You can tell me," she encouraged him.

"I was going to tell you after school, you never know who might overhear."

"Why are you being so mysterious? Not that it isn't an amazing turn-on, because it is..."

"Please, be serious, Joey." She frowned.

"Okay, sorry. Come on, tell me!"

"It really was Pacey." Her mouth dropped open.

"You're joking," she stammered after a moment. "This is all some big joke, right? Ha ha ha, very funny." She laughed nervously. Dawson stared at her, tears filling his eyes, the anger now gone. "You're serious."

"Unfortunately, yes. That's why he's been out for so long. And today he was going to..." Too much information had been leaked already.

"Going to what?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Oh," she replied, completely at a loss. They sat silently, neither knowing what to say, what to do, how to feel, how to react. "Is he...is he okay?"

Dawson shook his head sadly. "I don't think so. He's...he's...upset. Very, very, very upset. His family's freaking out, he's flipping out and nobody knows what to do."

Joey frowned. Never had she thought that something like this could happen in her school, let alone to one of her friends. Maybe she should drop by Pacey's house? No, he'd be mad at Dawson. What if she acted like it was purely social? He'd never buy it.

"I know what you're thinking," Dawson said. "You can come with me after school."

She smiled. Leave it to Dawson.

***

"Are you sure you're okay?" John Witter handed his son a tissue to wipe his mouth with. He hadn't eaten all day, where was this stuff coming from?

Pacey coughed and choked. "Fine," he murmured. Mr. Witter helped Pacey to his feet. Pacey wobbled slightly and gripped the counter for support. He slung one sickly arm around his Dad's waist and staggered into his bedroom, collapsing onto the bed.

"What do you think it's from?" John asked, feeling slightly ridiculous. How in the hell would Pacey know?

"The doctor said this would happen, remember? I'll get used to it and it'll stop," he explained in a scratchy voice. His throat felt burned and raw. His stomach was still churning and his head felt like it would explode. The antidepressants had wreaked havoc on his thin body, causing him to vomit food he had only dreamed of eating.

"Right, I forgot." The bed creaked when Mr. Witter sat down. "So, other than you're bathroom escapades, how are you feeling?"

What was this, 20 questions? "Okay, I guess," Pacey replied. "I'm just really tired."

"All right. I'll let you get some rest," he leaned over and gently hugged his son. Pacey returned it gratefully, feeling much better. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will." Pacey watched his Dad pull the phone extension out of the wall. "Thanks." John Witter only smiled and left the room as quietly as he could.

Pacey sighed. He felt like a zombie. All day he had been in and out of either the bathroom or his bed. The smell of food made him sick, the smell of his deodorant made him sick. Basically, any smell made him sick. Even watching a character on TV cringe made him sick.

Everything seemed out of place, unfocused. Objects, people, they were all kind of blurry. But he hadn't cried, that was definitely a good thing. Not a day had gone by when Pacey hadn't pulled the covers up to his chin and sobbed until he fell into a fitful, nightmarish sleep. Not today. Although physically he felt like bacon on death, emotionally he was feeling more balanced. More like his old self.

Almost. Life seemed far away. And he knew if the pills wore off, he'd be back to the weepy, sobbing, hysterical, hallucinating Pacey that he had been the night before. He didn't remember exactly, but thoughts of Dawson, Mr. Bristol, telephones and flying glasses of water filled his daydreams. What did it mean? He was too out of it to even try to figure anything out.

Sleep began to close in. The sedative prescription was strong, the antidepressants were mild. His eyelids felt heavy and the world became dark. In the distance he could hear a bell ringing, but he was too far gone at this point. It would be at least three hours before he woke. Everything else could wait.

on the phone
long, long distance
always through such strong resistance

first, you say
you're too busy
i wonder if you even miss me

never there
you're never there
you're never, ever, ever, ever there

"Hello, I'm Gail Leery and this is the eight o clock news. It's a beautiful evening, with a high of..." Dawson turned down the volume. He turned to look at Joey. She didn't seem to notice that Gail was beyond hearing.

"Joey, are you okay?" She snapped to attention.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Why the sudden popularity of the word fine? Everyone was fine, I'm just fine, don't worry, I'm fine. Pacey had when he had been raped. So much for fine, he thought.

"Then why are you acting so distant?"

"I'm just kind of in shock, Dawson. Pacey was...Pacey was raped. It takes a little getting used to," she answered. "Turn it up!"

Dawson picked up the remote and did what he was told.

"Today's top story, the Capeside rape. Who is the mystery victim?" A small graphic appeared in the upper right hand corner of the screen. It had large red question marks over a black background with the word "rape" written across it. Joey rolled her eyes. How tacky was that?

"Finally, Channel 6 News has been given the go-ahead to reveal all the information to you. Stacy Hart is on the scene. Stacy?" The camera flashed to a young woman standing in front of Capeside High. She smiled sympathetically into the camera and began to walk backwards towards the school.

"Thank you, Gail. The question that has filled the minds of Capeside residents over the past few weeks has been the same. Who was raped? We know who actually committed the crime, a teacher here at Capeside, Douglas Bristol. But when would we know who the victim was?

Chief Witter has kept this information a secret for as long as he could. Why? Because it was his very own son. Sixteen year-old, Pacey Witter, once accused of having an affair with another former teacher, Tamara Jacobs, is none other than this victim.

Apparently, Mr. Bristol kept Pacey from going to police by threatening to fail him and tell the Board of Education that it was in fact, Mr. Witter who pursued the relationship. The principal of Capeside has made a statement saying that she had no idea the teacher in question was a homosexual or that any type of crime was being committed within these walls.

A trial date is yet to be determined, but Douglas Bristol will most likely stand trial within the next few weeks.

We'll have more as this story unfolds and the updates on the condition of young Mr. Witter in days to come. I'm Stacy Hart, reporting live, Channel 6 News. Back to you Gail."

Dawson turned off the TV. He was absolutely disgusted. And he couldn't bear to watch his mother pretend to be unaffected. Joey's reaction was similar to his.

"Wow," she said. "I can't believe they would air that. It's so unfair."

"I know. I just hope Pacey didn't see it."

***

The sound of breaking glass woke Pacey. His heart was pounding, it seemed, right out his chest. What had that been? More glass breaking told him it was probably the television.

He turned it on just in time to see his picture flash across the scene. It was one of him from last year. That awful haircut made the news piece seem silly. He laughed at the image of his former self as the young reporter spoke of him.

"We'll have more as this story unfolds and the updates on the condition of young Mr. Witter in days to come. I'm Stacy Hart, reporting live, Channel 6 News. Back to you Gail."

Pacey sat back against his pillows. "Wow, I'm a star." He began to laugh. Hysterical, uncontrollable laughter that soon turned to sobs. Tears ran down his cheeks. He curled up into a fetal position and cried until there was nothing left.

His body shook as he dry-heaved. Everyone knew. It was all over. He stood, his entire body trembling with sadness, fear, and anger, and stumbled into his bathroom. Reaching into one of the drawers, he pulled out a set of new razor blades. Tearing off the plastic and shoving his fingers through the flimsy, but stubborn, cardboard he took one between his fingers.

There was only one way to do this. Not a single thing could make him change his mind. Not his family, not his friends, not even his father.

In one quick motion he sliced one of his wrists. It began to bleed and drip down onto the floor. Pacey began to feel better almost immediately. It would all be over soon, he thought as his mind began to clear.

Suddenly, he heard his father's footsteps on the stairs. He tried in vain to lock the door. His fingers were slick with his own blood, too slick to turn the lock. Instead, as his father pounded against the door, Pacey held his body to it.

"Pacey, let me in!" More footsteps. His mother and brother.

"No, Dad, I have to do this! I can't take it anymore!" He didn't know where the words were coming from. He felt weak. He continued to hold his own for a few more seconds. The force of the door sent Pacey crashing to the floor. His head hit the tile and he felt even more dizzy.

His family surrounded him and quickly covered his wound with a towel. He moaned and felt tears slipping down his cheeks. "Why can't you...why can't you just let me die?!"

Mrs. Witter sobbed and Doug wrapped the towel tighter. Pacey's father lifted him off the floor with ease. Pacey had lost so much weight that he seemed light as a feather. He and Doug carried Pacey out of the room with Mrs. Witter close behind.

***

The whole way to the hospital Pacey had cried. And cried. And cried. Screaming at his father to turn around, to let him die. He tried to open the door and throw himself out, but to his great disappointment, it was locked.

As they grew nearer, his argument grew weaker. He was tired, tired of yelling, tired of crying, tired of trying to fight back. Maybe it would be too late, he thought. Maybe we won't make it in time.

Mrs. Witter took the place of the crier in the car. Pacey's silence seemed like defeat to her. What if he died? She urged her husband to drive faster and he complied. She stroked Pacey's hair and whispered in his ear just how much she loved him. There was no reaction. His face was blank, his eyes dark.

"Faster!" she screamed.

"I'm going as fast as I can! Do you want me to kill us all?"

"Yes," came Pacey's reply. It was so quiet John hoped he had imagined it. "Please, Dad, just kill me." It was a little louder this time. He ignored it but slowed down. "Can't you hear me?!" Pacey cried. "I want to die!"

His mother wrapped her arms around him. "No, Pacey, no. You're too young. You're too special. I love you too much!" She sobbed.

"I'll take care of you, baby. It's going to be okay."

Like it? Hate it? Think I'm a sicko? Feedback at [email protected]

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