Part 11
“Look, I’m only here to help you out. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. Just like I didn’t like your cheating or your decision to move to Philly when the urge caught you....I’ve more than paid the debt that had me working here in the first place,” Dawson yelled, angrily walking out of the kitchen. His mother stood behind the swinging metal door in stunned silence.
Kaylie raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes at the sight of Dawson Leery. He was fuming, running his hands through his hair. Rather self-indulgent, Kaylie observed. He looked up at her, inches from running straight into her on his way out of the restaurant. “Dawson,” she greeted him, biting out the words. She was in no mood for more drama.
“What?” Dawson was thrown off by her presence. Thrown off by the smell of her perfume. A mixture of mint, vanilla, and eucalyptus assaulted his body. He hated how much he wanted to run his hands through her tousled brown hair.
“Nothing,” she replied, softening only slightly. What the hell was the point in being angry with him? She cast her eyes behind him toward his mother, now leaning against the counter of the bar. She just wanted something to eat. Something to eat and some way out of Capeside. Half to herself she whispered, “I just want to die.” Her eyes darted up to Dawson’s in desperation.
“Kaylie, are you alright?” Dawson was genuinely worried. He’d expected her to trade insults with him. He’d expected his usual evisceration. He hadn’t expected what he was sure he had heard.
“Fine,” she replied unsteadily. She walked over to an empty table as Dawson followed her, holding out an arm when she tripped over her feet clumsily. Sitting, she shrugged out of her coat. She reached into a pocket and felt the paper she knew was there. Pulling it out, she read it to herself. Dawson watched her for a second and then headed to the bar. Glancing down at his mother’s angry glare, he pulled out a glass and filled it with ice and water. Then he returned to Kaylie’s table, sitting across from her and setting the glass down in front of her. “Thanks,” she whispered, taking a few grateful sips. The cool liquid seemed to calm her and Dawson smiled. He stared at the piece of notebook paper, which was scrawled on in blue ink.
“Can I ask....what is that?” Kaylie looked down at the paper in front of her and then back into Dawson’s clear blue eyes.
“Nothing really, just, just a poem I wrote. I was bored.” She tried to laugh it off. Couldn’t he just leave? It was nice of him to offer her the water, but she didn’t want to keep talking to him.
“You write poems.” Dawson had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. And yet it intrigued him. “You’re very artistic, I heard you sing.”
“Everyone thinks they’re artistic, Dawson....basically it’s just crap. I sing on key to approved recital songs and I’ve written a few angsty poems. Which is something almost every teenage girl has done at one point or another. Doesn’t make me Emily Dickenson. Your films don’t make you Billy Wilder either.” The string of words came out of her mouth with seemingly no effort whatsoever. Dawson looked down and then reached for the poem.
“That may be true, but....I’d still like to read the poem.” He smiled genuinely at her. Kaylie instantly felt bad about taking her anger out at him. It wasn’t his fault she was upset. Still, he was an easy target.
“No Dawson. You won’t like them, there’s not one thing about you in them,” Kaylie returned, smiling.
Dawson grinned affably. “Left myself open for that one didn’t I?”
“Do you want me to answer that?” Kaylie took a sip of water and eyed him curiously. He seemed to be deciding whether or not it was worth it to stay in this conversation. Then he shook his head once and glared at her, his eyes crinkling with silent laughter.
“Just read the poem.”
Kaylie cleared her throat and read from the paper, pausing between words. She didn’t even know why she was reading this to Dawson. She just needed the words out in the air. She cleared her throat and read, “Lay me down to sleep....Soft shadows in the hazy morning.” Kaylie looked down. “Wrapped up in your arms.” Kaylie rolled her eyes, trying to keep the blush from rising in her cheeks. “Waiting as the clouds fill my room, watching for the sky to open....You don’t want to hear this.” She looked up and tried to keep the pleading out of her voice.
“Yeah I do,” Dawson replied. He smiled encouragingly at her.
“Lay me down to sleep, let me go and let me fall....and when I do, when I do....will I be missed?” Kaylie looked down and blinked at unshed tears. Her hand shook as it caressed the paper. “Fog seeps through the window.” She felt a hand reach out and brush her hair out of her face. She tilted her head towards the touch. “Breaths rising and falling,” she looked up into Dawson’s eyes. Kaylie fought the urge to shove his hand away from her. She was pretty sure she’d end up breaking his wrist. Instead, she stared at him, wide-eyed and sped through the end of her poem. “The room gets quiet, the world goes dead.”
“Kaylie.” Dawson voice came out less than a breath.
“Told you,” Kaylie responded hesitantly, crumpling the paper in one hand. “Angsty crap. Are we done?” She pulled away from his hand and averted her eyes from his.
“Are you alright?” That was the second time he’d asked her that and looking into his concerned gaze she could no longer sidestep the question so easily.
“Dawson if I had any intention of...of anything, I wouldn’t write it down. I’d just go. It’s just the teenage thing to do. Haven’t you ever asked yourself why? Who would miss you? What it matters for you to be here or not?” She searched his eyes for understanding, but found only pity. Kaylie hated pity. “I forgot. You’re perfect. The hero.” She spat the words out, falling a tad short of the intended venom.
“Yeah, insert massive ego joke here,” Dawson allowed, “But, Kaylie-”
“No, okay.” Kaylie held up a hand and lowered it when she noticed it was shaking. “Just taking my dramatic moment. Rest assured. You know, holding up a knife to your wrist to feel the metal cold against your skin....but it’s a butter knife. Or standing in the middle of the street as cars speed towards you....but only when you’re on the other side of a red light. It’s the possibility minus the pain. It’s nothing.” She smiled in her usual empty manner.
“Kaylie, obviously something’s wrong. Something bad. You can tell me.” Dawson reached a hand out to hers, across the table. Touching her fingertips lightly, he was grateful when she didn’t pull away. Instead she stared at his hand, her fingers caressing his ever so slightly.
“Why would I tell you?” The voice seemed so far away from her. She stared up at him dully, her eyes glazing over. What did he want her to say? Hello, I’m Tamara Jacobs’ daughter. She left my Dad when I was just a baby. She’s decided to come back into my life in hopes of getting to Pacey through me. That would go over so well. Dawson might be thrilled. Hell, he might want to help Mommie Dearest out. Divide and conquer.
“Well, I’m guessing it’s easier than talking to someone whose opinion you give a damn about,” Dawson replied seriously. What was she hiding? Something was not right. Something big.
“No big deal,” Kaylie lied. One more lie, she promised herself. Just one more. “Just...you know....parents.” She finished lamely. It was somewhat true.
“Yeah parents,” Dawson agreed glumly. He turned to eye his angry mother again. “I can understand that.” He didn’t know whether to believe Kaylie or not. Something about her just made his head spin. Everything about her made his head spin.
“Can you?” Kaylie spat out. She pulled her hand away from his. She’d actually started to think Dawson was really....nice. Well, forget that. “If I spoke to my mother like you do, I’d still be recovering from the beating. And I’d deserve it.”
“You’re better at taking beatings than I am.” It was a statement he regretted before it finished leaving his mouth. Kaylie raised her hand and Dawson flinched, expecting a blow, but only was met with a soft caress across his cheek. Her eyes were wet and the hand dropped to her side. A shamed blush rose on her face, and the shuddering breath she released wracked her small frame in tremors. She lifted the glass from the table and sent it flying, shattering it into crystal slivers. Glass crashed against wood and carpeting noisily. Dining tourists ducked at the sound. Fortunately, Kaylie had aimed the glass towards an empty table.
Her voice was small and childlike when it finally echoed in the now silent room. “It’s an impressive talent.”
Dawson didn’t want to ask, but he was trapped, held prisoner by her wan presence. “What is?”
“How you go in for the kill. Used to be only sticks and stones hurt....and hands, feet.” She bit her lip and stared up at him, lashes thick with tears. She seemed to be thinking of what to say next, where to turn. She drew a line across her neck with the nail of her index finger, miming a slash to the throat. “I’m dead. Go play with someone else.” She turned on her heel and tripping over her own feet, coughing on her own moans, she ran out the door. Dawson stared after her and wished himself into oblivion.
“You’re quite the brat, Dawson.” Gale Leery’s voice rang out clear in the crowded restaurant. The tourists gossiped quietly at the scene playing out before them.
“Yeah,” her son whispered. He was staring off in the direction of Kaylie’s escape.
“Clean up this mess and head home,” she commanded. “Once there, go to your room. Sit on your bed and think about Kaylie. Think about what an effective mother I’m determined to be after this display. Think about how little you are qualified to do at the moment. Think about how it would feel to be thrown out on your ass at seventeen. Mostly, just think about how much I’m wishing you were someone else’s son right now.”