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Tempest - Chapter Three: Packing
Pacey looked down at the small white card in his hand. He set it down then
picked up the phone which was sitting on the small table beside his
small bed.
He dialed the first two digits, then set the phone down again.
This was ridiculous. He didn't need a counsellor... did he?
The more he tried to convince himself that he'd be fine, the more he knew
he wouldn't.
He thought back to a time almost a year ago...
He'd found himself sitting by the hand basin in his tiny, cramped bathroom, with
a razor to his wrist. Just before slitting it, a bottle of aftershave had
fallen and smashed on his head.
He didn't really know how he'd ended up there. He barely even remembered
what lead up to it. All he knew was that something had reminded him of Joey,
and it had sent him spinning around in a spiral of depression. He'd wondered
why he even bothered living. He barely even had a life anyway.
He'd made a small cut on his upper arm, which was still there today. But other
than that, he'd come out of there unscathed.
Convinced by that awful memory, he picked up the phone and punched in all
the digits.
"Hi. Is this the office of Natalie Evoleurt?...Great...Yeah, I'm calling up to
ask about seeing her, say, once a week..."
Dawson pressed the doorbell button to Melissa's flat then tried to compose
himself.
She opened the door, then once she noticed who it was, she shut the door back
in his face and started walking away.
Dawson stopped the door with his foot and followed her into her lounge.
"Melissa! Wait!" he pleaded.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because I don't want us to end like this," he replied.
"See? 'Like this.' You didn't say you didn't want us to end," she
snapped at him.
He couldn't think of a reply, so she continued. "Anyway... what is
'this'? Would you care to define 'this'? Because I would really
like to know what you mean by 'this'." She put her hands on her hips
and glared at him. "So... what am I to you? What is 'this'?"
"Oh Melissa! You mean so much to me," he eventually said, revealing a bunch
of red roses from behind his back. "And I'm begging you to forgive me.
PLEASE forgive me Melissa."
Melissa took the red roses from his hands and looked down at them. Suddenly,
in one quick, jerky movement, she took a step away from him.
"Do you even know what you're apol... asking forgiveness for? You haven't
even said it! You want forgiveness, but you haven't said sorry!"
Dawson tried to reply, but she cut him off before he could get anything much
out.
"Even if I forgave you, what would it do? The bottom line is this: you're
leaving in six days. Nothing I say or do can change that! Do you really
think that things will be the same between us after spending two months apart?"
"But aren't you even going to try?" Dawson managed to get in.
"What's the use?" she asked, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.
"Melissa, why are you being like this?" he asked.
"There you go with the 'this's again. I'm being like 'this
because I've been consistantly tagging along beside you and hanging off your
shoulder for the past eight months. I've supported you with all your decisions,
and I've been constantly trying to make myself feel worthy of you. EIGHT
MONTHS!!! Do you have any idea how insulting it is to know that you didn't
care? I could've been anyone! Hell, I could've been a f***ing hooker and it
wouldn't have made any difference to you! You didn't get your emotions
involved and I did! I feel so stupid! So used! Maybe you can just leave and
pretend that nothing happened, but I CAN'T!!! Ok? So just get the hell
out!"
"But Melissa---" he started, tears welling up in his eyes.
"Leave," she stated firmly, opening the front door and placing her hands
on her hips, trying to get him out of there. Every moment with him hurt too
much to think about.
"Melissa, please," he pleeded.
She cut him off by throwing the bunch of roses back in his face.
"Just get out and stay out!" she yelled forcefully.
Dawson walked over towards the door, shoulders slumped.
He stopped while standing under the door frame.
He dug something out of his pocket and handed it to her.
She looked down at what was now in her hands, blinking to get rid of the tears.
Another white envelope.
"What's this?" she asked, choking up, but determined not to let him see her cry.
"Plane tickets," he replied. "That's why I came over today. Not to pick a
fight, but to give you these. It's the same flight as mine. It's the seat
beside me. It's the aisle seat, because I know you don't like heights. And you
don't have to come if you really don't want to, but I wanted you to have the
option. I wanted it to be up to you. And even though it is entirely up to you,
I really hope you'll come with me," he said sadly. "If not, then I guess this
is goodbye."
And with that, he walked away, hands in pockets, defeated and dejected.
Once he was out of sight, Melissa looked down at the envelope in her hands and
opened it. Sure enough, there were the tickets.
Had she made the right choice, or should she go with him?
Jack trudged in the door to his apartment, not bothering to switch on the
lights.
Today had been WEIRD! There was no way he wanted to spend all
night telling James about it.
No such luck.
"David! How'd the interview go? Did you get the job?" James asked excitedly.
"No," Jack said flatly.
"Why not?" James asked.
"I don't wanna talk about it," Jack muttered, rushing away into the next room.
James immediately followed him. "David! Why the hell didn't you get
the job?" he demanded.
"I DON'T WANNA TALK ABOUT IT, OK?!" Jack screamed.
"NO! IT'S NOT OK!" James replied, still screaming.
"WHY THE F*** NOT?!" Jack asked, swirling around to face him.
"Because I am DEPENDING on you to bring MONEY into this household! You
and I both know that we can't survive on my salary for long!"
"Look, James, did you even consider that maybe I wasn't right for the job?
Maybe they'd already found someone," Jack suggested.
"Had they?" James asked.
"I DON'T KNOW!!!" Jack yelled, wondering why his boyfriend was acting
like this.
"You don't... know?" James asked, confused and irritated, both at once.
Jack sighed, trying to calm himself down, as well as calming down James at the
same time.
He sat down on the familiar lime green loveseat.
"Look, James. There are some... things... about my past that you just can't
understand... and that I can't explain," Jack tried to make him understand the
situation, without revealing any details. "And some...thing down at the
bookstore today just... it really... hit a nerve. And I... I don't want to talk
about it. And I don't want to explain it. And I really don't want to
remember it. But that would be pretty hard to do if I'm WORKING WITH THE
DAMN GIRL!!!"
"Girl?" James asked. "David, if this is about an ex-girlfriend then---"
"No, no. It's not that. I wish it were. That'd be so simple. But it's not.
It's so much more complicated," Jack said, his eyes glistening with un-shed
tears.
"So I am sorry. And I honestly wish that I could say that I went in there today
and got the job. But I can't. I can't even say that I went in there," Jack
confessed. "And I knew that my world would be entirely destroyed if I
ever saw... her--- saw any of them again. But I can't lose you, James.
I'm scared, true. But I won't be able to pull through without you. So please,
don't hate me. I'll get a job, and we'll be fine, right? Right?" Jack
asked, a single tear sliding down his cheek.
James stopped pacing and stopped in his tracks. He just stood there,
staring at the wall for what seemed like an eternity.
Eventually, he turned around to face Jack.
"Right."
Sunday morning:
Pacey picked up his wallet and stuffed it into his back pocket.
Switching off the lights, he checked that he hadn't left anything turned on,
then locked the door to his trailer, facing the bright orange sunrise.
He'd decided to leave early in the morning to escape Chris and John's questions.
After all, they were very curious people.
Climbing into his pathetic excuse for a car, he turned the key in the ignition,
and was on his way.
What he didn't know was that this counsellor wouldn't be the
solution to his problems... she was the cause.
Dawson walked around his flat, picking up pieces of clothing and such.
Folding them and placing them into his suitcase, he continued packing away all
his stuff.
Anything that wasn't going with him on the trip got packed into boxes and
stacked against the wall. He was going to leave them in a spare room at one
of his friends' houses.
He stopped when he got to his beside table.
"Melissa," he whispered as he saw the picture. He'd seen it so many times
before, but for so many reasons, this time was different.
He traced the photo with his index finger, smiling at the memories, but almost
crying at the reality.
The week was almost up, and she still hadn't talked to him. No phone calls.
No messages on the machine. No notes slipped under the door. Nothing.
Holding the picture close to his chest, he sank down onto the bed.
"Please come with me."
"Hey James!" Jack sang out as he entered their apartment.
As soon as he shut the door, he instantly knew that something was wrong.
He looked around. Oh.
"Wh--- What's this?" he asked, referring to the two boxes sitting by the wall.
"Your stuff," James replied, folding a shirt then placing it in another brown
cardboard box.
"Y--- You packed up my stuff," Jack said, still a little dazed. This couldn't
be happening.
"I packed up your stuff," James said, repeating Jack's words.
"Why?" Jack asked.
"I thought you'd be able to figure that one out for yourself," James said
coldly, walking out to the bedroom and packing more of Jack's stuff into boxes.
"You're kicking me out?" Jack asked, still finding it hard to take this all
in.
"I'm kicking you out," James said, his voice hard and cold.
"You're kicking me out of my own apartment?!" Jack asked, finally
locating his backbone - and using it.
"Oh c'mon David. You and I both knew that I've been paying for this
apartment for ages. You haven't paid a cent," James said harshly.
"Where the hell am I supposed to live?!" Jack screamed.
"I'm sure you'll find somewhere," James replied curtly. They heard a vehicle
pull up outside the apartment, and Jack looked at James, questioning him with
his eyes.
"Oh look who's arrived," James said, almost sarcastically.
Jack walked over to the window and pulled the curtain back an inch, peering out
of it.
"A taxi?" he asked.
"Your taxi," James said.
"Where's it going?" Jack asked.
"Where ever you want it to."
Jack tried to argue, but was cut off by handing him two boxes.
"I'll help you carry this stuff out to the taxi," James offered curtly.
"No need," Jack replied, his tone scathing.
Jack stepped out of the door, carrying all three boxes. He closed the door,
then sighed and leaned against the wall, shocked at what had just happened.
His life had changed drastically in the last four minutes. Why?
How? And most importantly (at least in the short term): Where would he live?
About to head off towards the closest - or furthest away - park bench, he
suddenly had an idea.
He turned the other way, forgetting about the taxi, and marched back to where
this had all gotten so much worse in the first place.
Pacey backed his car into a parking space a block away from the counsellor's
office.
Something felt... wrong? No, not really. Just... weird.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he looked over at where her
office was. He just shrugged and pushed the hairs back down.
He looked at his watch. Two hours. What was he going to do for two hours
when he was already anticipating this.
Why? It was just a counsellor! That shouldn't be something to look forward
to... should it?
His stomach told him what his next move should be. Locking his car, he stuck
some money into the parking meter and shoved his wallet into his back pocket,
then headed off in search of something to eat.
In her office, Joey paced up and down.
Something felt... wrong? Na, not really. Just... weird.
She started biting her nails (a habit which she thought she had broken
years ago) as she kneeled down by the window.
Peering through the blinds, she was a tall male figure locking up a crappy old
excuse for a car, then feeding a parking meter, stuffing his wallet into his
back pocket, then walking down the street.
Was that...? Na. It couldn't be.
Joey walked over to the couch which she usually got her clients to sit
in.
"I swear I'm going insane," she muttered.
Two hours later, Pacey trudged up the stairs and into the five floor high office
building.
"Pretty short building considering it's in the city," Pacey muttered to himself,
shaking his head, trying to ignore the fact that half of him was screaming for
him to sprint up there, and the other half was screaming to run as fast
as he could in the other direction - and never come back.
He looked at the sign in the foyer. 'Floor three: Susan Jefferson:
Artist. Paul Stepmonk: Architect. Natalie Evoleurt: Counsellor.' Yep.
That was the one.
Punching the button on the elevator, he tapped his foot impatiently as the
elevator desended downwards.
Finally, he doors opened, and he stepped into the empty lift.
Once alone in the small, confined space, he hit his head against the wall
several times.
He stopped this pretty abruptly, however, when the doors opened with a 'ping'
sound.
There it was. Right there. The white door had a gold plate on it. It read:
Natalie Evoleurt, Counsellor.
He pushed open the door and looked around. There were four matching straw
chairs arranged along one wall. There was a small glass coffee table with
various magazines on it, and the floor was covered in a beautiful moss green
carpet.
He looked over towards the door into her office. On it hung a sign written in
beautiful black and gold calligraphy. 'Sorry. I am currently busy. Please
take a seat and I'll be out soon.'
Shrugging, Pacey glanced over at her magazine collection, but when nothing
caught his interest, he just sat down in one of the chairs.
There wasn't much point though, because as soon as he had gotten himself
into a comfy position, the door swung open and a beautiful woman
announced that it was his turn. Funny. She never removed her eyes from her
clipboard.
Finally, she looked up from what she had been scrawling onto a sheet of paper,
and their eyes met.
At the same time, they both gasped - loudly. VERY, VERY LOUDLY.
"HOLY SHIT!!!"
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