Disclaimer: Do I own Dawson's Creek? Ha! Yeah right! I wish! Sorry: This chapter's a bit short, I know. I cut out a few Dawson/Melissa scenes. Don't worry, you're not missing much. Feedback: PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?!?! [email protected]
Tempest - Chapter Nine - The Girl Who Cried "Brett!"
Joey's alive. She's been alive all this time. Stupid bitch. I went through all this pain for nothing. She's been right under my nose for several weeks now. Why didn't I see it? Isabelle's been in contact with her for god knows how long! Pacey furiously turned the tap. "F*CK!" he yelled as the tap snapped off. It was amazing - the strength you had when you were angry. "JESUS!" he swore, throwing the tap handle at the mirror. He broke down into tears as the mirror shattered above his head. - Pacey's alive. He's been alive all this time. Bastard. I went through all this pain for nothing. NOTHING! He's been right under my nose for quite some time now. Why didn't I see it? Isabelle's known him for the past FIVE YEARS! Joey, furious and frustrated, threw her telephone across the room. It hit a painting which she'd done. A painting of him. She'd taken it out of the box after Pacey had left her house. Left her life for the second time. Possibly the last. The painting shook then fell off it's stand. Joey gasped. Please don't let it... It fell. "F*CKING PIECE OF SHIT! WHY IS THIS F*CKING HAPPENING?! WHY?!?!" she screamed before she collapsed to the ground near the pile of broken glass and wood.She pulled out the painting, but only half of it remained intact.
"Ashleigh!" Jean-Luc exclaimed as he burst through the doors. "I got here as fast as I could!" "Jean!" Jen screamed from her hospital bed. They then proceeded to speak in French for a little while before the midwife arrived. Jean-Luc moved to make room for the midwife. "Hi. I'm Steve Torpet," Dawson greeted him holding out his hand. Jean-Luc didn't shake hands with him. "Salut," he muttered. Dawson looked confused. "It means 'hi' or 'bye', Dawson!" Jen shrieked as the midwife tried to calm her down. "And what's up with this 'Steve' crap? Your name is Dawson! Dawson Leery!" "Whose name?" a famailar voice asked from the door way. Dawson spun to face her. Melissa.
Joey rolled off of the couch and attempted to compose herself as she stumbled toward the door. She nearly opened it, then paused and checked the peephole instead. Phew! It wasn't him! She opened the door. "Natalie? I've come to---" "Look, I'm not in the mood to counsel you right now, ok? I told you to call if you needed me. Not just to show up! What happened to pre-organizing things, huh? What---" "I'm sorry, Natalie. I can leave if you want me to," her regular client said as she held her eighteen month old child. "But I'm actually here to say goodbye." "Goodbye? Why?" Joey asked, instantly regretting the way she had verbally attacked her. "I have finally left him," the Muslim woman told her. "I'm taking little Tony here with me. My father is very sick. I have to return to my home." "I understand that," Joey said, smiling at the toddler. "Hopefully I'll see you again sometime." "You too. You've been a great help to me, Natalie. I wouldn't have had the strength to do this without you. Thank you." "Anytime," Joey said, smiling at the woman and her child who she had actually become very fond of. She had often brought her child along to her sessions, mainly because she was afraid of what her abusive husband would do to him if she left them alone together. "Here. I brought this for you," she said as she handed Joey a package wrapped up in brightly coloured cellophane. "Sort of as a thank you/goodbye gift." "Thanks. You didn't have to," Joey said as she took the gift and began to shut the door. "Goodbye." "Wait," the woman said as she held the door open. "I'm not convinced that you're physically sick. I know that look and I know the lines. I've used them myself on several different occasions. Whatever this is, Natalie, it's not worth ruining your life over." "Maybe it is," Joey muttered inaudibly. "Thanks," she then said, her voice clearer. "Good lucky to you, to little Tony and to your father. Bye." "Bye Natalie. Thanks for everything." - Once her visitor was gone, Joey re-entered her messy living room, opened the gift - a large box of deluxe chocolates - ate every single one, then threw them all back up directly into the now-empty box, then rolled over back onto the couch, trying to sleep, but that didn't help. For even in her dreams, all she could think about was him...
"BRETT!!!" Isabelle screeched as she let herself into his trailer. "Brett, what the HELL are you doing to yourself?!?!" she asked as her eyes darted around the trashed contents of his trailer. She stepped over to where his body lay on the small, stiff bed and shook him violently. Not the best idea. He sat directly up and slapped his right hand across her face. She sat back, her hand covering her stinging skin. "OW! What the HELL was that for?!?!" "To make you stop that f*cking nonsense!" he replied viciously. "What has gotten into you?" she asked, terrified by this hollow, cruel-hearted new version of Brett. "This," she said as she looked at him take a huge glug of straight vodka directly from the bottle. "This is suicide!" "Now that's where you're wrong," Pacey said as he stepped towards her. "This," he said as he looked around his 'home'. "This is not suicide. And nor is this," he said, revealing the old scars on and around his left wrist, along with several fresh ones. "Brett - you've gone insane," she said as she shook with fear, slowly creeping towards the phone. "You need help." "Insane? INSANE?! HA! You think I've gone insane!?" he yelled as he threw the vodka bottle at the wall. The distraction was short, but it was long enough. Isabelle dived for the phone and frantically dialled a number. Just as she was about to give up, someone on the other end answered. "Hello?" "Help me. He - he's gone insane. Please help me!" Isabelle pleeded. "Isabelle?" "Please help me. He's tried to kill himself. He's - he's gonna kill me!" "Isabelle - I'm not the right person to call." "Who else am I gonna call?!" she screamed into the phone. "911." "No! I won't get him in trouble like that! Please. Help him." "I thought you needed help." "Yes! No! I mean... he does. Please." She heard a long sigh. "Ok. Where are you?" Isabelle described where his trailer was parked, then hung up the phone and looked over at 'Brett'. He was back on the bed, sleeping peacefully.
"Oh, Brett. What happened to you?" Isabelle asked as she touched his sweaty forehead while he slept. "Everything seemed fine. Good, even. When did it all start to go so wrong?" Pacey began to stir, so Isabelle cautiously took two steps away. She doubted that he'd do anything, but still... better safe than sorry. "Izzy?" he asked. Isabelle took this as her 'all clear' sign. She knelt back down beside him. "Hey. How're you feeling?" "Bad. How's your cheek?" he asked, his eyes still shut. "Sore," she said softly. "I'm sorry," he said, knowing an apology was nowhere near enough, but it was a good starting point. "Brett, what's gotten into you?" she asked. "And don't tell me you're 'just not feeling too good'. I'm not buying any more of that bullsh*t." Pacey smiled at her very unsubtle way of putting it. He shook his head. "Trying to explain it to one woman found me waking up in her bed - ALONE AND NAKED. And it just goes downhill from here." She gazed at him, regretting the way she had consistantly tried to drill private information out of him. "I'm sorry. I should've kept my nose out of it." "True," Pacey replied. "But I don't hate you for it." "Thanks," she smiled. "I don't hate you either." Her smile faded when they heard a knock on the door. How cpould she answer it now? It would hurt Brett to know that he'd scared her enough to cry for help, and it would also look as though she'd cried wolf. Pacey wasn't very keen about opening the door either. It was probably either Chris wondering how he was feeling, John wondering where his wife was, or the crazy guy from down the road wondering if he could 'borrow' another cup of sugar. Isabelle and Pacey silently agreed that whoever it was could stay out in the darkness. However, this person had different ideas. Worried by the lack of response, they invited themselves in... ...only to find Pacey with his hand resting on Isabelle's cheek. Isabelle looked up to where the noise had come from. Pacey looked over at the intruder. She was shaking her head with disappointment. "Pacey," she muttered. "JOEY?!" he gasped, shocked. What was she doing here?!?!
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