***

Humiliation is a bitter pill to swallow. Who said that? I'm sure someone must have said it before. But I never really understood it fully until now. It's been plaguing me every minute of every day since I was stupid enough to let him know how I feel. Felt.

Felt.

Because I couldn't possibly still feel the same way after he stomped my heart flat without a second thought, after I stupidly laid it out on the floor for him to do with as he pleased.

I suppose it was my fault. My fault that I even tried to differentiate the old Pacey Witter from Nick Shafer, my fault that I stayed at his apartment the night of his party, my fault that I let myself fall in love with him all over again. Just like it's my fault that I'm still in love with him.

It's ironic, really. There I was, finally with enough courage to go to him and admit that he was the one I wanted - still the one I really want, ten years later. Only this time, he was the one who didn't want me.

It hurts to know that.

It hurts, and I hate him for it. I hate him with a ferocity I didn't know I was capable of, to the point that every last part of me wishes I'd never even known him, and I hate myself, because no matter how often I tell myself that, I can't stop thinking about him.

"Joey? Could you pick up if you're there?" I put down the folded shirts I'd been moving from my dresser to the open suitcase on my bed after Lauren's voice nudges me out of my thoughts.

"Hi, Lauren," I answer the phone softly, not bothering to hide my mood anymore. I'd spent the entire week in pretty much the same state.

"Hey. You're leaving tomorrow morning?"

I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder and continue packing. "Yes. I'm packing right now."

"Okay. Just wanted to make sure you have everything."

"Thanks, Lauren," I reply sincerely. "I'm fine. Just hold down the fort for me next week, okay?"

"No problem." She says brightly. "Have fun at the reunion! I'll see you when you get back. Bye."

The mattress on my bed dips a little as I sit, phone in one hand, sweaters in another. My blank stare takes in the clothes in the suitcase beside me and I realize that I have no idea what I've packed. I'd just been on autopilot.

Suddenly the perfect silence in my apartment feels stifling. I have to get out of here. Grabbing the nearest jacket I could reach, I'm out of the building in minutes, taking in the cool night air as if I'd been drowning.

Jen had left for Capeside this morning, promising to come over to the B&B as soon as I arrive. She didn't quite know what to say when I told her about Dawson's phone call and Pacey's… words, and for once it actually felt good to just cry on someone's shoulder without having to talk about each and every event that led to it. My eyes had nearly been swollen shut after I finally got a hold of myself, but my heart didn't feel any less empty, or tired, or broken.

I can't believe I still even have the energy to attend the reunion. But I don't feel like I can stand being in New York right now, knowing that I could bump into him any second.

After walking aimlessly around the city for half an hour, I find myself on the block where Pacey and I had met for Jen's set-up lunch. My lungs feel heavy, making it hard to breathe, and I curse him repeatedly in my head for ruining this place for me when it used to be just something between Jen and me.

The door of the restaurant opens a few feet ahead. A tall woman steps out, laughing girlishly, and the sight of the side of her face causes me to stop short. Vanessa Reed. I hurriedly move to stand along the side of a darkened shop window to my right. My heartbeat stops, caught together with my breathing, as I wait in dread to see the person she's with.

"So, are you going?" Her smooth voice carries over to where I'm standing.

"I don't think so," his dry response floats to me before I can even see his face. My heart resumes beating, slow and intense and painful at first, slowly accelerating until I can hardly hear anything above the furious thudding in my ears. My cold, clammy hands grip at the cool glass behind me as I pray that they don't turn this way.

"I think I'd rather stay here…" he continues, his voice deep and seductive. He leans closer to her, almost nuzzling her ear right there in the middle of the sidewalk, and takes her hand in his right before pulling her into a cab.

Numbness pours through my veins, replacing the sharp and stabbing clenching in my chest. My legs take me mechanically back to my apartment. My head is starting to throb. My eyes sting from the dryness in the air. I push aside my half-done packing and fall into bed, pulling the covers up tight around me.

***

Sunlight streaks in brightly through the windows of my apartment. Eyes squinting to keep the light from beating into my head, I stuff a few more clothes into my suitcase and close it.

Scenes from last night are starting to flash through my mind, making my blood come to life. Jerk. I'd been feeling like hell all week, while he had been - acting like the sickening playboy that he is. Hot water from the shower falls down in needles onto my skin, fuelling the anger inside me.

By the time I carry my suitcase down to the waiting cab, I am determined to purge Pacey Witter or Nick Shafer or whatever from my system. Until I dig through my purse to make sure I have my keys and instead grab hold of a single piece of cool, slender metal.

I'd totally forgotten about it, even while we were still… even after I stayed at his apartment that night. Now the shiny silver burns a cold imprint into my palm as I stare at it and think of what to do.

"Could we make a stop somewhere first, please?" I hear myself ask the driver. I'll drop it off with the doorman and be on my way in ten seconds. Simple.

Only I can't seem to control the nervousness that floods through me as soon as the cab pulls up to the front of his building. Holding the key clenched tightly in my hand, I take a deep breath and walk into the lobby, determined to rid myself of anything with even the slightest hint of a connection to him.

The lobby is empty. I stare for a few seconds at the chair behind the desk, as if the doorman would miraculously appear out of nowhere if I did it long enough. I wait restlessly for minutes until my gaze falls on a row of lined mailboxes bearing apartment numbers.

"Working for the post office now?"

His voice makes me jump back guiltily from the box labeled 1201. I hadn't even heard the elevator open.

I look at him defiantly, suppressing the small flutter in my stomach caused by the sight of him in a tight gray t-shirt and black jogging pants striped with white down the sides. "I was waiting for your doorman." I have to swallow around the lump in my throat, hesitating before saying the rest. "I think… someone else might be needing this, after all." I hold the key out toward him. My voice sounds thin. I had planned to say that Vanessa might be needing it, but I've lost the nerve.

Pacey's inscrutable blue gaze slides down to my hand. He reaches out slowly and takes the key, his touch causing a sharp little current of… something… to run through my fingers as it lingers for one breathless second. He stares at the key for a long time before looking back up at me. "Thanks," his voice sounds different, and I give in to the urge to imagine for one brief moment that maybe he's feeling even just a fraction of what I'm feeling right now.

I feel like my lungs can't take in enough air. The anger I'd been trying to cultivate dissolves as quickly as if it were smoke blending into the atmosphere. Part of me wants to escape, go back into my cab and never see him again. But another part of me knows that I have to say something to him.

"You're always going to let Dawson chase you away, aren't you?"

His reply takes a few long moments of silence. "It hasn't been about Dawson for a long time."

The ambiguous statement imprints itself into my mind. I back away from him and head back out to the waiting taxi. "We could have been friends, Mr. Shafer." I say softly before pushing out the door and getting into the idling yellow car.