I confess, there's a chance
I cannot fake it any longer
I admit, this could be it
there's a danger I'm going under…
My whole self on the line
there's a danger I might get broken
Slip your pill under my tongue
and willingly I succumb
Cup my heart in your palm
and squeeze it 'til the red stuff runs
And your love's killing me slowly
Killing me one day at a time
Killing me slowly
It's the sweetest suicide

***

"The master bedroom would look really good with a polished wood floor, or maybe carpeting in beige or off-white. I've also spoken with our interior decorator, and she said that it wouldn't be a problem for her to find the kind of furniture you're looking for." It takes some effort for me to keep my eyes fixed on the blueprint in front of me while Pacey is leaning so close that the clean scent of his aftershave invades me with every breath. "All you really need to do now is decide."

He looks closely at the layout of his apartment. We're standing over the proposed designs, lain out across the huge desk in his office. My right hand is resting near the little square that represents his bedroom, supporting my weight as my entire upper body is bent over the table.

"Do I really need that big a bathroom?" He asks, looking at me, and my heart hitches at the teasing tone in his voice. When he jokes around like that, he almost seems like the Pacey I knew. I have to give myself a mental shake and remind myself that he is most definitely not.

"Well," I answer, staring at the square. "No, you don't. But most of my clients want Jacuzzis in their bathrooms, apart from the shower. I assumed that you would - "

He lets out a chuckle. "I don't think so. A plain old shower is fine with me."

I nod. "Okay. No Jacuzzi… and no tub?" The last part of the question comes out in an awkward whisper, and embarrassment floods through me after hearing myself actually ask it, followed by annoyance. He wanted me to work for him? Fine. This is part of it. But that doesn't mean that I have to like it. And it sure as hell doesn't mean that I'm going to start flirting with him like every other unenlightened woman who crosses his path.

"A tub would be good," he replies softly, and his gaze catches mine before I can stop myself from looking, just in time to see his deep blue stare sliding down to my mouth.

His eyes are clear but enigmatic, revealing nothing about what he could be thinking, what he could be feeling. He's looking at me so intensely that I've forgotten how to breathe.

I snap my eyelids closed for a second to get a hold of myself. "I'm sure it would." The cutting reply comes out clipped and sarcastic, as everything inside me resumes from the frozen state they seem to have been thrown into.

Something clouds his eyes, probably anger, and then he looks amused. Which somehow only irritates me even more. "Tell me something?"

"Yes?" I ask impatiently, beginning to gather up the blueprints. We're obviously done here.

"Have you not changed even one tiny little bit since we were in high school?"

His question replays itself in my mind, just to make sure that I heard it correctly, while everything in me freezes again. The blueprints hang limply from my hand, forgotten. I look at him again. And it's extremely difficult for me to muster a shred of annoyance.

Suddenly we're seventeen again, and he's doing his best to get me riled up in that maddening way of his, even while he's trying to tell me what it is he's feeling. Suddenly we're on the porch at the B&B, and he's telling me something about working a clutch, when I know somewhere deep inside me that he's trying to say much more.

And the wall of anger I'd been trying to put up through most of our conversation crumbles without resistance.

The ability to speak has left me completely. All I can do is look at him helplessly while my pulse rapidly accelerates, while he begins to lean in close to me.

His lips are only a breath away from mine when the intercom on his desk comes to life with his secretary's voice. "Mr. Shafer, sorry to interrupt, but Ms. Reed is on the line. She says it's urgent."

I straighten quickly and move away from the table, my face flushing hotly. From shame, annoyance, anger. At him and at myself. Somehow I get my legs to function enough to bring me to the bag I had left on his sofa.

"Yes, Vanessa, it's going to be at the Met." Pacey was saying into the phone. "I'm sure whatever you decide to wear is going to be lovely, princess. Don't worry. Fine. See you tonight."

I keep my back turned to him, ready to run out the door. I close my eyes against the sickening feeling in my stomach. Vanessa Reed. That's her name. And of course, he calls her princess. And, god, he was almost going to kiss me! And I was about to let him. How much more humiliating can this get? How stupid am I?

I clear my throat. "I need to go. I'll just leave those blueprints with you so you can go over them; you can reach me at the office if you have any questions." It's difficult to speak in level tones when all I want to do is scream his head off.

"Sorry about that." He says just as my hand touches the doorknob.

"Oh, don't be," I shake my head, laughing scornfully before exiting as quickly as I can.

***

Jen is giggling so much, her whole face is red. "That was rude."

I throw a potato chip at her. "Shut up!" I can't help giggling about it now, too. It was rude. "This isn't why I asked you to come over, you know."

"I know, I know." She grins. "You asked me over because I'm the only other person you know who has nothing better to do."

"Right." I grin back, then wrinkle my eyebrows. "Why is that, anyway? The Jennifer Lindley I knew would never be caught dead without a date for every night of the week. Aren't there any other interesting teachers at NYU?"

This time she's the one who throws a chip at me. "Interesting, yes. But cute…" she wrinkles her nose.

"Don't tell me you still haven't gotten over your crush on Jack," I tease her wickedly. "As gorgeous as you are, Jen, I don't think anyone will ever be able to get him to switch sides."

She laughs. "Ah, but let's not forget who drove him to do that in the first place, consequently ruining it for me and every other woman on the planet." She wiggles her eyebrows mischievously, pauses thoughtfully and eats a chip. "Actually, there's this one professor at Tisch…"

"Is he cute?"

She nods.

"Interesting?"

"Yes," she rolls her eyes and smiles.

"Well, what are you waiting for, then?"

She frowns. "You were trying to change the subject, weren't you? Why do you hate him so much, all of a sudden?"

My jaw drops in indignation before I begin enumerating his faults with fervor. "First of all, he was a total jerk to me at the party. Secondly, he probably flirts with anything that doesn't have a Y chromosome, and third, I want to have as little to do with him as humanly possible."

"So," Jen begins uncertainly, "you don't feel guilty about what happened in high school anymore?"

I chew on my lip before answering. Feeling guilty about it almost seems to have become a habit. One I'm having a hard time dropping. "It certainly doesn't seem like there was too much to be guilty about," I rationalize. "I mean, for all we know, he was probably having the time of his life while we were all angsting our way through college." My voice fades for some reason as I continue. "It doesn't seem like it mattered too much…" Why does that thought make my chest tighten?

Jen is silent.

"I don't like what he's become," I add. "He's… he's not Pacey anymore, Jen. He's Nick." And I need to keep reminding myself of that.

"Besides, he's got his mannequin." I continue jokingly, right before the doorbell rings. I grab a paper towel from the kitchen before going to answer it, wiping my greasy hands. "That must be the pizza."

I reach for money from the pocket of my jeans as I open the door.

"Hi."

My jaw drops. It's Pacey, standing in my doorway in a sleek black tuxedo and trench coat. He looks so good that it takes a few seconds for me to remember that I'm standing here in a sweater and jeans, staring at him open-mouthed and dumbstruck.

"Sorry for dropping by unannounced," he says with an edge to his voice. "But you left this in my office, and I thought I'd better drop it off before I'm accused of theft." He says, holding up my Palm. "I also brought the blueprints. I'm done with them, and - " He catches a glimpse of Jen in my apartment and his face breaks into a big smile just as she sees him, too.

"Jen Lindley," he says as he gives her a hug and tugs playfully at her ponytail. "It's been a while."

Jen smiles up at him and I feel a little out of place, part of me envious of their easy banter. And aggravated. I'd just finished telling Jen how different he was, but they're behaving like we're back in Capeside.

"Hey, stranger!" Jen greets him. "Where're you off to?"

"The Met," he replies, glancing at his watch. "And I'm late, actually. We should have lunch sometime, Lindley," he ruffles the top of her head playfully.

"Not if you keep doing that," Jen warns.

He laughs. "Deal." He starts to leave and turns to me, his face sobering. "I'll call your office tomorrow so we can talk about the apartment."

I nod, feeling unbelievably moronic. "Thank you for bringing my… things." I give myself a mental shake. "Oh, wait!"

He stops in the hallway outside and turns expectantly.

"I still have your key." I move to go get it from my bag when he shakes his head.

"Keep it." He says, looking at me with something indecipherable in his eyes. I open my mouth to protest. "For when you need to see the place again."