SOS by Glory, Girl Writer.pdf - Dawson's Creek Fandom Wiki

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Joey's mind wandered back to Thanksgiving. She thought of the moment when Pacey
grabbed her by the belt loop and pulled on her. It had felt strangely like being led by her
hips. And then in the bathroom, he had touched her hands and reached up her sleeve .
. . I miss here, he had said.
The voice in her head was insistent and irritated this time. Your boyfriend is kissing
you. You should be paying attention. She immediately jerked her head back, her mouth
making a loud smacking sound as she disengaged from Dawson.
"What?" He looked stunned. "Joey, what's wrong?"
"I -- I -- nothing." She smiled as warmly as she could. "I'm sorry." She turned around so
her back was to him, then sank back into his chest. She pulled his arms around her, and
turned her attention back to the movie. "Did I miss the part where Harrison Ford drag
races Paul LeMat and the girl from 'One Day at a Time?'"
"No, still to come." He ran his fingers over her hands as they sat pretzeled on the
couch. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?"
She wasn't listening. She was already back in the bathroom of Pete's apartment, with
Pacey's hand up the sleeve of her sweater. He touched her arm with warm fingers, and
she stopped breathing. His hand pulled out of her sleeve and moved up to her cheek,
she tilted her head down to meet it, his finger was on her jaw . . . I miss here. She
closed her eyes, and now she was back even farther.
Trace. She ran her hand up her sleeve to the inside of her elbow, then ran her finger
back and forth inside the bend of her arm.
"Joey, did you hear me?"
She snapped her head forward and almost felt the time rush forward until she wound up
here, on this couch, with Dawson. This is wrong, and you know it's wrong, and it's not
fair to him. She hated that voice, because it was always right.
"No," she said plainly. "I didn't hear you." She shifted and turned so she was facing
him. Staring into his eyes, freed suddenly from the task of trying to be in love with him,
she felt an overwhelming rush of affection. They were six again, seeing E.T. for the first
time. They were ten, sharing a pint of Ben and Jerry's on the end of the dock. They
were twelve, in her room the day her mother died, his arm around her shoulders, her
face buried in his shirt. How was she going to do this? Finally, she spoke. "I want to
thank you so much for bringing me to California with you."
For just a minute, it didn't register. Some part of his brain actually started to form words
like I'm glad you came with me, to be delivered as an even response to this spontaneous
burst of gratitude from Joey. But then he saw the way she was rubbing her hand against
the leg of her jeans. Something was very, very wrong. "Where is this going, Jo?" His
eyes were dark.