Joey closed her eyes and sighed, leaning back against the bed. The room was a jumble of boxes and clothes, piled high and sprawled over every available surface. For all her outer neatness, Andie’s closets and drawers had been a mess; no doubt some sort of parallel to her life. Next to her on the floor, there was a careful stack of papers and trinkets that Joey had found and placed there for Pacey to look through as soon as he was ready.

She wondered when he’d be ready.

It was stupid, she reminded herself for the millionth time since the funeral. He’d just lost his wife. The last thing he wanted, the last thing he was looking for was someone to replace her. He’d loved Andie. He loved Andie.

Sighing again, Joey bounced the back of her head off the mattress, trying not to think of him sprawled across it. They’d had sex. It didn’t mean anything. It was the heat of the moment and it was Pacey accepting the fact that he was alive. It was sex.

She slumped dejectedly against the bed once more, shrieking softly as it moved, sliding over a few inches. Getting to her knees, she turned around and pulled it back toward her. The top mattress slid a little and as she shifted it back into place, she noticed a sharp, hard edge protruding from underneath.

Andie’s journal.

Joey looked over at the door, standing open so that she could hear Pacey should he need her, need something. Chewing on her lower lip, Joey then looked down at the book in her hand. She really shouldn’t…

The last entry was dated the day Andie had died. Unlike the others in the book, there was a time written as well and it held Joey’s attention. Pacey had told her that he’d gone downstairs at ten in the morning but that Andie always got up at five. The entry was from eight.

I can’t help myself. I’ve tried so hard and I know it’s so wrong, but I can’t seem to help myself.

I realize how hypocritical I’ve been. I realize that I’m living a lie and I’m hurting so many people. I realize I’ve become the thing that I berated Pacey for so many years ago.

He’s a student. I’m an adult. I’m his principal. I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. We shouldn’t be doing what we’re doing.

I got tested two weeks ago. It was negative. I’d never felt such relief. There is no way I could have gone to Pacey and told him if it had been positive. How could I look at him and tell him that I’d just killed him?

I went to him this morning. I went to him to tell him that it was over, that I couldn’t – wouldn’t – do it any more. I went to him and even though I knew it was wrong, that on today of all days it betrayed every vow I’ve made, I made love to him. We made love and I felt him come inside me and I cried. I cried tears that came from somewhere in my heart.

All the way home I cried. I’d wanted him so badly that I hadn’t thought, hadn’t cared. But on the way home, I realized what I’d done. What I’d let him do. What I’d done to Pacey.

Again.

Tonight’s our anniversary. He’s going to surprise me with my favorite dinner and then we’re going to dance in the living room under the white Christmas lights he’s going to put up today while I’m gone. Then he’s going to give me my present and he’s going to lead me up the stairs and he’s going to want to make love to me.

And I’ll have to tell him no. But I can’t tell him no. Because telling him no would mean telling him why.

And I can’t do that.

But I can’t kill him.

Which really only leaves me one choice.

“Joey?”

She closed the book quietly and grabbed her purse, stuffing it into the bag. “Yeah?”

“You hungry?”

“Ye…yeah.”

“Why don’t you come down? We’ll go out and eat and then come back and tackle the rest of this.”

She got to her feet and nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. She stopped at the door and looked back at their room. It looked as if it had been hit by a hurricane, destroyed. Patting the book in her purse, knowing its contents were safe, she shook her head and started down the stairs.

Not destroyed.

She’d make sure of that.