True Love Tales

Whenever You Need Me


Part 6

Falling Away

Hey I'm feeling tired
My time is gone today
You flirt with suicide
Sometimes that's ok
Hear what others say
I'm here standing hollow
Falling away from me
Falling away from me
Day is here fading
That's when I would say
I flirt with suicide
Sometimes kill the pain
I can always say
'It's gonna be better tomorrow'
Falling away from me
Falling away from me

Beating me down
Beating me beating me
Down, down
Into the ground
Screaming so sound
Beating me, beating me
Down, down
Into the ground

(falling away from me)
It's spinning round and round
(falling away from me)
It's lost and can't be found
(falling away from me)
It's spinning round and round
(falling away from me)
So down

Beating me down
Beating me, beating me
Down, down
Into the ground
Screaming so sound
Beating me, beating me
Down, down
Into the ground

Pressing me, they won't go away
So I pray, go away

It's falling away from me

Beating me down
Beating me, beating me
Down, down
Into the ground
Screaming so sound
Beating me, beating me
Down, down
Into the ground

Pacey drove through the torrential rain as he stared ahead trying to concentrate on the road in front of him; the constant downpour was almost blinding him, and it seemed as though as much as he tried he could hardly see through it.

He had spent the last few hours just trying to clear his head since his encounter with Andie. He wasn’t any closer to figuring out what was happing to him and why Joey featured so heavily in his mind. He had tried to forget Joey and concentrate on Andie in his head, but every time he tried he just got himself more confused; the constant thought of her drove him crazy.

Unable to settle himself he decided just to head back to the B&B, or ’home’ as he referred to it lately. As he drove along the deserted road he halted at the stop sign and glanced down the familiar turning. It was a neighborhood in a nice part of town; not special or perfect by any means, but a nice residential area. He paused for a moment to contemplate his choice; he could go back 'home’ to Joey or he could stop over at his fathers house and pick up a few essentials. He took his courage, looked at his watch and took the turning, driving past several houses until he reached the house. He glanced at his old driveway and bit his lip; there was no squad-car and not even a sign of life inside the house, so he decided to pull up the drive and walk up to the front door.

Pacey took his keys out his pocket shakily, it more from trepidation than the cold, but he found the key and unlocked the door boldly. He turned the key slowly, pushing the door with his foot and walked inside silently.

“Pacey!” A voice called from the dark. “Honey is that you?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly as his mother approached him and threw her arms around his tall frame.

"Where have you been?” she asked, looking up to his stony face and placing her hand on his cheek. “I have been worried sick about you!"

"Oh yeah?" Pacey questioned coldly, moving away from her.

“Of course I did,”

"If you worried so much then why didn’t you call anyone to see where I was?" He asked her harshly, his voice thick and jagged. "Admit it, you didn’t care,"

“That’s ridiculous! You’re my baby of course I was worried… but you know your father; you know what he’s like!” she said, moving aside as he walked past her and headed up the stairs.

“Of course I know what he’s like, who do you think drove me away in the first place? Who do you think threw me out?”

“When your father gets home we can all sit down and talk about it,”

“I’m sick of talking’ ma!” he told her turning to look down at her from the top of the stairs. "I'm just here for some of my things; I'm not staying,”

“Where will you go?”

“I found somewhere to stay; Joey’s," he said walking into his room; everything was still as he left it, even down to with his unmade bed.

He took a bag from back of his closet and threw as many items in as he quickly as he could. It wasn't everything but he could come back for more; his father would be home soon and that was a confrontation he didn’t want.


He heard his fathers’ voice boom up the stairs and he cringed heavily, never looking to the doorway. The footsteps came up the stairs fast and stopped when he got to his room, walking inside and closing the door heavily behind him.

"Pacey!" The voice boomed again, this time thrusted through gritted teeth. Pacey physically shook but tried not to show it; a confrontation with his father was the last thing he wanted. He felt a hand on his shoulder turning him around quickly and he stared into the cold eyes that greeted him. He was angry; he knew his fathers eyes, at least for once he wasn’t drunk. "What the hell are you doing in this house?"

“I’m not back if that’s what you’re thinking,” Pacey replied in a slow growl, turning around and grabbing his bag, continuing to pack his things.

“You have no right to be here!” He shouted walking over and grabbing his collar and throwing him around the room with it.

“John!” His mother said slowly, opening the door and popping her head inside. “Just leave him alone; he’ll be out of your hair soon,”

“This is my house!” he told her turning around and stalking her towards the door.

“Don’t touch her,” Pacey growled slowly. “Don’t you even think about touching my mother!”

"I threw you out!” Mr. Witter said, turning around and glaring at his son. “I threw you out and I told you not to come back! What didn’t' you understand?"

"Don't worry, I'm just getting a few things and I'm leaving," Pacey said calmly, not wanting to annoy his father any more than he already was. He zipped the bag up and looked at his father. "I'm done and now I’m going," Pacey said slowly, walking to his mother and planting a kiss on her cheek as he threw the bag over his shoulder. “Mom, you know where to find me,”

As Pacey moved for the door his father stopped him, closing the door with his hand and holding it.

"I thought you said you wanted me out?" Pacey asked; he knew what his father was trying to do. "Will you just let me past?" He requested.

"Let you past… what?" Asked his father, making him beg.

"Let me past please," Pacey replied. He wasn't playing his fathers game again; not this time; not ever.

"Are you too afraid to stay and fight?" His father questioned him as Pacey ran down the stairs head of him, just praying he got to the bottom before his father pushed him.

“I’m sick of fighting,”

"Poor little Pacey Witter, failure and coward!" His father mocked.

"I am a coward!" Pacey admitted angrily. "I'm a coward for not walking away a long time ago. It takes more courage to walk away than it does to fight," he answered, trying to stay calm. "I have the courage to walk away now whilst I still can," Pacey told him pushing past him.

"Don't you walk away from me!" John Witter shouted as he watched his son walk down the stairs. Pacey ignored his calls and just continued to walk steadily, swallowing the recurring lump in his throat. "Pacey!" His voice thundered, almost shaking the foundations of the house. "You walk out that door now, don’t you never come back! You hear me? Never!"

“I never will,”

“And I mean that Pacey; no more running back when you need me to bail you out!”

“Don’t say that like you ever cared for me,”

“I did care!” he told him. “I cared for you and I loved you until you…”

“Until I what?” Pacey asked, facing the door. “You explain when you stopped loving me?”

“My love for you just left Pacey; when you refused to be the son you should have been! I wanted a different son; a son who would join me and your brother on the force; a son that wouldn’t screw up everything he did,”

"Screw you!" Pacey shouted to him, without facing him and reaching for the door.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that! I deserve your respect!" His father shouted at the top of his voice as Mrs. Witter just stood by and watched the events unfold like always.

"I'm getting out of your life what else do you want from me?" Pacey asked angrily, throwing his bag on the floor and turning to his father. He had grown past his father in height and truth was he was stronger than he was, however, his father was more powerful.

“A son!”

“I am your son!” Pacey bellowed tearfully, walking up to him and gripping him by his collar. “I’m your son and I’m standing here being all that I am and you can’t love me; you are incapable of loving me!” she shouted, feeling the angry heat in his eyes.

“You’re incapable of being a good son,” he told him, throwing his hands off his collar and holding him to the wall by his neck. “You’re incapable of everything. You’re stupid; you’re pathetic; Incomplete,”

"Come on Sheriff!" Pacey said struggling out of his grip, fighting for the power. He stalked him to the door until his fathers back hit it. “Take one last shot!” He said, pointing to his face. He was so close to him he could feel his fathers' harsh breath on his skin; it made him shiver feeling that cold breath close to his skin. "Come on! Why not just scar me a little bit more than you have already!”

“You’re not even worth it,”

“Come on sheriff!" Pacey shouted, pushing his father on the chest. “Why don’t you just scare me again; once for the road! Scare me beyond believe like you always have just one more time!”

His father stood in front of him, watching him as he held him tightly against the door shouting at him; refusing to stop.

“Why don’t you just make me cry just a little bit more! Make me feel worthless just a little bit more! Why don’t you just hurt me just a little bit more! Huh!” he asked shoving him and wiping the tears from his eyes quickly. “Why don’t you go ahead and Make me hate you just a little You are a terrible son—“bit more!" Pacey shouted at him, his emotions pouring out of his mouth harshly, biting at him. "You already drove me away for no other reason than I wasn’t perfect; why not just scar me even more and make my life even more worthless?”

“That’s not even possible!” he growled back, pushing Pacey back onto the wall, banging his head as he did. “

“No! You are a terrible father; you are the one who failed and you just can’t stand it! I wish you were dead!" Pacey said harshly, not regretting a single word. “But who am I kidding, my father died a long time ago; the drink took my father and he never came back!” He cried angrily. “I wish you were as dead as you make me feel!”

“I’m not a bad father!” he argued, pulling him by his collar and throwing him against the wall again. "I’m a good father, just like my father was before me!”

“Yeah; I hear he was an abusing drunk too!”

They stood in a tense silence for a moment, glaring through each other with cold eyes; John glowered at him angrily, taking a fistful of his shit as he backed up his fist, ready to strike.

“Do it! If you want to prove how much of a good Farther you aren’t then do it! Continue the track of the abusive drunk who has to obtain power over people by hurting them!”

His father waited a moment, removing his fist from its position above his sons face and smashed it into his stomach harshly, releasing him and letting him fall to the floor.

“God,” Pacey groaned, kneeling on the ground as he tried to get up. “”You just couldn’t resist it could you,”

“Get up and fight me!”

“I’m not fighting you – fighting solves nothing; fighting only creates more problems, more hurt, more pain!”

“I’m gonna show you pain! I’m going to show you pain that you have never felt before!” he promised, kicking Pacey in the stomach as he scrambled to get up.

“There’s no pain I’ve never felt; I’ve felt all the pain I can; I’m numb!” he yelled, attempting once more to stand up, only to be greeted by his fathers foot to the side of his face. “You numb me dad!” he said, wiping the blood from his mouth and standing up to him. “You ruined me! You hurt and abused me all my life and what for?” he asked him harshly.

“You deserved everything you got!”

“I deserve none of this!” he told him, walking away from him and heading into the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“To the source of the problem,” Pacey said painfully, holding his stomach as he pulled a bottle of scotch from the cupboard under the sink.

“Get off that!” he requested harshly.

“worried I’ll spill the gold huh?” he asked smashing the bottle into the sink. “You love the drink more than you love me!”

“That’s not hard,” his father said, rushing to the sink and staring at the bottle “it’s easier to love an inanimate object than to love you,”

“Obviously,” Pacey groaned, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving,”

“You’re not leaving,” he told him, grabbing him from behind and pulling him back, holding a shard of glass to his neck. “Scared yet?”

“John!” Pacey’s mother called, watching the fear in his tear-stained eyes as he felt the sharp object stick into his throat. “John Stop!”

“I’ll stop when I’m good and ready!”

“When’s that? When your sons blood is on your hands!”

“If that’s what it takes for him to respect me,”

“Please” Pacey begged, holding his fathers hands with his won, trying to move them away.

“I’d turn my gun on you but you’re not worth the bullet,” he told him, releasing him from his grip and throwing him back down onto the kitchen floor, holding his hands as he hovered above him. “I could finish you,”

“Then what are you waiting for?” he asked, pleading with his fathers eyes. “Finish me; finish your own son!”

“You’re no son of mine,” he said pressing the shard into his shoulder until he saw a slow stream of blood seep through his shirt.

His father watched him as he rolled over, groaning in pain, using the table to help him to his feet. “What kind of guy are you; what kind of father are you?" he asked him, groaning at the pain, “I’m happy to get out of here!”

“You’ll come back for more; you always do. I’m your father”

“Not this time sheriff; My father’s dead to me!” he told him, smashing his fist into the side of his fathers face, sending him down with a thud. His father scrambled to his feet and grabbed him, thrusting his powerful fist into the side of his face, pushing him.

“Just get out if you’re going,” he said looking down oh him; his son tried to escape from his boot as it smashed down on his back. “What’s the matter, can’t get up?” he whispered harshly, pulling him up by his collar and throwing him against the front door, taking one last punch before leaving him and walking away.

“Honey are you alright?” His mother asked, grabbing his bag and walking over to him, cupping his face. “I couldn’t stop him without…”

“I know,” he told her, turning and walking out of the house and John Witter's life forever.

Part 5 here

Part 7 here

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