You don’t remember the first time Pamela Beesley broke your heart or how many times she has.

All you know is that’s all she seems to do anymore. With a smile or a laugh, reminding you that she’s not yours and she’ll never be. Or each time she stares or holds or kisses the man she truly belongs to. Each moment the sparkle on the diamond of her left hand shines in your eye. You know, you remember, and your heart breaks again. Over and over until you wonder if there’s a single piece of your heart left.

And then she’ll look at you, in that way that only she can, and you fall more, harder, longer and you tell yourself that she’s worth every single fracture that you endure.

Today is no different, you quickly realize.

She sits at her desk, staring up at you with those gorgeous eyes. You lean over her desk, needing to be as close as possible, the distance eating away at you. Your hands are close to her face, even closer to her hands, gently and involuntarily brushing against the back of hers. Your voice is low, a whisper, almost like you’re telling her a secret nobody knows in the world. But that secret, the one that’s buried in your heart, never passes your lips.

You ask her as nonchalantly as you can with your heart beating against your chest if she likes to go out for drinks after work. You tell her about end of the week drinks and you’re almost positive you stopped breathing for an instant when she quickly asks when you’re going out. Tonight, you tell her tonight, because tonight you’ll tell her. Tonight, she’ll be yours.

Then, the door opens.

You know it’s him before you ever look. She backs away slightly, and you stand up straight then. The closeness gone, the moment passing, the distance again.

You remain civil, greeting him, wondering how on earth you can be so jealous of a man like Roy. You lean back against the desk on your elbow, remaining silent as she asks his permission to go out after work. Your fingers tap nervously against the top of the desk, and you know his answer by his hesitation. He just wants them to go home. Go home. Together. Alone. Your head falls, your heart cracks. She’s not yours. You fix your tie, trying to distract yourself from the pain as she agrees to her fiancee’s demands. She starts to make excuses, fidgeting, saying something about faxes, and you have to cover your mouth with your hand to stop yourself from saying something to her, to him. She stands then, and you can no longer look her in the eye. She walks away silently and you can’t help yourself from watching her as she slips past you.

And then you’re alone. With him. With the guy she goes home to every night.

You even try to convince him to come along for drinks tonight, hoping that maybe, even if he’s there, you’ll get a moment alone with her. You play with your tie, a lump building up in your throat as he shakes his head at you. And you know, before he ever says it, that he’s not coming tonight and if he’s not going, Pam is most definitely not going.

A silence falls between the two of you, an uncomfortable, awkward, terrible silence. Both of you, two feet apart, your hearts belonging to the same woman. You stand there, scratching your chin, wondering what the hell Roy could possibly have that you don’t. You try to start a conversation again to stop your mind from wandering into unknown areas, but he wants no part of it or you. He grumbles that you tell his fiancee that he’ll be waiting in the car and you agree. You agree because he’s her fiancee. He walks out the door, but you remain at her desk, unable to move her, stuck just as badly as your heart is on her. You look behind you, hoping to see her there, but she’s not.

It feels like hours before you head back to your desk, surrounding your mind in work that doesn’t even exist. The rest of the office leaves, heading out for a drink that you no longer want but still desperately need. You let yourself become so enraptured in a swarm of papers on your desk that you hardly hear her walk up behind you. You turn your chair around so fast to look at her that you make yourself dizzy. Or maybe it’s she that makes you dizzy. For a second, as your eyes land on her, you think she might have been crying. Her arms are protectively wrapped around her torso, one hand casually swiping at her face. You ask how she is immediately, but she quickly interrupts, wondering why you hadn’t gone out for that drink you’d wanted only a little while ago. But you don’t have an answer to give her. You can’t tell her that you don’t want to go because she’s not there, you can’t because she’s not yours.

You switch topics. You ask her how her headache is, and when she says its better, you don’t believe her. You tear your eyes away, back to your desk, that tightness filling your chest again. But then she’s asking you something and she can’t get it out, can’t form the words, something about walking out. Together? And then you’re laughing with her, a big full smile bouncing from your lips to hers. And a lightness fills your heart, even though you can see she’s sad, broken at best, she still wants to walk out with you. It feels great, wonderful, to be needed even if its small. You turn back to your desk, hoping to tidy up as quick as possibly, before you can head out with her, together, pretending to yourself that she’s coming home with you.

Then, the horn beeps.

And she’s walking away from you, telling you to have a great weekend as you fall back into your chair from emotional exhaustion, only able to wave and stare as she grabs her coat and walks out the door, away from you, and right back to him.

You sit there, for a while, your hand against the back of her head in utter amazement, that for all the times she walks away and breaks your heart, you love her that much more.

Even on Michael’s diversity day, you realize that working as a receptionist for Dunder Mifflin has given the word boredom an entirely new definition.

You sit at your desk, just like you do every single day, your eyes glued to your computer screen, trying to challenge your mind with a game of free cell. And then you see him approach your desk, his hand immediately dipping into the container of jelly beans that you so thoughtfully placed there for him and him alone. Because you’re friends and he loves jellybeans.

He leans over your desk, popping the jellybean into his mouth, obviously noticing your sad, sad game of solitaire. His eyes move from you to screen and in seconds, he’s leaning over even further, his arm falling before you, gesturing toward the screen. He points to the six of clubs then to the seven of hearts before his hand is gone again, back up underneath his chin. You admit, shyly that you, as free cell master, had already seen the move and then embarrassingly tell him, as you would only tell Jim Halpert, that you were saving that move because you love to hear that funny sound the computer makes when you win.

Truthfully, even if its just a silly game of free cell, you love to know that you’ve succeeded at something, anything.

But he doesn’t laugh at you. Not like you would expect. Certainly not like how Roy might react to such a stupid thing to do. No, Jim Halpert reacts as only Jim Halpert would. He remains at your desk, his face serious and understanding, and he questions who wouldn’t love that.

You giggle, turning back to your screen, and find yourself wondering if the real question was: who wouldn’t love Jim Halpert?

You think about this question too much during the course of the day, in between the meetings, and the role playing, and the free cell. Especially when Michael steps out of his office and gives his speech, asks if there were any connections or emotions. You can’t help it when your eyes fall to Jim, or how he turns his chair around to give you a quick glance. You listen as Jim attempts to make that big sale he makes every year, you almost laugh at how he’s continually interrupted. But he never gets mad. Frustrated? Yes. Angry? Never. You’ve never seen him angry, you realize. He’s always pulling pranks or making you laugh.

He’s never made you cry. Not like Roy has.

You’re glad you found such a good friend in Jim Halpert. You remind yourself that he’s just your friend.

Michael pulls you and some of the rest of the office into a room as he gives yet another speech. You sit in the back row, far corner, your mind weary. You stare at Michael with heavy eyelids, bored to exhaustion, as Jim walks in and takes the seat right beside you. His arm gently brushes against yours and you sit there and try to determine if its his cologne or soap that makes his smell so good. Michael’s words begin to blend into one another, the air becoming thick and heavy. You can’t keep your eyes open anymore, your head feels so heavy.

And then it’s not heavy anymore. It’s landed on something soft, strong. You nestle into it, your eyes falling all the way closed, the smell of cologne or soap lulling your senses into a light sleep.

And you dream of him. Dream that you’re standing on a beach, he’s wearing loose khaki pants and a half-open white shirt that sways open from the breeze, barefoot in the sand, his eyes glued on you and only one. It’s cool, calm, and you’re alone. You feel yourself smiling and know you’re happy. Because he’s there, because he’s smiling right back at you, because your hands are intertwined with his. He leans closer, closer now....

Then, you hear your name. Or something like your name. And when you open your eyes, the room is empty, but the shoulder beneath you is warm. His eyes are the first thing you see and you can’t describe the emotion within them. You lift your head, a smile tilting your lips, a pink blush rising to your cheeks.

You dreamt of him while sleeping on him.

And suddenly, you’re embarrassed. You stand fast, whispering an apology, as you rush past him and out the door. You feel him only a few steps behind you and realize only then that your heart is beating fast, rapid against your chest. And you wonder when was the last time you’d had such a great sleep or such a great dream.

You found yourself at her desk early this morning. Not that it would be any different from any other morning. You always manage to find yourself instinctively drawn to her corner of the office, leaning over the top of her desk, talking to her, staring at her, telling her meaningless things just to get her to laugh or smile.

You break the ice this particular morning by telling her about an episode of Trading Spouses. She teases you, even though she’s sitting, leaning toward you as if you’re telling her the most important thing in the world. Or maybe your imagination is running wild. She jokes at you, informing you oh-so-subtlety about the lack of life you actually have. Not that you didn’t already know this. Your life is pretty pathetic at the moment. You’re pining for a girl whose engaged to another man. And somehow none of this seems to bother you because a soft chuckle escaped her throat, floats through the air, and warms your heart. Michael, of course, ruins the moment, but can’t destroy the contentment suddenly in your heart.

You try to work hard today. Not like you don’t everyday, but sometimes distractions tend to help. When Michael asks you to do something for him, you hand it off to Dwight as per usual. But this task, you realize too late, is too big to leave in Dwight’s hands.

You and Pam join forces together, as you seem to always do, and enter Dwight’s workplace to discuss the God-awful health plan he picked out for the office workers. You immediately tease Dwight with his office/workspace, just to annoy him as per usual, and she only looks up at you occasionally, smirking or rolling her eyes. But she ends your incessant bickering by placing her hand on your arm. The trail of fire she leaves behind ceases any further smack talk you may have. She asks Dwight, in a business like tone, about the terrible plan and you can only stare at her in awe. She’s breathtaking, even like this.

And then, you’re back to bickering with Dwight. Talking about perfect immune systems, antibodies, and raising one’s own cholesterol. She jokes and you’re happy that she’s on your side, that she’s always on your side.

You decide, after realizing fighting with Dwight is a losing battle, that a conspiracy may be the only way to get back at him. Standing over Pam’s desk, wondering if there’s an indentation in the floor from where you always seem to stand, you fill out your health care form by her side. You jot down the most ridiculous diseases you can think of like ebola, then stare down at her and her form. You casually inform her not to write down such diseases by you’re apparently already suffering from them.

Then, she laughs. A big, open mouth, wide grin laugh that makes you fall even harder for her. And you realize, any disease he might write down would have to be cured by that gorgeous laugh of hers.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when she tells you that she’s making up diseases for her own form. You drop your pen, giving her your full attention, hand under chin, as she asks the name for something about melting teeth and you quickly give her one. She nods, approving, impressed, and you know right then and there that you could do this with her for the rest of your life.

If she didn’t happen to be engaged to spend her life with someone else, of course.

You grab her form once you’re done making up and creating as many diseases as possible before you hand them back to Dwight. Only moments later does he burst out of his workspace and accuse his co-workers of forging medical documents. You stand at Pam’s desk as he lists the very things you just made up and watch as Angela, Kevin, Oscar, and Stanley enjoy the prank. He blames you personally, and you can feel Pam’s eyes on the back of you, supporting you, because she is always at your side. Dwight rushes back into his workspace in a huff and you can’t help but turn around and give props to the girl who created killer nano-robot.

The girl you wish you could call your girl.

Dwight interviews you and it takes everything you have to not laugh in his face. But when you see his keys atop the table, calling out to you, just begging to be taken, you can’t help yourself. You lift them off the table, stand to your feet quickly, ignoring all the Dwight has to say as you lock him in, tossing the keys casually onto an open shelf before collapsing back to your desk.

Dwight bangs on the glass for a good five minutes before he calls you. You answer, giving him the runaround, as you see Pam out of the corner of your eye pick up her phone. Your line beeps in and you know it’s her before she ever says a word. You have a vague, innocent conversation about the weekend, and the mall, and shoes and you revel in how normal this feels. You love talking to her, you could do it all day long, her voice is soothing and calm. Everything she says interests you. Even about shoes, even with Dwight shouting from the next room, even while she’s engaged to another guy.

She’s still the only voice in the world to you. And you fear she might always be.

You know he’s up to something really good when he’s approaching your desk and his face is already beaming with a smile. Normally, he’s bored and anxious and it’s your job to either calm him down or entertain him. But today, the day has already started with something wonderful. He tells you quickly and quietly that Dwight has asked him to form an alliance. He leans against the desk, spreading one hand out in front of him and toward you. You completely lose interest in your free cell game, asking him about this so-called alliance without completely cracking up. He mentions something about Survivor and you can’t help the chuckle that escapes your throat or the smile that slips over his lips.

He has a really nice mouth, you realize.

He continues joking, until Dwight suddenly appears behind him, ushering him away, and you sit there, left to only imagine what Dwight could possibly have to say to Jim or how Jim would ever talk his way out of this one.

But you are certain that Jim could probably talk his way out of anything. He’s sly and cunning and quick and too funny for word. You wonder why some girl hasn’t snatched him up by now and you find yourself glad that no woman has. You’re overprotective over him, because he’s your friend, because you only want the best for him.

He comes back to your desk soon after and tells you all about Dwight’s speech. You decide to help Jim out, playing up the prank. You wait a while, then head to Jim’s desk, and make up some random story about Michael and Corporate and staff issues, and out of the corner of your eye you can tell that Dwight is eating all this up. But you keep your eyes on Jim, whose easily playing along, getting somehow lost in his eyes long enough to get tongue-tied. He can tell you’re stuck and he promises to not say anything and then he moves out of his chair and back toward reception with you. He leans over your desk and as you pretend to tell him more about these so called problems and then he winks at you, quite impressed with your creative story.

And you smile at him, you can’t stop yourself from smiling at him.

You distract yourself by helping plan Meredith’s party. But then, he’s at your desk again, telling you that Dwight is trapped in a box downstairs, awaiting a meeting of one of the alliances. He gestures wildly with his fork, before diving into the cake. You laugh, a ridiculous birthday hat sitting atop your head, and realize that you have to play along. You head downstairs, faking a phone conversation, unable to contain the eruption of laughter as Dwight squirms within the box.

You can’t wait to run upstairs and tell Jim every single detail, can’t wait to see the big smile that lights his face, or that laugh that will fill the air. You just can’t wait to see him.

And that scares you beyond belief.

You slow your pace, heading back upstairs, and to your desk silently. You try to figure out in your head what all of this means, but you seem him running toward you, excitement written all over his face. And you can’t push him away, you need this too much. He rounds the corner of your desk, his hand touching your shoulder gently to turn you toward him. He tells you that he has another brilliant idea, something better than Dwight in a box. He tells you his plan about sending Dwight to Stamford as a spy and you can’t help but laugh. It feels easy to be around him, to be this close to him. You cover your face with your hands in laughter as he continues to speak between giggles, his hand rounding from your shoulder to your back. And then your hand suddenly finds him, wrapping around his warm fingers, laughing, and dizzy, and good, and real.

Then, you hear the angry voice of your fiancee.

And then, Jim is gone. His hand releases yours and you feel the absence immediately. Roy charges toward you and you hardly have time to react. You wedge your way between Jim and Roy, Jim immediately backs off. You turn to Roy, his eyes solely on Jim. But Jim fumbles with his words and you realize now that this is the situation Jim Halpert cannot talk his way out of. Jim tells Roy about the stupid alliance, but Roy is not impressed. His hand finds the small of your back and roughly pushes you away from Jim, away from the desk, out of the office.

You try to come up with some kind of story to tell your fiancee as he ushers you into the hallway and you suddenly can’t find the words.

You suddenly feel guilty. That you enjoyed another man’s touch and laugh, that you hadn’t thought about the man you are going to marry all day long, that you’d rather be inside right now laughing, joking, and planning another prank.

Then, you tell yourself that Jim is your friend and nothing more. And Roy is the man you’re going to marry, and laugh with, and......you wonder when was the last time Roy made you laugh as much as you’d laughed today.

Today, at work, Dwight was in rare form. He’s deciphering, with an extremely large white poster in his lap, if you should have the distinct privilege to work this coming Saturday. You lean back further in your chair as you stare back at the silly man, disbelieving that such a small amount of power can mean so much to someone, but you realize quickly you have no real grounds to fight because this Saturday, and all your Saturdays for that matter, are empty, clear, and alone.

To distract yourself from this day, like any other, you listen to Pam’s aggravations about her broken toast oven that she got as an engagement present. And while you dislike with great intensity the reminder of her engagement, you can’t help but revel in the more obvious fact that three very long years have passed and a wedding has yet to happen. You can’t seem to stop yourself from hoping, wishing, praying that it will never in fact happen.

But another distraction comes right along. A basketball game. A healthy dose of competition that will determine who is working this weekend. You’re pumped up and ready to go, and Michael only barely mentions Pam as a cheerleader and your imagination has run wild, a little too wildly, creating short mini skirts and midriff baring tank tops and....you stop yourself. You have to or this could go on all day. You tease Michael, eliciting a brief smirk from Pam, as you dare to volunteer yourself as cheerleader...but honestly, you have better plans in mind. You know you’re a good player, probably the best forward on your team in high school, and you know that this may very well be the opportunity you’ve been waiting for to show off some hidden skills.

You quickly change into your basketball gear, finding yourself getting more excited by the second. You get ready to head downstairs for some serious game, when you spot Pam still sitting at her desk. Your heart immediately sinks. You move to the waiting seat in front of her desk for a last minute chat, hoping to God that she plans on watching the big game, your classy moves, your chance to really shine in front of her. You pretend to fix the laces of your shoes as you try to casually ask if she’s coming down to see the big game and she, luckily, responds that she is. You want her to wish you luck, but can’t wait till she does it on her own. You ask for it, in more ways than one, and you’re hardly surprised when she’s teasing you. She informs you that Roy is very competitive and that they have plans this weekend up at the lake.

In all the time you’ve known her, you can hardly recall more than a handful of times when Roy had actually made plans for him and Pam together for a long weekend.

And now, you have every single intention of ruining that weekend. It’s cold, it’s mean, but it’s the truth. You don’t want her to go to the lake with Roy and that gives you some kind of extra incentive to win this game.

You casually inform her that you will undoubtedly spend this weekend at the mall and invite her along. After all, you think, Pam should be the real reward for this game. The winner gets to spend time with her this weekend, the winner will earn her pride and warm smile...

You’re now fully determined to win this game. She teases you more, but at this point nothing can stomp on your game. She laughs at you, with you, and then you both head down to the warehouse together side by side. On the way down and even on the court, you tell Pam about your high school glory days, giving her a small taste or preview of what’s to come today. But Roy suddenly shows up beside the both of you. He walks straight to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, bringing his lips firmly against hers, and you have to look away now. You have to or you’ll wind up doing something you completely regret. No, today you beat Roy on the court. That’s how you win. You decide, as you hear Pam giggle in her fiancee’s arms, that right now, right here, you’re going to prove something to her, to him, to yourself. You may never be number one in her heart, but you will be the best man out there during this game. In that small, small way, you get to beat Roy.

On the court, you wish him luck and you mean not a word of it. Michael asks Pam to do the jump ball and when Roy makes a nasty comment about sleeping in the car, it takes every ounce of strength you have not to knock him in the face.

But you don’t. No, this court is your battlefield today. You will prove, without fists or words, that you’re better.

The game is in action and everything feels like it’s moving so fast. Roy scores points quick, but you’re on the rebound, and you’re running and checking him, and scoring. But not good enough, not fast enough. During the next timeout, you make sure to ask to cover Roy. You want this game one-on-one. It’s not about Saturday, it’s not about work, it’s not about whose the better basketball player, it’s not even about your pride.

This is completely and totally about the girl who clapped when her fiancee scored a point and cheered when you did.

Next quarter, you’re on fire, and you can’t help yourself from finding her eyes on the sidelines as you run down court, smiling, her smiling back, impressed at your performance. She’s impressed, she’s smiling, you tell yourself you have to win this game to win her heart.

Maybe it was lost in that thought process that you didn’t move quite fast enough to avoid Roy’s elbow as it smashes against your nose. You hear an awful crack and you immediately taste the blood in the back of your throat, flowing from your nostrils. You bend over, your hands placing pressure hard against the bridge of your nose, as you try to shake it off. There’s no injury in this world that’s going to stop you from winning this game. You break only for an instant, wiping away the blood with a clean towel, and then you’re back. In the game, on the court, playing your hardest.

You steal the ball from him, once, twice, making shot after shot, pushing into him harder than you should, slapping the ball from his grasp, knocking him to the ground. You do it because you’re angry, because you hate him. Because he gets to call her his fiancee, he got to spend the last ten years with her on his arm, he gets to spend the next fifty with her too. He wakes up to her every morning, goes to bed with her every night, kisses her, holds her, gets her mind, body, heart, and soul. And he doesn’t even appreciate her.

He doesn’t know that mixed berry is her favorite flavor of yogurt, he doesn’t know that art is her passion and that she’s amazing at it, he doesn’t know that she’s mad because their engagement present of a toaster oven is broken because it’s three years old, he doesn’t know that she’s got a thousand different smiles and that every single one creates a new speck of color in her eyes. You hate him because he’ll never love her as much as you do. You hate him because it’s because of him that she’ll never you love back. You hate him because even if you win this game, you’re still second....in her life and in her heart.

You push into his shoulder hard, knocking him firmly on his ass, and it feels like you’re at war. But the game’s over now. You don’t care about the score anymore, you don’t care who lost or who won. None of it feels like it matters.

You’re upstairs now, collapsed into the seat in front of reception, utterly exhausted. You played your heart out, your body is weary, your nose kills, you’ll definitely need to soak in ice tonight. Then, she’s there. Rounding the corner of her desk, congratulating you on a job well done. You try to keep the chat light and casual, but Roy’s there soon enough, joking with you like he didn’t try and break your nose earlier that day.

But Pam noticed you were good. She says it. She says it with her fiancee standing right next to her, and you’re smiling, laughing, a warm feeling seeping into your heart, and it feels like every bruise you’ll find tomorrow will be worth it.

Then, she walks away, with her fiancee, out the door, into the nearest tub, with him, without you, even with skills like Larry Byrd, and you, you feel like you just lost it all.

Sitting between Jim and Roy is not exactly the best lunch you have in mind. It can feel uncomfortable and weird and you really don’t know why. But Roy decided to be nice today and eat with you, and you’re just so used to having Jim at your side during the work day that you didn’t even hesitate placing yourself in the middle of them. You focus in on your lunch, trying not to give either one more attention than the other.

But that sounds ridiculous to you. Roy is the man you’re going to marry. Jim is just your friend, a co-worker, the guy you confide in. There’s no competition among these men. And last week’s basketball was just a freak thing. It didn’t matter now that they looked like they were going to kill each other then. No, that was just the heat of the competition.

This is different. It has to be.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when Roy asks Jim about the pretty purse girl whose occupied one the offices today. Jim seems to shrug it off, firmly stating that she’s not really his type, as you eat your lunch. You try to imagine exactly what Jim’s type is as you try to remember former girls he’s dated, not really recognizing any patterns. But Kevin must read your thoughts because he asks the question loud and clear. You lift your gaze from your salad and find that Jim’s eyes are on you. You wait for the answer, and his hesitation is slightly jarring. A moment later he gives a lackluster smart-ass response that you smirk at, but your curiosity has undoubtedly gotten the best of you. But the joking ends when pretty purse girl makes a perfectly timed debut through the lunch room, catching both Roy’s and Jim’s gaze.

God. You really hate how you look. You’re plain and simple and nowhere near the kind of beautiful that purse girl is. Your hair is a mess, your clothes are out of style, and you don’t compare to girls like that. You suddenly feel small and insecure.

And Roy truly helps the situation by announcing that if he and you weren’t dating, he’d gladly be hitting on purse girl.

It’s exactly what you needed to hear. That your own fiancee realizes that you are plain and boring and that there are a thousand girls out there like purse girl who are hot and sexy and available. And that he doesn’t even think kindly enough on your relationship to keep such a terrible thought to himself, and worst of all, that he doesn’t take this relationship seriously enough to realize it’s an engagement.

You remind yourself, as you look at him like you’ve never seen before, that this is the man you’re about to spend the rest of your life with. You have to remind him as well that this isn’t just a fling, and he looks at you like you’re crazy.

Your appetite is gone, you’re absolutely disgusted with him. How can you not even know the man you’ve spent the last ten years of your life with? You’re on your feet, rushing out of this small, small space, embarrassed, angry, too upset for words. You rush back to your desk, hoping work might distract you. You throw your purse down, you roughly put away papers, you’re angry and you need to get your frustrations out. You collapse onto your seat, wanting to scream really loud or vent. Your eyes instinctively fall to Jim’s desk. He’s normally your go-to-guy. He can calm you down or explain the male mind to you. But he’s not there. You left him in the lunchroom with Roy and now you feel antsy in your seat. You need to talk to him, to feel normal for a few minutes. That’s what he is to you. He makes you sane. He’s your constant, your center, and you have no idea how you’d make it through work and Roy if Jim Halpert wasn’t around.

He’s your best friend, he’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

But he’s not supposed to be. And you know that, but you still can’t change it.

You get back to work, faxing, filing, answering phones, distracting yourself from this terrible, terrible day. But it doesn’t work. You only think about it more and more. You add up all the things that feel missing when you’re with Roy, all the times he disappoints you, or doesn’t understand you. Suddenly, Jim is rounding the corner of your desk. He hangs up the non-important phone call you’re on, grabbing the receiver from your hand, as he turns you around to face the office that Dwight and purse girl are in. He leans over your shoulder, one arms draped around the back of your chair, and the other resting its elbow on the desk in front of you. He surrounds you, and it feels good. You turn your attention to Dwight as Jim begins speaking in the funniest voice you’ve ever heard in your life. He mocks Dwight and his ridiculous purse buying technique and you feel yourself laughing again, a genuine smile forming over your lips, going along with the joke. Roy slips your mind now. Its just you and Jim and this is all you need in life. Someone who stands beside you and makes you laugh.

You find yourself turning to look at him, smiling, glad he’s near, glad that even in the worst of moods he can still make you smile. Dwight’s finished his purse shopping now and you somehow still can’t take your eyes off of him. But Michael calls you into his office, and you’re a little relieved for the distraction. It’s not this good to be this good with Jim maybe. How can it be good to be better with Jim than with Roy? You try not to think about that as Michael gives his little speech, but his last question about a certain kind of bedding is too good to pass up.

You’re at Jim’s desk the second you leave Michael’s office, laughing with him. He finds it just as funny as you do and you’re not at all surprised. Your senses of humor match to a tee and you never feel more normal than when you’re with him.

Then, Roy’s there, approaching you, looking at you like he’s never done anything wrong. Jim immediately stops talking, rolling his chair closer to his desk, and the air is too thick. You lower your eyes because it’s all you know how to do around him anymore. He asks you if you’re still mad and you can only look at him in disappointment. He doesn’t get it. He never does. He doesn’t see that he’s upset you, and you don’t know if he cares. But he puts his hands on you then, his fingers tickling at your sides and you don’t want to enjoy the feeling. But his fingers dig deeper and you find yourself chuckling before you realize. You squirm on Jim’s desk as Roy tugs you closer to him. You hate fighting with Roy, and yes, you fight more than you like, but you’ve given the last ten years to this guy and he can’t say one little thing to send you running. You owe him more than that. You’ve already agreed to spend the rest of your life with him. You can still work out the kinks, you can still make this relationship work.

Roy apologizes, and you accept. He seems sincere and for as long as you can remember, he’s had foot in syndrome and maybe, maybe you did overreact just a little bit. Roy heads back downstairs soon after, and the day seems to pass by slow. Very, very, very slow.

Before you realize, you find yourself at Jim’s desk again, leaning against his desk, hoping that he can entertain you. You ask about his weekend between laughs, amazed at how quick he can get you to crack a smile, when he reveals that he’s taking Katy, the purse girl, out on a date. You can’t pinpoint the emotion that you feel at that exact moment. A mixture of surprise, devastation, and that feeling like you just got punched in the gut all rolled into one. Of all the types Jim Halpert could have, purse girl did not seem like one you would have imagined. But maybe, maybe you don’t know Jim as well as you do. Maybe Jim likes hot, sexy girls and not plain Janes like you. You press on with questioning, even though there’s a big part of you that doesn’t want to hear the answers. He jokes, making it seem as casual and easy as possible, but it doesn’t feel casual to you. A silence sits between you and him now and you don’t know why this feels so weird. Jim is a guy, a friend, and of course, he’s dating. You’ve seen him date girls before. Not recently, and not quite as hot as purse girl, but Jim’s a great catch. Did you really expect that he’d be single forever?

You don’t know why you feel like you just lost out on something great. Jim can still be your best friend and date other girls. You’re engaged and you still turn to him. It’s fine, this is fine. You try to convince yourself and you’re failing. You tell him about your weekend plans and helping Roy’s cousin move and you’ve never felt like a bigger idiot. He nods accordingly and now all you wanna do is run away and hide in a corner.

You leave his desk in an awkward, Jan-Brady kind of way and fall back into your chair. You sit there for a while, trying to figure out why you’re so confused. The clock runs faster suddenly, the day slipping by. You pick up your purse, as you prepare to leave before Roy comes and gets you, and find you’re searching through it, all the way at the bottom, discovering a disregarded item. A lip gloss that you put in your purse when you first got it because that’s what girl do and used it maybe twice. You find yourself spinning it open, applying it to your lips, knowing that you can be just as pretty as purse girl if you wanted to be.

Your eyes fall to Jim. You wipe off the lipstick. No makeup is going to change who you are. You’re Pamela Beesley and you’re not a hot girl. You rush out the office right after that, and you only have to wait a few minutes before Roy pulls up. You hop in silently, staring out of the window, your mind scattered.

And then you see Jim again, only purse girl is at his side and they are walking toward his car together, laughing, smiling. And even though you fought with Roy before, you feel so much worse right at this moment watching Jim laugh with someone other than you that you have to look away, you have to ignore that terrible feeling in the pit of your stomach, the sad, sad realization that you aren’t the only girl in Jim’s life anymore.