She wore cardigans because they hid the bruises. Black and blue and purple, they lay on her skin like an ink stain, covering not just her arms, stomach, chest and legs, but her mind and her soul. His angry words pierced her heart like a knife, his threats a glaring reminder of what he could do. His hands – his big, strong, calloused hands – were devastatingly heavy, like bricks on her alabaster flesh. Her tears didn’t cry anymore, the pain didn’t hurt anymore, his excuses didn’t come anymore. It was a wrong kind of beer, pick your towel up off the floor, make me dinner kind of thing. But she couldn’t feel it anymore. The original pain dressed itself in numbness, taking out the glow of her eyes and the smile on her lips.

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It was an early Monday morning when Pam stood in the ladies bathroom of Dunder Mifflin Scranton, blotting her left cheek and eye with powder, trying desperately to cover the previous night’s accident. He almost never hit her on the face – too many people would question that – and God knows he couldn’t have a tarnished reputation. Besides, he was her fiancé… or boyfriend... or something that needed no explanation.

With another quick glance in the mirror, grimacing at the bruise that still shone through the cover up, she slowly walked back to her desk, sitting down and pulling out documents that needed to be signed by Michael that day. She could feel their eyes on her, everyone in the office, as she started to work. “They know…” she thought, terrified.

Jim was sitting at his desk, on the phone with a client and trying desperately to find a product number, when he saw her retreat, the bruise apparent and painful on her psyche. “Let me call you back when I find that number, Mr. Cross,” he told the client, placing the phone down. He stood and walked slowly to Pam’s desk, the thought of Roy beating her hitting his stomach like a rock, anger and stress and hate billowing in his heart.

“Pam?” he asked her softly, as he bent over the reception desk, “What happened?”.

Her eyes traveled slowly to his, a dead kind of stare. “Nothing,” she mumbled. She didn’t want to talk, especially to Jim, the one person she always thought she’d be able to talk to. She could feel his eyes traveling over her, from her hair to her brow, to the eggplant discoloring on her cheek, to her lips and chin. “Pam…” he begged. But nothing. She stared down at her desk, and the edges of her sleeves, and the small bruise that formed at some point on the inside of her wrist.

“Go back to work, Jim,” she said flatly.

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Later that afternoon, she went to grab a soda from the vending machine, and he trapped her there. He stood with his back to the door, eyes resting on hers, his body tall and broad and looming.

“Did he hit you?” Jim asked quietly, averting his eyes, wincing in the knowledge that he didn’t really want to know.

“What does it matter?” Pam retorted, her anger bubbling. He was with KAREN, he flaunted their relationship around her like a kid with a new bike, and NOW he wanted to have a serious conversation?

Jim snapped his head up, pain resonating on his face, his cheeks flushed. “It matters to me, Pam”. She rolled her eyes, a fake smile pushing at the corners of her mouth.

“Sure it does, Jim,” she countered. “Of course it matters to you. Because as my best friend, you obviously know me so well that you know how my life’s been lately. You know me like the back of your hand. You know what art classes I’m taking, you know the real reason I bought a Yaris, you know why I splurged on new pastels last weekend.”

Jim paled slightly. Of course he didn’t know. Her stare made him feel small, smaller than he ever believed he could have felt, and he sighed. “No, Pam, I don’t know any of those things.”

Pam’s fake smile almost instantaneously flipped to a tight lipped grimace. Her eyes smoldered, and the left one he noticed had a small broken blood vessel next to the iris. “I’m not taking art classes. I bought a Yaris because I needed something the complete opposite of a truck. And I splurged on pastels last weekend because… “ She paused, her eyes filling with tears, “Ya know what Jim. Never mind. My best friend would know. I wouldn’t need to be standing in a break room with him freaking crying to get him to know why.”

She moved past him and back to her desk, a solitary tear sliding down her bruised cheek. She shook her head violently. She needed him, but he didn’t need to know that.

It hadn’t always been that bad for Pam. When they’d met and started dating ten years ago, Roy had been the perfect gentleman. A little rough around the edges, with big muscles and a letterman jacket, he’d swooped into Pam’s life, uplifting her from her seat behind an easel, and became her everything. Until she’d met Jim.

When Jim had come back to Scranton with a unknowing Karen on his arm and a smirk on his face, she’d been broken hearted. She’d started so many letters trying to explain how she’d left Roy, how she couldn’t have married him because Jim was the one she wanted. But nothing was good enough. She needed to tell him in person, but again, life kept creeping up and delaying the inevitable. A thunderstorm that cause down trees on the highway, her new car having a mysterious flat tire, a sickness that she became convinced was the bird flu kept her at home, when all she dreamed of was driving to his Stamford apartment, laying a huge kiss on him, and telling him that she’d been in love with him since the day he’d walked through the front door of Dunder Mifflin. On the day she’d finally gotten the courage to get in the car to go and get him, she found out that the Stamford branch had closed, and that he’d be coming home. Later that night, she drank a whole bottle of wine and sleep soundly for the first time since the night before his confession.

And then there was Karen. Petite and dark haired, she was the polar opposite of everything that was Pam Beesley. Confident and smart, snarky and witty, she was everything that Pam became sure Jim had wanted all along. This was why Jim stopped wearing his shirt sleeves rolled up, why he didn’t play pranks on Dwight, why he wouldn’t go to get a cup of coffee with her. It came to a head the night of Phyllis’ wedding, as Pam sat on the sidelines and she watched Karen score a touchdown with the man that she loved, slow dancing with him, sharing secret smiles, his hand resting on the small of her back and his lips – God, those soft, delicious lips – grazing hers. If her heart wasn’t officially broken before that, the way he looked up and stared hard at her, like he couldn’t understand why he’d ever loved her in the first place, was certainly a reason for it to break into a thousand pieces now.

Pam hadn’t meant to leave with Roy that night. As she stood in his arms, loosely, she looked up at his face, his eyes smiling down on her like she hadn’t seen in literally years. He wanted to try again, and after nine and a half years of being together, and six months of being apart, and seeing Jim as happy as he was on that dance floor, she didn’t have a reason anymore to disagree.

In the interest of being truthful, she had to tell Roy that she and Jim had kissed on Casino Night. He had told her of the two girls he’d kissed in their six months of being apart, and how they were just stupid girls at the bar with liquid lips and they giggled too loud. She had to tell him the same. When he’d thrown his glass at the mirror at the bar, she’d been scared, and when she left, she was determined not to go back to him. Of course, she was Fancy New Beesley, but she still was weak and distraught Pam.

He came to her apartment later that night with a bouquet of red roses (so cliché, she thought) and she let him in. Not just into her apartment, but officially that night back into her life and her heart. He loved her, and Lord knows he was trying. Something that she wasn’t used to with him. He started staying the night, being polite, making sure that everything was OK. Until that day.

She’d left her wet towel on the bed. She never thought about picking it up when she moved into her own place, because she knew where it had been, and not to sit in that damp spot. They were, ironically enough, getting dressed for church when he sat down in his good dress pants onto the towel, moisture soaking into the fabric quickly.

“Fuck Pam! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He yelled, shooting onto his feet, running his bands over his butt in some type of desire to make them instantly dry. Pam rolled her eyes.

“It’s not a big deal, Roy. Just throw them in the dryer for a second”.

His eyes blazed with her sudden self-confidence. “Are you serious right now?” He growled.

“Uhh, yeah. Come on, put them in the dryer. We’ve got to leave in like, fifteen minutes”.

Her nonchalance broke something in him as she sauntered by him towards the living room. As she passed him, he grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into the pale flesh. She whipped towards him, surprise registering on her face quickly. As he raised his hand, she flinched enough to get him to recognize what he was about to do. He dropped his hand and let go of her wrist. They never made it to church that day.

After he saw what he had done, Roy broke down in tears. “I’m so sorry, Pam, oh my God, I am so, so sorry”, he blubbered. He sat carefully onto the bed, back onto the same towel that had caused the whole issue, and he grasped her hips. Drawing her between his thighs, he wept into her breasts, his tears drawing mustard stripes on her butter yellow t-shirt.

Roy was not one to weep. Hell, he hadn’t even cried when his beloved grandmother died, because he was a man, and men didn’t cry when little old ladies passed away in their sleep. And here he sat, sobbing into her shirt like he’d never cried before in his life, and it felt so good to allow the tears to finally rain down. Even after he’d grabbed her, bruised her, scared her, Pam took his head in her hands, softly stroking his hair, shedding her shirt so he’d cry onto her skin, drinking it in. She needed to feel his emotions physically, not just to see the hurt in his eyes, but to press his sentiment into her body.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” she reassured softly, her index finger lifting his chin so their eyes would meet. As her lips met his, his hands moving easily over the naked skin of her back, she couldn’t understand why the moment she stared into his angry face, hand raised, she could see Jim standing before her in a dark room, her dropping a phone receiver back to its original spot, and wishing that the hurt she saw in his eyes would just disappear. She didn’t need to soak his tears into her body. Hers were enough for the both of them.

Bitter wasn't a word that Pam associated with herself very often. But as she sat at her desk at reception, watching Jim and Karen interact throughout the rest of the day, her mind kept wandering back to a time when that would have been, could have been, hell, should still be, them. Her thoughts raced back to their conversation earlier in the day, how kind his eyes looked, how earnest his tone was. Fuck you, Jim Halpert. He was just messing with her mind again.

Her thoughts lingered on the tall paper salesman, much to her dismay. She'd gotten accustomed to trying to ignore what was right in front of her face, Jim's eagerness to be happy with anyone but her. She detested that he sat so close to her, close enough to slowly torture her. She seriously questioned if he secretly enjoyed seeing the hurt on her face, since she’d caught his eye many a time trying to sneak peeks at her from his desk. Usually after Karen had been there. Rubbing his back, massaging his neck, giving him a simple peck on the cheek. She rolled her eyes. It would have been so much easier for her to just forget about him, to hate him, to see herself with Roy and Roy alone. But there was something about his unruly hair, how his eyes sparked when he was telling her a plan to trick Dwight, how his shirt stretched over the lean lines of his back, threading into the linen on his dress pants, over a basketball player’s body that she just knew would be soft and masculine and spicy and just delicious. She became sure he did that just to torment her.

As soon as the little hand of the clock touched the 5, she bounced out of her chair and rushed down to her car. As she pulled away from the parking lot, she saw Jim exit the building in her rearview mirror. His tie dangled haphazardly, and his hair stuck to his forehead, like he’d just raced down the stairs to catch her. Pam groaned inwardly. This was going to be the absolute last thing she needed that day.

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The night before had been rough for Pam. Roy had found the new pastels she had purchased, ones to replace the ones he’d thrown out the weekend before because in his opinion she was never going to be a real artist anyway, so why did she need those stupid “crayons” hanging all over the living room when he was going to be having people over for the game. She had ignored his statement about her not “knowing what the hell she was doing anyways” and had went out promptly and purchased a new set, this one with newer colors and more expensive than what she would have ever spent before. She hid them in the bottom of the closet, safe from Roy’s prying eyes, but was determined to use them when he left the house the following Sunday when he went to his brother Kenny’s.

She did use them that day. She set up her easel in the sunroom of her small apartment, and as her fingers danced over the page, creating a still life portrait of trees outside with their budding leaves, she sighed relief. After hours of just standing there, blending shades of green and yellow and blue, she took a moment to use the bathroom. Of course the moment Roy had decided to come home.

He was standing in the sunroom when Pam came back in, his hands in fists and his face turning a slow lobster red. “You took these out of the goddamn trash?” he asked her quietly.

Pam shook her head no. “I bought them last weekend when you threw the others out,” she said, throwing her head back in defiance, like she was a child speaking to her father, not her husband, or boyfriend, or fiancé, or whatever the hell Roy was these days.

She shouldn’t have been surprised when the moment she made eye contact with Roy that stars would have blackened her eyes and made her spin into the small sofa sitting against the wall. His big fist pushed her into the couch, hands grabbing at her biceps, digging 5 very specific bruises into the pallid flesh of each arm. When he hit her once more on the face, the pain of skin on skin was much, much less than the pain she felt in her heart, knowing this didn’t need to be her.

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Pam never liked the phrase “battered woman” because frankly, she knew this didn’t need to be her. There were places she could go, to her mother’s in Dickson City, to a friend’s house (hell, who was she kidding, she had no real friends anymore), and if she really needed to, she could have gone to Jim. Her distaste for his actions lately didn’t negate the fact that she knew the person he was deep down, the guy who never would have allowed her to be beaten like she had been lately. She knew that Jim would have come to her place, gotten her things loaded into his Saab, and he would have brought her somewhere – anywhere – to be away from getting physically injured. But the problem with being physically injured for Pam was the post-release of hate that she felt for allowing herself to ever be in this situation.

The more she thought about it, her life had become pretty feeble lately. She loved that she had enough confidence to go back and buy more pastels, but she knew she was pathetic for hiding them as soon as she got home. She put up with the grabbing and the friendly occasional kidney punch because she was an idiot who didn’t see the signs that he best friend was falling in love with her. She allowed Roy to pinch her ass to black and blue because she didn’t want to allow Jim to be everything to her, to allow him to swoop in and be everything that Roy wasn’t. She accepted Roy’s subsequent smooth strokes over her stomach and across her breasts and between her thighs after every “incident” because it was easier to let him apologize than to move on from the feelings she had for Jim and the reminder of his soft, full lips and five o’clock shadow. It wasn’t that she couldn’t physically be alone. But if she couldn’t be with Jim, the man who professed his love for her outside of an office building three weeks before her wedding because she’d left him no choice, than she didn’t want to be the person she knew he would have allowed her to grow into being.

His eyes are green, she thought. His eyes are green, and he’s right handed, and when he’s stressed at work he gnaws at the skin next to the nail on his left thumb. He listens to Coldplay in his silver Saab, he wears a white shirt and a navy blue tie every Thursday. He eats the same sandwich every day because he says there’s just something about a delicious black forest ham. He probably sings in the shower, and she could imagine him on a mountain somewhere, fishing with his brother while wearing a floppy hat. He loves the Phillies and he majored in Business in college to please his parents, when really he wanted a career in Journalism. He’s scared to become like Michael Scott, his mother is named Larissa, and he refuses to drink domestic beer. She closed her eyes and imagined him there on her couch, his smile beaming at her, his right index finger tipping her chin up so their mouths could meet in a sweet, simple, organic kind of kiss. Their noses would bump, and they’d laugh, and they’d lean in at the same time once more, this time with a bit more pressure, and his hands would slide up to cup her face, his thumbs stroking over her cheekbones. He’d kiss her closed eyelids and nuzzle her neck and she’d breathe him in, all of him. His name was on her lips like a prayer, his smile was in every drop of her blood. Jim Halpert was everything she’d ever wanted.

“Oh God yeah, fuck yeah, Jesus Christ, Pam” Roy moaned, thrusting his hips forward, his penis engorged red and veined in the warm cavity of Pam’s mouth, shaking her from her reverie. As he released into the back of her throat, he pulled at the hair at the back of her head, her curls wrapping around his fingers tightly. Pam winced and pushed at his hands. If she thought Jim trying to follow her was what she didn’t need today, than this was REALLY making her day go to hell.

Roy smirked at her as she stood from her knees, gulping water to remove the taste of self-hatred from her mouth. For everything Pam had become when she moved out on her own, it was the way Roy’s big hands pushed at the back of her neck during oral sex that made her realize that nothing had ever really changed. She sighed and left the room as Roy zipped up his jeans, calling out a “hey, thanks” as she walked away. Hey thanks. You’re welcome. Asshole.

She was pulling a jar of marinara sauce from the cupboard when her cell phone rang on the counter. She glanced at the screen, at a very familiar number that was labeled “Unknown”. She’d deleted that number after a certain hard day at work, when Michael had been unusually obnoxious, and Dwight wouldn’t leave her alone about needing to know her best days to be fertile, and Jim had come back from lunch with Karen, laughing and carrying on, their cheeks flushed and their mouths plumped red. When Karen stopped to ask if there were any messages for them, he placed a kiss to the edge of her hairline, and she stared up at him like he was some kind of God, her grin telling Pam that Jim was one helluva catch. Envy green was not a good color to be drenched in.

Pam picked up the phone and hit a side button, silencing the ring. Really, after the day she’d had, the last, last, LAST thing she needed now was to chat with Jim, ignoring his questioning tone and pretending that they still even remotely knew one another. She pulled a box of pasta from the next cabinet and filled a pot with water before a loud beep announced that Jim had left a message. Pam rolled her eyes and added salt to the water, then lit the stove. Roy waltzed in behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands grasping her breasts and tweaking her nipples through her cotton work shirt. Barbarian.

“Can I help you, Roy?” Pam asked, gritting her teeth and gripping the countertop.

“Oh baby, you just look so good,” Roy slurred, his Bud Lite breath tickling her nose, making her gag.

Pam sighed. “I’m making dinner, ok? Give me some time.”

His hands moved over her breasts quicker, his fingers tightening on her flesh, moving his mouth and sucking hard where her neck met her shoulder. He thrust his pelvis towards her, his hard-on evident on her back. His left hand slid down her torso to pull up her skirt as his teeth bit down hard on her skin. Pam’s cell phone ringing once more seemingly broke the lust spell over the Roy, who almost immediately let go and grabbed the phone.

“Unknown? Who the fuck is this?” Roy asked, turning to Pam and showing her the screen.

Pam shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s unknown,” she lied, recognizing Jim’s number once more.

Roy glared down at the tiny phone in his hand and set it on the counter. “Fuck it,” he said, “I’m too busy to answer your damn phone.” He stomped back into the living room.

Pam rubbed her face and eyes, resting her elbows on the counter. A typical night would mean Roy wouldn’t have stopped, even if she’d asked him to. He would have finished pulling up her skirt, and he would have tugged her panties down and probably would have bent her over that countertop. When he was drinking he was insatiable, and while she could fantasize all she wanted, she wondered if this was going to be her life forever. Would she finally marry Roy, and on their wedding night, think about Jim rising above her, his mouth on hers, his body entering hers in a slow, deliberate stroke? Would she have babies with Roy, name them with Jim’s preferences in mind, raise them with Roy, but put the boys in basketball uniforms instead of football? Would she live to an old age with Roy and not care if he went first, but would pray to God that she died at least a minute before Jim because she wouldn’t be able to live knowing he was gone? Is this who she had become?

But at this point, what did it matter? Jim went home with Karen every night, she was sure that they were making passionate love at that very moment. He probably called her on speakerphone, they probably laughed when she didn’t answer. She turned her head and stared at the phone on the counter, picked it up and dialed four numbers. She had to hear his voice.

“Hey, Pam, this is Jim… Um, I know that you didn’t want to talk today, and hell, who am I to be trying to be your confidant now, right? I just wanted to tell you… I guess that I just wanted… Pam, I just want to let you know that even though you don’t want to talk, it’s OK… I understand. I just hope you know that if you need me for anything… anything, Pam... You know you can call me. I know I haven’t been a very good friend to you lately. I hope maybe we can fix that… I’ll talk to you later, OK? Please, please call me if you need anything. Bye, Pam”.

Tears sprung to Pam’s eyes. Of course he’d call and be amazing. She shut the phone and dropped a cup of pasta into the boiling water on her stove.

She really, REALLY didn’t need this right now.

Later that night, as Pam was lying in bed, Roy snoring beside her, she dreamt about Jim again. She pictured him with a little curly red headed girl wearing a blue dress, dancing at some function. He wore a smile from ear to ear, and the little girl giggled with joy. He picked her up and swung her around, her hair bouncing around her face, squealing.

“Daddy! Daddy!” the little girl laughed breathlessly. “Put me down!!”

Jim looked from side to side, then up and down, then back to the face of the little girl on his hip. “Who’s Daddy?” He asked. “I don’t see a Daddy around here… But I do see a tickle monster!!”

The little girl shrieked as Jim’s fingers went directly for her little rounded tummy, tickling her into a frenzy. Pam walked over to the two, pulling the little girl into her arms, the little girl curling into her side. Jim put his arm around the two of them, kissed the little girl’s cheek, and stared deep into Pam’s eyes.

“Thanks for babysitting,” he murmured, as a thin, petite, gorgeous Karen dressed in a little black number stepped into the scene, grabbing the little girl whose curls suddenly and inexplicably turned straight and black. Pam stepped away from the couple, Jim putting his arms around Karen and passionately kissing her lips, the little girl disappearing as he slid the spaghetti straps of her dress down her olive skin, revealing a lacy lime green bra. She couldn’t look away as he pressed kisses to the tops of Karen’s breasts, his hands on her ass, pulling her to him.

She tried to scream, to cry, to do anything, but she was trapped. Her legs couldn’t move, her eyes were super glued to the couple in front of her, she couldn’t turn away to stop the pain. Jim turned to stare at her.

“I gave you my heart, Pam,” he whispered. “It’s a shame you didn’t want to take it.”

When Pam jerked awake, her eyes filled with tears. She jumped from the bed, locked herself into the bathroom down the hallway, shoving her fist into her mouth to stifle her sobs. She stared at herself in the mirror, her eyes blurry with liquid, noticing her cheek had turned into a purply, yellow mess. She turned on the shower, stripped herself of her clothing, and stepped in the tub under the scalding hot water. She needed to change this. This absolutely needed to stop. She couldn’t keep living in this hell she’d created.

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The next day Pam sat at her desk at Dunder Mifflin, prepared to walk into Michael’s office and give her 2 week notice. She prepared herself to not open the door later that night when Roy came over after work, thinking maybe she’d just go stay at a hotel for the next 2 weeks. Maybe she’d just get into her car and drive to California, or into New York City, or maybe Florida. Maybe she’d cut her hair short and she’d wear jeans and cute t-shirts and 3 inch heels. Maybe she’d meet a man who would make her forget about Scranton, Pennsylvania, and Jim Halpert, and Roy Anderson, and weddings and dreams. Maybe she’d really be someone different now.

But probably not.

Michael had called that morning with a jubilant “Pamalama-ding-dong!” and told her snickering that Jan had kept him up all night, so he’d be in late. Pam rolled her eyes and avoided looking at anyone directly, focusing on making a really, really long paper clip chain and then taking it back apart. She almost laughed when she realized the juxtaposition of that to her life. It was really easy to put the chain together, linking the silver loops, but it was a definite pain in the ass to take it apart. She was so focused on the chain that she didn’t notice when Jim walked through the door.

He stood at the front of reception, running his hand along the counter when Pam finally looked up, surprised to see him standing there. He looked down at the desk, his brow furrowed, tapping his fingers in a smooth rhythm. He coughed.

“Hey, Pam,” he said quietly. “Do you think maybe we could talk later?”

Pam squinted at him, wincing in pain at the contortion of her cheek. “I’m all set with that, but thanks.”

Jim’s head jumped up to stare at her. “Really, I want to talk to you. Please?”

“I don’t need you to do anything, Jim. I’ve got this under control.”

Jim’s face fell in an obvious hurt. He nodded and stepped slowly to his desk, sitting quietly and putting his head into his hands. Pam mirrored his stance, the pain in her chest thumping dangerously fast. Why was he trying to protect her now? After everything?? She couldn’t take the idea of him sitting at his desk so forlorn. He was right in her dream. He had given her his heart, and she’d rejected it. The hurt and pain and despair he must have felt… Pam shook her head. Everything that she was getting now – we reap what we sow, right? She was entranced in her thoughts so completely that she didn’t notice a perfectly coifed Karen walking through the door.

Karen stood at the front of her desk, smiling. “Hey, Pam, how are you this morning?”

Pam’s eyes rose to the raven haired beauty before her. In her mind she raised her hands, palms up, in a mock scale. She labeled one Karen, one Pam. Which would Jim prefer? Which woman would be better for him? Imaginary coins were dumped into each palm, until the Karen hand dropped beside her waist, unable to contain anymore coins. Karen wins.

“I’m OK, Karen, thanks. “ Pam mumbled, staring down at the sheets of paper on her desk.

Karen raised an eyebrow, but turned on her heel and walked towards Jim. She put her hands on his shoulders, massaging them like the perfect girlfriend she was. “Hey, you never called me last night… Everything ok?” She asked.

Jim looked up at her earnestly, then quickly to Pam, then back down to his desk. “Yeah, I was just tired. Sorry.”

Pam watched as Karen studied his face and the way his look shot towards the reception desk at the mention of what he had done the night before. She stared as Karen’s mouth tightened as she realized there was something inappropriate going on between her boyfriend and the mousy receptionist.

“You, me, lunch. Seriously. This is important.” Karen said, probably more forcibly than necessary.

Jim’s eyes met Karen’s, and even from across the room Pam could see the ferocity in her demand. That was a different tone than the sugary sweet one she usually had with him. And he hadn’t called her the night before? What the hell was that? From what Pam had gathered, Jim and Karen spent every night together. She cocked her head to the side and studied the two. Maybe Jim really did care… Maybe he called so they could actually have a conversation again… Or maybe this was just a sick joke they were playing on her. Either way, knowing Jim had been thinking about her made her tingle in places that she had forgotten she existed. Maybe things really could change...

She marched into Michael’s office, slamming the door behind her. When he looked up at her in surprise, she slid a sheet of paper across the desk towards him.

“I quit!” She announced, throwing her hands in the air. “This is my 2 weeks, I don’t care what you say, no I absolutely will NOT change my mind, I’m sick of this place!”

She sat on the tight blue fabric of the chair in front of Michael’s desk, smiling smugly at his shocked expression, his flushed face, his tearing blue eyes. She had finally conquered a fear – she was leaving Dunder Mifflin once and for all and no one could stop her!

Unfortunately, her little daydreams didn’t revert back to reality. As she sat at her normal desk at reception, eyes glancing continuously back to the clock, and then to the door that Jim and Karen had walked out of less than an hour ago, she tried to gather her courage to finally go and give her notice.

At 17 after 1, she lost all of her nerve.

When Jim and Karen walked back into the office after lunch, Karen’s eyes were rimmed with red, and Jim gave Pam a sad smile. “Sorry,” he mouthed as they walked past reception towards their respective desks. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled, the way his smile jerked to the left side, the way he slid off his jacket to hang it on the coat rack, Pam had the sudden urge to slam her head against the white painted brick wall behind her. Tomorrow was another day, right? Maybe after a night of liquid confidence, she’d be able to be Fancy New Beesley again. Or hell, at this point… Maybe it’d give her a reason to just try.

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When Pam got home to her tiny apartment on Grove Street, she slid her car into a parking spot behind the complex, checked her mailbox, and locked the door behind her when she entered the living room. She never really ever locked the door – Roy generally came over after going home to change from his work uniform. Pam had lied and told him the landlord had only given her one key, and it was one that wasn’t able to be copied without permission, so he didn’t really question why when the door was always unlocked when he got there anyways. But tonight, Pam thought as the sweet yellow liquid of a good Chablis slipped down her throat, tonight she needed to just be alone with her thoughts.

She had pounded two thirds of the bottle, had turned off the lights sans a few candles in the bathroom, and had slid into a warm bubble bath with her iPod on by the time Roy came to the door. Pam heard his pounding on the door, calling out her name. “Are you home!?!!” He yelled through the thin wood door. Pam rolled her eyes, pushing the buds of her headphones into her ears, and turned the music up. Tonight was not the night to deal with Roy and their complicated… relationship? Is that what you call it when the man you once loved physically injured you?

Pam grabbed a wash cloth and dunked it into the sudsy water, soaking it. She rubbed it over her legs, over the bruises on her stomach and arms, over her neck and collarbones. Roy continued to bang on the door, much to Pam’s dismay. If she hadn’t answered by then, wouldn’t he have just figured she wasn’t home? She hadn’t parked out front like she normally did, and none of the lights were on, so unless he physically went searching for her car, she had made the entire situation look like she wasn’t there. But as Roy kept slamming the door with his fists, screaming her name, a familiar pain crept into her stomach. “What if he gets in?” Pam thought, worry crossing her face. “What if he gets in, and sees me just sitting here in the tub, completely ignoring him!?!” Ideas of what Roy would do to hit her like a ton of bricks, figuratively. And later, possibly, most likely physically, what would he do to her? Pam slid a bit deeper into the water, trying to forget the burly man still beating the crap out of her door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, as Pam sat at reception, she studied the paperclip chain she had made the day before. Dozens of paperclips linked together. Today was a new day.

She hadn’t let Roy in the night before. After about a half hour of screaming and kicking, and hitting the door with fury, someone must have called the complex manager. She had rolled her eyes when she heard Roy’s voice. “Aw, come on man, my girl’s in there. I just need to get in, ok? She’s probably dead or something.”

She couldn’t hear what the manager said, but imagined it was something along the lines of “it just looks like she’s not home… is her car here?” Mainly because Roy’s angry retort of, “No, her car isn’t here. Maybe the intruder stole it,” made her roll her eyes yet again. “Really Roy? You really think someone ransacked my house, killed me, and then stole my little blue Yaris? Come on, now,” she thought. She was actually shocked he had come off so unbalanced in front of the manager. Usually he was calm and collected in those situations. They’d had a lot of practice, usually in explaining why Pam’s bumps and bruises were becoming more and more frequent. This was definitely out of character for Roy.

He’d called her cell phone 47 times that night. So many times that she put it on vibrate and tossed it under a couch cushion so she wouldn’t hear it dance on her counter. With a bottle and a half of wine in her system, she was gathering her courage in her palms. She held it like an infant, careful not to drop it, scared of what she was going to do with it. All she knew was right then, she didn’t need Roy Anderson. In her life, in her heart, in her general area. She needed to be done with that relationship.

She also needed to be done with Dunder Mifflin. She re-wrote her resignation letter, changing the date, and folded it into thirds. She placed it carefully into her purse, against the inside of the leather, so it wouldn’t crush. Crush like her heart when Jim had stopped at her desk at 3:30 the day before, quietly asking her if he could talk to her out in the hallway. Like how his face dropped when she stared up into his green eyes and told him, “no.” She couldn’t rely on him now. And as much as she wanted to, and as great as it felt to know that he cared, and as much as it thrilled her to know that he still felt something for her – God, that he felt ANYTHING for her at all – she couldn’t do it. It gave her a soft sort of satisfaction knowing that she could turn him down, make him hurt like she had been hurting for so many months.

But she couldn’t continue to do that. She couldn’t hurt him again, the way she had the day she’d thrown his heart back into his face. She needed to go away.

As she sat at reception, she was digging around in her purse for the resignation letter when Roy burst through the door. “You, me, outside,” he growled, Pam’s shoulders and back tensing at the mere tone of his voice. She peered up at him, her eyes meeting his briefly before she rolled back her chair. As she stood to walk out the door, she noticed Jim obviously pretending to not be watching their interaction, and the rest of her colleagues nervously glancing around. “How could they not put two and two together?” Pam thought bitterly. “A huge bruise on my cheek, Roy’s coming up here to yell at me... He’s not exactly leaving a lot of imagination, huh?”

As she slipped towards the door, Roy grabbed her bicep roughly and pulled her into the hallway, slamming the door to Dunder Mifflin behind them. As he shoved her towards the stairwell, Pam’s mind suddenly went completely blank. Per usual, she began to block out what he was doing physically to her, imagining a field of green grass and wildflowers and puppies and rainbows and God, just anything to not remind her of the pain of the abuse.


“Who the fuck were you with last night, you fucking slut!?!” Roy screamed in her face, his scent of cheap aftershave completely overpowering her senses. “Who were you fucking last night, you bitch?? Where the fuck did you go, making me pound on your door and look like a fucking goddamn idiot!?!” Roy held onto her arms, shaking her violently. Her silent tears slid down her cheeks, enraging him more. “Are you fucking KIDDING me!?! You’re going to fucking CRY?!! You made me look like a jackass, Pam, you’re lucky I don’t toss you down these goddamn stairs!”

Roy pushed her to the edge of the top step, grasping her shoulders. He pushed her backwards, Pam’s footing slipping, but he held on. “You do that to me again, you stupid cunt, you’ll be at the bottom of these stairs with a broken neck. Ya catch my drift?” Roy hissed in her ear. He guided her towards the wall, settling her against it, and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you at your apartment later. Make sure the goddamn door is unlocked.”

And with that, he was gone. Pam slid down the wall, her jelly legs giving way to her torso in a slumped heap of sobs. What the hell was she doing with her life? Who had Roy become?? Who has she herself become!?! How did life go so horribly wrong? So many questions raced through Pam’s head, so many thoughts and desires and holy shits and please God no’s. She sobbed into her gray wool cardigan sleeves, her hiccups echoing in the stairwell. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut when she felt his hand on her shoulder, strong but soft, warm but hesitant. She felt his body sink against the wall next to hers, his cologne a spicy marinade of sugary sweetness and an intense, masculine heat. She felt his arm wrap around her shoulders, his head dipping towards her, his breath on her hair, in her ear.

“God, Pam, what’s happened to us?” he asked quietly, her racking sobs intensifying with every syllable. She slid her left arm up his solid chest to his shoulder, turning her body into his, her mascara leaving dark smudges on his pale blue oxford shirt. He stroked her back, his big hands gently squeezing the thin skin over her ribs.

“I’m so sorry,” Pam sobbed, “God, Jim, I don’t know what happened to us…”

They sat there quietly as Pam’s cries subsided. She sat unladylike on the hard concrete, her head in her hands, her curls in a mad disarray.

“I can’t let you go home,” Jim said quietly. Pam glanced up quickly, furrowing her brow. He must have heard Roy… He must think now, because of what Roy said… Oh dear God…

“I was home last night,” she whispered. Jim looked at her sharply. “I was home, but I didn’t want to answer the door because…. Just because, I guess,” She finished lamely.

Jim’s expression softened. “I know, Pam… It’s going to be OK.”

With his sure tone that everything was going to be just super, Pam scoffed. “It’s not going to be “OK”, Jim,” she said. “It’s never going to be just “OK”.”

She stood and wiped her eyes with the pads of her fingers, smoothed her hair and skirt. “You don’t understand what my life is like, Jim. You don’t know what I’ve been dealing with since you got back here… Don’t try to sit there and pretend that you even have the slightest idea of what I’m going through!” She admonished, her eyes once again welling in tears, this time for a different kind of pain.

He didn’t know anything.

Pam stared as Jim’s eyes darkened at the mixture of worry, tension, hurt in her voice. She shook her head, opening the door to the hallway. “You really don’t know anything about me anymore… You don’t know anything at all.”

She could feel their eyes on her, burning holes into her skin, digging their claws into her wounds. Their quiet whispers and thoughts penetrated her mind, stealing her breath, pulling at her flesh and spitting on her anguish. She had never felt so exposed in her life.

She sat at her desk, watching the time tick down minute by minute, seemingly slower and slower, until quarter of five became a bridge she could finally cross. Pam started to gather her belongings, her hands shaking, her eyes twitching around at everyone's stares, their deafening silent understanding pushing her out the door.

It would have been easy for her to go with him. It would have been simple to go with him back to his place, to allow him to take care of her, to share cereal over the breakfast table and shampoo in the shower. It would have been trouble-free to walk out the door of Dunder Mifflin with him to her left and to sit with him in his car and to allow him to drink her in, mind, body, soul. It could have been as effortless as snapping her fingers, as explicitly uncomplicated as a soft smile over candlelight. It would have been natural to let him hold her and it would have been beautiful to allow him to kiss away her tears and the pain and the tragedy her life had morphed into. It should have been that way.

But it wasn't.

That day, unlike the day before, Jim caught up with Pam in the parking lot as she was backing out of her space. He stood with his hands on the trunk, the tops of his shins against the back bumper. He wasn't going to budge.

Pam unhooked her seatbelt and swung open the door. "What do you want from me?" she asked Jim in the calmest voice she could enable at that very moment.

Jim flushed red. "Look, I know that you wouldn't want to come back to my place, but I can get you a hotel room or something, OK? I just... I can't let you go back to that house," he stammered.

Pam gave him a half smile. "Sure, Jim, you could do that… And maybe you could even buy me dinner, too? Or maybe a stupid comedy on the movie channel on the TV... But no matter how today ends, we're still going to be in the exact same place, aren't we? Tip-toeing around each other because neither of us has the confidence to just do what we need to do? Or say what we need to say? Pretending that everything is OK because that's what we do, isn't it? We pretend that everything is OK until the other snaps, and then we sit and wonder why we did what we did. I can't do it, Jim. I just can't do it anymore. I can't just let you save me," Pam said quietly.

Jim hung his head. “I know… But God Pam, I don’t even know what’s going on with you right now! All I see is this huge bruise on your cheek, and Roy grabbing you and yelling at you in a stairwell about cheating on him, and you’ve been crying all week, and you won’t talk to me… I just want to talk to you, Pam… Please?”

Pam let her head fall backwards, looking straight up towards the cloudless blue sky. Talk? To Jim? Now? No, no way. But… It was Jim. And he was staring at her, his eyes hopeful, his stance saying that he didn’t want to let her go. At least not without a fight. That had to be something different, right? Jim usually gave up without much of a conversation. He’d left the moment she refused him on Casino Night. He’d come back with a girlfriend, not even willing to go to get coffee with her, so she could explain what had happened and how she wanted him back and how much she loved him, and how she never should have been with Roy. But here he was now, standing in front of her, blocking her car from leaving the parking lot.

Pam’s internal struggle with what to do showed clear across her face. Jim stepped around the car and towards Pam, grasping her hands in his. Her head bucked forward, shocked at the intimate display of friendship. As his thumbs rubbed over the skin of her knuckles, her eyes drifted closed, and she let her forehead fall to his chest, inhaling that same masculine scent, feeling the stubble of his five o’clock shadow against the crown of her skull. She let his warmth flood through her body, his hands stroking hers, making her legs tingle. God, he never had to try very hard with her, huh? Just his close proximity made her brain shut down. She shouldn’t let him help her, he had been a bastard lately. But God, he was there, and he wanted to help, and he was touching her, and his breath was on her hair, and she could smell his deodorant and the fabric softener on his shirt and the cologne on his neck and she loved him, despite throwing his relationship with Karen in her face, she could overlook that if he just kept stroking her hands like he was right then. She needed him, as much as she hated to admit it to the Fancy New Beesley in her. Because frankly, at that point, Fancy New Beesley needed him just as much as regular old Pam.

“OK,” she whispered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They sat across from one another at the Green Harbor Motel in room 509, she cross-legged on the bed, he on a ratty floral chair, resting his chin in his hands, his elbows on his knees. They’d been sitting there for close to 20 minutes, Dunkin Donuts coffees sitting on the bedside table, staring at a still life of a bunch of grapes on the wall. They’d taken Pam’s car back to her apartment, where she’d grabbed an armload of clothing and her toiletries, and they’d hurried off towards the east. When Jim pulled her little car into the parking lot of the Green Harbor Motel, her heart almost stopped. Of course, Jim would probably leave to go back to Karen’s that night, she knew that, but the idea of the two of them alone in a dingy hotel room started to replay a fantasy that Pam had tried to squash long ago.

Jim glanced up at Pam, their eyes meeting. She knew what he wanted to know. She had to be brave, she had to tell him what was going on. Christ, he had paid for a hotel room for her. He deserved to know. They had been best friends for so long, and even if they weren’t now, maybe they could be again someday. She closed her eyes and began to speak.

“It started about ten months ago, right after Phyllis’s wedding. He’d been kind of grabby before that, but I decided to let him know that you and I had kissed on Casino Night. You know, clear the air between us. He’d told me about a few girls he’d made out with, and I figured he deserved to know what had happened between us,” Pam said, gesturing towards the open space between the two. Jim nodded.

“Well, I told him, and he freaked out… Threatening to go kill you, calling me names, etcetera, etcetera. I got angry at everything he was calling you because you did what you needed to do that day. You opened yourself up to me, you let me see YOU… And I did the stupid thing by letting you just walk away…” Pam looked down, biting her lip.

“Pam, you didn’t let me just walk away,” Jim began.

“No, let me talk,” Pam interrupted. “Please, just let me explain, and you can talk after. Just.. let me talk, ok?”

Jim nodded silently, using his fingers to pretend to zip his lips. Pam smiled.

“So, he yelled, he screamed, blah, blah, blah. I thought he had gotten it out of his system. Until he hit me. I was blindsided by it. He’d never hit me before…” Pam slowed down, her voice getting hoarse, her eyes welling with tears. “The next day, when I went to shower, I looked at my body in the mirror. There were bruises all over my arms and chest and stomach. It was surreal. I’d never expected that from him… That day he came into work with flowers for me, red roses. He took me into the hall and kissed me and apologized. I said it was OK, like it was just going to have been a one time thing when he just snapped. It was less than a week later when he did it again. And again. And again.”

Pam watched as Jim pushed his fingers into his eyes, wiping away moisture. He looked up at her, his face sullen and pale, his eyes wide. “I just… I’m so sorry, Pam,” he stuttered.

Pam gave him a weak smile. “It’s not your fault, Jim.” It’s mine, she thought. It’s mine because I let you go, it’s mine because I should have just picked up the damn phone and called you, it’s mine because I didn’t say yes when my heart was screaming to. It’s mine because I should have ignored my head, it’s mine because I knew I loved you, too. It was on the tip of my tongue, I should have just said it… But I didn’t, and you left, and I love you, and I missed you so bad, and…

“Pam?” Jim asked, shaking her from her thoughts. Pam stared at him. “What happened to your cheek?”

Pam sighed. “I bought new pastels. Roy threw out my old ones. He said I didn’t need to leave my crayons hanging all around the house since I wasn’t a real artist anyways. I was using them while he was at Kenny’s, and I forgot to put them away, and when he came over to my place, he saw them… He was pissed when he saw the price, and he pushed me onto the couch… He never usually hit me on the face, since it’s visible, but I guess he couldn’t help himself…”

Pam looked up just as Jim’s jaw tightened, his hands forming fists on his knees. “God, Pam… I didn’t know… I swear, if I had known…” Jim stood and crossed the room, kneeling on the floor in front of Pam on the bed, a single wet tear rolling down his cheek. Pam’s eyes welled again at the sight of this man, the man who had professed his love to her three weeks before her wedding and had shed a single tear in front of her then. This was the man in front of her that she dreamed of at night when Roy cuddled up behind her, the man she imagined slipping a gold ring onto his left ring finger, the man she imagined two kids and a dog and a white picket fence with. And he was crying in front of her, openly asking for her forgiveness, with her in a hotel room while his girlfriend sat alone somewhere else.

This was not how Pam had imagined the day ending that morning.

He was pacing the room, his long legs taking about 4 steps in one direction before he needed to turn and walk the other way. His face ranged in emotion from worried, to scared, to upset, to frustrated, and finally to angry. He clenched his jaw, he made fists, he buried his face in one of the thin pillows from the bed and he just screamed. He moved towards the wall like he was going to punch it, only to turn and watch her face, and he held back. He threw her phone out the door, watching it smash into the pavement when Roy started to call. He splashed water on his face in the bathroom, dampening his hair and collar. He sat on the old floral chair, his back hunched, cracking his knuckles and holding his head in his hands, the occasional tear running down his nose, dripping onto his tan pant leg, creating a perfectly round coffee colored stain. He gave her intense stares and soft smiles, encouraging glances and grateful looks. He went through the stages of grief in a matter of moments, then shedding his own pained exterior to try to brush away every ounce of ache Pam had ever felt.


And it was in that moment that Pam regretted ever telling Jim Halpert.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


It was close to nine when Pam quietly asked about Karen. Jim’s head shot up from his place on the floor next to the door, his eyes wide.

“What do you mean?” He asked carefully.

“Jim… It’s almost nine… I’m sure she’s wondering where you are…”

Jim closed his eyes. “No, she knows where I am.”

Pam’s heart began to race. “You told her about…. Oh my God, you told her about this!?!”

Jim stood to sit next to Pam on the bed. “No, I didn’t. I swear, Pam, I would never tell anyone about this without your permission first. I didn’t have any idea… Well, I had an inkling that he was hurting you, but never to this extent, OK? It would make me so angry to watch him speak to you so condescendingly, to grab your arm occasionally... But if I ever thought that he was…” Jim swallowed hard, his eyes darkening. “If I ever knew that he was hurting you like this, I would have killed him with my bare hands.”

Pam stood from her spot on the bed and walked a slow circle around the room. Kill Roy with his bare hands? Acknowledging Karen was somewhere else, and seeming not to be concerned about it? Six months ago that would have been music to her ears, sliding over her loins like a dolphin into water, sticking to her like gum to a shoe. Jim’s admission of how much he cared, his eager desire to protect her, six months ago would have made her fall to her knees, thanking God that there was someone, ANYONE, out there in the world who loved her in such a way. But six months ago was not today.

In the past six months, everyday brought Pam a new sense of regret. Some days were the same as the day before – regret about Roy, regret about Jim, regret about never doing what she, Pamela Morgan Beesley, really wanted. Regret became a six letter word of self-hatred that she couldn’t stand up to. Who was she, really? She was a 26 year old receptionist at a failing paper supply company. She wore a cardigan to work every day to hide the bruises that she allowed the significant other that she generally had a distaste for make on her body. She talked to her mother every Tuesday and Thursday, she bought her car in blue because it described her mood on a daily basis, and her eyes… She’d always been told she had beautiful eyes. But at some point in the last six months, even she’d noticed the shine that they had start to fade. Even she’d noticed how thin and gaunt her cheeks were getting. Her hair fell out in clumps in the shower, her doctor prescribed antidepressants. She spent the weekends at art galleries in Philly, moving meticulously through the rooms, breathing in the colors and the sounds of the bustling crowds and exploring the shapes of statues. She bought pastels and watercolors and charcoal pencils, using them in secret because she was scared. Not even necessarily of Roy. But of herself. And of who she had become.

And now here was Jim, sitting on the bed in a cheap hotel room, saying things to her that she had dreamed about for months and months. But she couldn’t enjoy it because she wasn’t someone who should be ABLE to enjoy it. She was someone who hurt a man so badly he needed to move five hours away to get away from her. She was someone who dreamt about him every night, but knew that there was another woman in his life who had never tortured him so deeply, who had confidence and grace and beauty, another woman in his life who obviously loved him. She wanted to be the one with him, but she didn’t deserve to be the one with him. At least not yet. But probably not ever.

Pam smoothed her fingers over her mouth. “Jim, what exactly does Karen know?”

“She knows that you and Roy are having problems. I told her I wanted… that I guess I needed to be there for you… I know that we haven’t been friends for a long time, Pam, and I don’t really know why… But she knows that I loved you, with everything I had in me, before I left for Stamford. She knows because I told her, straight up one night because she had the right to know why I couldn’t... I guess why I can’t fully give myself to her or our relationship.” Jim fell backwards onto the bed, his left arm falling over his eyes. “She knows I’m with you right now because I never could have stopped loving you, Pam. I wanted to stop, which I guess is why I couldn’t be your friend when I came back. But I know that I love her, too. I love that she helped me get over one of the worst times of my life.”

Jim sat up quickly, slid off the bed and towards Pam. He grasped her elbows in his hands, pulling her close to him. “I never stopped loving you, Beesley. God knows I tried. But I didn’t, and I couldn’t, and I just… I can’t get you out of my mind.”

Pam stiffened and moved backwards. “You can’t do that now, Jim,” she pleaded. “You can’t come in here and tell me that you still love me, the same night that you took me to a damn hotel room to get me away from my stupid boyfriend who can’t keep his hands to himself! You can’t do that just because I told you the hell I’ve been living, because that’s just a small part of the hell I’ve been living! I told you earlier that you don’t know me at all because you DON’T anymore, Jim. You did before, and that’s why you loved me, and I love you for that. But you don’t KNOW me right now, today. You might be standing in front of me, but you may as well be back in Stamford.”

For what seemed like the hundredth time of the day, Pam felt her eyes well with tears. Jim took a step backwards himself.

“I love you, Pam…” He began.

“No!” She interrupted. “Don’t do that; don’t say those things to me! Christ, Jim, we didn’t talk for almost a year, until you saw Roy, or heard Roy, or whatever happened. What if you didn’t see that?? Where would we be?? You can’t come back and tell me you love me because of how my damn life has played itself out! You can’t just walk in and be the hero!”

Jim cast his eyes to the floor. He was silent for a long time, the two of them standing precariously in the middle of the room.

“I’m not happy he did those things to you,” Jim began quietly, his arms hanging limply to his sides. “But I am happy I saw them, because it’s brought us to this point. Because I do love you. I don’t know a lot of what’s happened over the past six months, or over the past year. But I know that I could never have just stopped caring. Karen’s great, and I should be really happy with her. But when it comes straight down to it, I still dream about you every night. I still have to will myself not to look up and stare at you sitting at the reception desk. God, it’s hard not to imagine you next to me when I go home to my parents and they ask why they still haven’t met Karen. I don’t know what’s going with us right now... us being me and Karen… and with you and I, I guess, too… And I would love to be the hero for you… But if I can’t right now, then that’s OK… So long as you’re here, in this room, safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

Pam bit her lip, inhaling his words, drinking them into her skin. She closed her eyes, his words washing over her like a soft sheet, his tone raw and jagged. “If I can’t right now, then that’s OK,” kept reverberating in her mind, over and over. It seemed impossible that every syllable coming from his lips could be so… impeccably perfect.

But they were. And it was finally what she needed.

When he left around eleven, Pam changed into a tank top and alternating light and dark pink striped pajama pants and slid under the thin comforter of the hotel room bed. The squeak of the hinges reminded her of home, a soothing feeling lying alone in a strange room in an unfamiliar bed, after having spent the last 6 hours with a man that she had assured herself would never look at her again just yesterday. When he left, he stood at the door anxiously, not wanting to step over the threshold. They had made room 509 a cocoon of safety, where they’d finally spoken words to one another that they hadn’t been able to in months. Pam sighed and rolled onto her stomach. She was sure that tomorrow would bring more drama than she needed, and she was sure that she and Jim had much, much more to discuss. But for right now, as the cars whizzed by the hotel, lulling her to sleep, knowing that Jim still loved her was just enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She dreamt of him standing with his back to her at a window in a dark room. The curtains were open, a slight breeze blowing through the mesh of the screen. He was shirtless, dressed in only a pair of dark jogging shorts, barefoot. His arms were crossed over his chest. She walked into the room, whispering his name. He turned slightly, and she noticed he was holding something. She tiptoed over to him, running her hand down his bicep. He turned to face her, rocking the infant in his arms ever so gently. The baby was upright on his chest, its bottom resting on his forearm, his big hand cradling its sweet head, downy wisps of hair the same color as his.

“Jim?” She whispered quietly.

He grinned, his long fingers stroking the baby’s exposed cheek, the other resting against his chest. He leaned down and kissed her lips, her cheek, her hair. He nuzzled her neck as she found her hands running up his arms, into his unruly hair, and down to the soft onesie covered back of the child. His eyes were shining, looking happier than she’d seen since he stopped looking her direction.

“We’ve both made some mistakes in our lives… but I always knew we could be something bigger.”

Pam’s eyes filled with tears, her breath catching at his words. They’d both made mistakes. But they could definitely be something more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Pam awoke the next morning, her back ached and her face was imprinted with the lines of her pillow. When she stood under the lukewarm water in a tiny, questionable bathtub, she found the tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner were definitely lacking. When she dressed, she laughed when she noticed she hadn’t brought any pantyhose. The coffee maker didn’t work, her cable was shotty, and her car had less than a fourth of a tank of gas. Everything regarding that morning should have sent Pam over the deep end, her life in shambles, knowing the day before her was only going to be bring drama and angst. But after that conversation, after that dream, after that night… Pam only noticed how the sunshine danced through the blinds, how her clothes from the night before smelled like his cologne, remembering how his eyes looked as he was walking away. She grinned to herself as she settled into her car, ready to make the drive to Dunder Mifflin. Today was going to be a good day.

And then reality hit as she slid her car into a parking spot outside of the office building, and she saw Roy’s big truck already there. Where was he? In the warehouse? Upstairs waiting for her in the hallway? God, he could grab her and kill her before anyone had a chance to even see her arrive! She gulped audibly, clenching her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “What am I going to do? What am I going to do? What am I going to do?!!” were the only words running through her head, a sinking feeling in her stomach, her head pounding. As her thoughts permeated her psyche, disarming herself from the outside world, a knock on the window almost scared the life out of her.

Terrified, she twisted her head towards the window, her entire body visibly relaxing when she noticed Jim standing there, his grin sliding across his face. Pam smiled back, laughing a bit, throwing her head back into the headrest. She pushed a button to her left to open the car door locks. Jim sauntered around the car, opened the door and wedged himself into the tiny space. He yawned, resting his own head on the seat, and rubbed his eyes.

“So ya made it in today, huh?”

Pam laughed easily, shocked at how simple it was to fall back into their dynamic.

“Course… I couldn’t leave you to deal with Michael today by yourself, you know.”

“Well, I know that I certainly love hearing his daily discussion on his favorite sexual positions with - get this now, emphasize it about four times, and imagine some intense giggling, ok? JAN”

“It’s not so much the giggling and the emphasizing; it’s the gestures he makes.”

Jim laughed, turning towards Pam, his eyes smiling.

“It’s going to be OK today, alright? We’re going to go in there, and it’ll be OK. Just one day at a time.”

Pam nodded, looking at her lap shyly, not knowing how to reply. She still couldn’t believe how different today was from yesterday, how her life had been turned completely upside down. She’d never gone home, she’d spent the night with Jim in a hotel room. OK, maybe it hadn’t been the whole ENTIRE night, but enough of it to know that the yawning he had been doing could be attributed to her. He’d told her he loved her. She dreamt about a life with him that didn’t end with her jerking awake, sweat and tears running down her face, her heart racing. Today was going to be different.

“Today is a new day, right? We’re going to need to make it worth it…”

“We still have a lot to talk about… But I can promise that we’ll have the time to finally talk about it.”

“I know I hurt you, Jim. And I know that we’ve both changed in the past few months. But if you’re willing to try, then I am, too.”

Jim inhaled sharply, his hands moving between them to grasp hers, their fingers locking.

“It’s not going to be easy, Pam,” He began.

“It never is,” She interrupted. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen with Roy... or Karen… And I know that we’re going to fight, and we’re going to be upset, and it’s going to be really hard. But last night meant something to me, knowing that you wanted to be there. I still can’t just let you sweep in and be the hero, but I don’t want to shut you out, either. There needs to be a lot of give and take, push and pull… But I want that with you.”

Jim grinned. “I want that with you, Beesley. More than anything, OK? Don’t ever doubt that.”

And with that, they left out of the car, and headed up to the doors of Dunder Mifflin. As Jim held the door open for her and she moved under his arm into the building, Pam smiled. No matter what happened that day, things were going to change. This time for the better.

He was standing outside of the elevator when they got off. His eyes burned holes into her skin, his fists clenching, his broad chest seeming to be even wider than she had remembered. When the doors slid open, they had been laughing about a prank they had pulled on Dwight when Jim had first started at Dunder Mifflin, their smiles fading when they realized who was in front of them. He took a step forward, his face contorting angrily, his sneer echoing across his face. Jim was to her right, about a half step in front of her. Watching Roy begin to come towards them, he put his arm out to the side in front of her, protectively.

Her current situation was nothing like she had ever been apart of. It almost seemed surreal to her at the moment, watching it unfold. Her former fiance, the person she'd been with for over ten years, the individual she'd both loved and hated, the boy she'd met in geography class in 10th grade, the teenager she'd gone to the senior prom with, the young man who had bought her a ring, the man she had once imagined spending the rest of her life with, the monster who had beat her down… Then there was Jim. Sweet, loving Jim. Jim who she knew would become something more the first day she met him at Dunder Mifflin. Jim, the man who she invited to her wedding as a guest, but imagined as the groom. Jim, the man who took her hands in his and told her he loved her. Jim, the man who stroked her being with intense stares and soft whispers, who had hurt her by refusing her, but had saved her from everything else. Jim, the man she dreamt of and wished hard that he was dreaming of her, too. The man she adored, the man she wanted to go home to, the man she had always, somehow, in her earliest of age and deepest of desires, wanted wholly.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Roy asked, gritting his teeth. “You and Halpert, huh? Is this who you’ve been fucking on the side, you whore?”

Pam felt Jim tense next to her, his jaw clenching almost audibly. “We’re going to work now, Roy. You can go back downstairs.” He said coolly.

Roy laughed. “Of course, always the big protector, that Jim Halpert. Well fuck you. Fuck you and this whore.”

“You can go to Hell, Roy,” Pam finally spoke. “You can go straight to Hell. I’m over this, I’m over you, I’m over everything. I’m done.”

Roy’s eyes slitted in anger. “Done? The last thing this is, is done, Pammy. You know that, I know that, fucking Halpert here knows that.”

Her bravery slipped down her throat at his threat, tears forming at the back of her eyes, her hands shaking. “I need to go to work now…”

Roy, seeing her obviously scared, winked at her. “Of course… I’ll see you at home later.”

Jim shook his head, raising an eyebrow. “Go back downstairs, Roy. This isn’t the time, nor the place.”

Roy eyed the two, a grin forming on his face. “Big protector Halpert, huh? That’s just… hysterical,” He laughed, shoving Jim on the right shoulder, and moving past them. “We’ll see about that.”

When Roy had turned the corner, Pam’s sigh of relief was evident. She raised a hand to her eyes, rubbing them carefully, her body trembling. How like Roy to leave with such a warning. She hated herself then, shaking like a leaf at the mere thought of him, her tears descending down her cheeks easily, her heart sore. Jim took her by the shoulders, moving his big hands to cup her face, kissing her on the forehead.

“It’s going to be, OK, Pam,” He murmured. “Today is a new day.”

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That afternoon, after a long day of dealing with Michael and Dwight, Pam began to pack her things up to leave, unsure of where she was even going to go. Her apartment? Back to the hotel? Another hotel to ensure that Roy didn’t find her? To her mom’s over in Dickson City? Anywhere she went, she was terrified to be alone.

When Jim appeared at her desk, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, a smile on his face, Pam was almost instantly relaxed. It was amazing the things he did to her. A simple smile, an encouraging hug, a soft stroke of his thumb on her cheek. It was everything to her.

“Come on,” He interrupted her thoughts. “Let’s go home.”

Pam scoffed. “Home? Where’s that? My place? Back to the hotel? Any place I go, he might be there. I just want him to leave me alone…”

Jim tilted his head to the left, his eyes crinkling. “We’re going back to your place, but just to get some more of your stuff. Then I’m taking you home with me.”

Pam looked at him, bewildered. “But, Karen…”

“Leave Karen to me, OK? It’s absolutely more important to me that I know where you are, and I know that you’re safe, than Karen being pissed off.”

Pam shrugged uncomfortably. She loved Jim, everything in her body screaming joy that she was going home with him. But he had another woman to consider, a woman that also loved him, a woman that he loved in return.

Jim glanced at her, picking up her coat and slinging it over his shoulder. “Once again, it’s going to be OK…We need tonight.”

Pam looked up at him, doubt and frustration and hesitancy lingering in her head, mistrust of her own hopes and wishful thinking sparking on the tip of her tongue. But in his eyes she saw his own desires and need to protect her and anticipation. She nodded. “Let’s go home.”

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In the urgency of her craving to exit her apartment, she was tossing things into her bag with a sense of aggravation. “Bras, panties, shampoo, conditioner, shoes, checkbook, work skirts…” She rattled off the list of what she needed in her head, whipping them into her suitcase as Jim watched intently from the doorway of her bedroom. She was going home with Jim.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…” She thought, her hands nearly shaking as she started to think about spending the night with him. She stared down into her dresser, at a few silky pieces of lingerie. She grasped them with one hand, imagining quickly the smooth satin against her skin, his hands dragging the shoulder straps down her arms, his lips following.


“No, no, no…” She dropped the pieces back into the drawer as the internal struggle raged in her mind. “He has a girlfriend… at least right now… and I can always come back for them.” She thought carefully, reminding herself that this was one night and one night only for right now… And Lord knows waiting was something she and Jim had the ability go pro at.

She turned to the bed and zipped the suitcase up with satisfaction. Jim grinned at her. “Ready, Bees?”

As ready as she ever could have been, in her entire life, a tingling in the bottom of her stomach, biting at her bottom lip, a smile pecking at the corners of her mouth, Pam laughed and stared at her shoes. “I’m so, so ready, Jim.”

It was an insignificant moment in time when Pam realized that she was in love with Jim Halpert. He’d been standing at her desk at reception, his long, tanned forearms resting on the counter. It was the middle of the first summer he'd been at Dunder Mifflin, about 5:30 pm, the air conditioner in the office blowing arctic winds across the room, his five o’clock shadow evident on his cheeks and chin. She was sitting at her desk, laughing at something he said, bright eyes looking into his, their smiles reaching the tiniest creases of their faces. She stood to add some jelly beans to the container, noticing a tiny freckle on his left wrist, on the bulge of the bone sitting directly next to the brown leather of the wristband of his watch. It was something simple, something completely irrelevant in regards to their conversation, but there it was, in all of its glory.

A single freckle.

It was how his hands were clasped around a can of grape soda, how his hair fell into his eyes, how his tie was draped haphazardly on the counter. It was the top button of his shirt being open, the way his laugh infused the room with sunshine, the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room. It was the way he closed his eyes as he chewed a green jelly bean, the way his lips pursed together because he always said food lost flavor when eaten with an open mouth, the way the muscles in his forearm flexed to pick up a pen on her desk to click open and closed.

Click open. Click close. Click open. Click close.

It was the way his smell lingered in her nostrils long after he’d left, the way his grin shot sparks down to her toes, the way he rubbed his hand on the back of his neck as he sat at his desk talking to a customer. It was the way he imagined ways to prank Dwight, the way he interacted with absolutely everyone he met, the way he somehow, someway, grabbed every single solitary ounce of trust and amusement and patience and faith and there was always so much laughter and joy and the longing in his eyes when he looked at her… God…

Pam found herself staring at that freckle, in amazement at the realization that had just found her. She was in love, and was feeling it with every piece of her. Not a “oh, the cute guy at work likes me” kind of feeling… But a “this is the man I need to be with, the man I admire, the man I want to raise a family with, the man I want to hold in my arms at our wedding, and our children’s wedding, and their children’s wedding, the man I want to hear singing in the shower and watch coach our son basketball and eat supper with every night… This is the man I am absolutely head over heels in love with” kind of feeling.

When she eventually looked down at her engagement ring, sitting lonely on her left ring finger, her heart fell to her stomach and her head clouded. She was engaged. And she was in love. How could she be both, but not with the same man?

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The ride to Jim’s was long and arduous. Pam followed him in her Yaris, watching his careful turns and safe breaking. Typical Jim.

When they arrived at his complex, he met her at her door, and opened her trunk, grasping her suitcase with one hand. He led her to his front door, easily sliding his key into the lock, and let her inside.

“And we’ve arrived!” He laughed, sitting her bag on the floor next to the door and shedding his suit jacket. Pam smiled, moving to the living room and sitting on his seemingly new chocolate brown suede sofa.

“Suede, huh? Fancy furniture you’ve got here, Halpert.”

Jim blushed. “My mother told me when I moved back to Scranton that I needed to get some new furniture. Apparently the family was sick of looking at the ratty college sofa I had when they came over. The phrase “should be condemned” was used several times, actually, it was rather hurtful… So, the Saturday I got back I went out and bought this, she seems to like it, and here we are today.”

Pam giggled, imagining a telephone conversation with his mom. She kicked off her shoes and slid onto the sofa, her legs under her, holding onto the arm. She bounced up and down several times.

“Oooh, comfy! I like,” She said, approvingly.

Jim laughed. “Well good, because I’m assuming we’re going to be spending all night on it.”

“All night?” Pam asked, emphasizing the “All”.

Jim grinned. “Well, a lot of it at least.”

He took a seat on the sofa next to her, toeing off his shoes and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, simultaneously turning on the TV. Pam eyed his movements.

“Wow… You just did that… really, really easily.”

“Well, you see Pam, I’m a gold medal award winner at kicking back and relaxing at home. Now, I’ll sit here and watch Sports Center for about 10 minutes, I’ll get up and pop a Hungry Man dinner into the microwave and/or call in for pizza or Chinese or whatever sounds enticing at that moment, I’ll grab a beer, come back in here and watch some more Sports Center, maybe eventually go pee and grab another beer, maybe throw in an episode or two of one of the dozens of TV shows I bought on DVD, and then pass out on the couch, only to wake up, pee again, and go find my bed.”

“Obviously you have this down to an art.”

“Just call me Picasso.”

The two sat on the couch, smiling warmly at one another. Unsure of what to do next, Pam asked if she could go change from her work attire into something more comfortable. Jim smiled, stood, and showed her to the bathroom, carrying her luggage for her. “Let me know if you need anything,” He said, closing the door quietly.

Pam stood at the sink, her hands on the white marble countertop, staring into the mirrors above her. Here she was, in Jim’s house, in his bathroom, where his cologne sat on the counter and his toothbrush and his razor. His towels were neatly folded on a rod behind the door, and a Van Gogh print decorated the small space. Jim’s space. She was in JIM’S space, changing into a t-shirt and yoga pants, in JIM’S space wondering where the Hell she was going to sleep tonight, in JIM’S space wishing and hoping and praying that in a few hours, after a long conversation, he would still love her as much as she loved him.

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They were sitting back on the couch, Jim having changed into basketball shorts and a t-shirt himself, having ordered a pizza and grabbed a few beers from the kitchen, and having muted Sports Center. Just sitting together in a sunset drenched room, pinks and yellows and oranges sprinkling through his blinds onto his beige carpet. Not knowing what to say to one another, and that being OK. They had all night.

Pam glanced over at him, picking at the label of the bottle, biting at the corner of his bottom lip. She had to start it.

“I don’t really know how to thank you for this…” She began quietly.

“Absolutely nothing to thank me for,” He interrupted.

Pam stared up into his eyes, those damn green eyes, so earnest, so thoughtful, so… Jim.

“I absolutely HAVE to thank you, Jim… You don’t know what this means to me.”

Jim set his beer down on the coffee table, leaning his head back to the top of the couch, closing his eyes. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to have you here, Pam… You don’t know how much this means to ME.”

She inhaled deeply, moving closer to him, resting her hand on his arm. She slid her hand down to grasp his, squeezing it gently. “I know… I know we messed things up, Jim. I know that we did, and I know that things are still going to be messed up after today, but… Today is a new day, right? And a new day is supposed to mean that you can do anything. Say anything… And there’s a lot between us that still needs to be said.”

He opened his eyes, looking devastatingly long and hard into hers. “Let’s say them.”

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She sat cross legged on the couch next to him, facing him, his hand still resting in hers, warm and heavy. They had agreed not to talk until the other was finished, since they both had to finally get out the hurt and anger and frustration they had dwelling inside of them. They finally needed to say the things that had been slowly torturing them inside, cutting at their hearts, obscuring their minds.

“I think I’ve always been in love with you,” She started, causing Jim’s eyebrows to shoot up, his eyes widening, his mouth dropping open. “I knew it a long time ago, but it was hard to accept. I was with Roy, he had just proposed, we’d been together for my God… seven years at that point? He had been my everything, and then some, I guess. Hero-worship. And then I met you. And you changed all of that. I don’t even know when you changed it, but you did, and I realized it one day just looking at you and knowing that I was making a huge mistake. I was engaged to Roy, but I was in love with you, and you shouldn’t be in love with someone who isn’t your fiancé… That scared me, it terrified me the way you would look at me. But I knew I loved you. On Casino Night, I didn’t know what to do when you told me you loved me. God Jim, you just… You just put it all out there on the line, so sure of everything, and it was all happening so fast… I went up to the office and called my mom, and told her I loved you, and I didn’t know what to do because of Roy and the wedding and our families… Then you came up and you kissed me and I kissed back and God, did I want to kiss you back… But it was so fast… You needed an answer then and right then, I didn’t know what to do… Then on Monday you were gone and I cried for weeks… Months, actually… I called off the wedding because I knew that being in love with you meant something…

“I actually tried to go see you so many times in Stamford, but things kept getting in the way, and then you came back, but you were with Karen… Are, with Karen, I guess… And it broke my heart again. I just wanted to be with you so bad, and it was like every time we tried we just kept missing, and I started to assume that it just wasn’t going to happen for us... So I went back to Roy… Because he was safe, and he knew me, but he didn’t really KNOW me... Not like you. Never like you. And I know things have been tense with us, and I understand why, but I want it to change. Because I want you, Jim Halpert. I want you because I need you in my life… I need you in my life because…” Her voice faltered, tears forming at the back of her eyes, her lips trembling.

“I need you in my life because I love you, Jim. I think even if I never met you I would still love you. You know me like no one else, and you still love me, I think, and I adore you. Everything about you. And I know you’re with Karen, and I understand why and how and all that… But, you need to know this. I love you, James Halpert. And I think I always will.”

Jim stared at her for a few moments, his eyes glistening in the warm light. “You THINK you always will?”

Pam glanced down beliefly at their hands tangled together. She looked up bravely into his eyes. “I KNOW I always will.”

The distance between them was approximately 2 feet, 2 inches. Jim closed it between them in less than a second, his lips warm and sweet and full crashing into hers, his hands coming up to cradle her head, tangling in her curls, his thumbs stroking the soft skin in front of her ear, his kiss intense and satisfying and deliberate. Pam sighed into it, her hands resting on his broad chest, clutching his t-shirt, her heart feeling as if it were about to explode in her chest. They leaned back into the couch, his left hand leaving its spot in her hair to stroke her arm, to caress her cheek, to pull her body closer to his. When his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, she almost had a stroke, her body molding into his, feeling his stubble on her face and his fingertips on her skin. She came close to a mini orgasm as his tongue slid out and into the warmth of her mouth, his desire evident in his breathy moan and the urgency of his touch. She pulled him even closer, not being able to get enough of him on her, next to her, inside of her. Her hands fell to his thighs, running her hands over the thin nylon of his basketball shorts, a concentrated ache to just FEEL him.

And then came the pounding on the door.

If hatred could truly be defined in words, to Pam Beesley, her hate for Roy Anderson paled in comparison to the gawky, pimple faced teenaged boy at the door holding their pizza. With his obnoxious knocking at the door, Jim and Pam broke apart, their lips plumped and crimson, breath ragged, pulses dancing. They stared at one another, not wanting to move from that moment, aching to press their mouths back to one another, their hands tangled on each others’ bodies, so close she could feel his desire and he could taste her longing. She could feel her breath catching at the sight of his darkened eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, one of his hands on her neck, the other splayed over her back. He swiped his thumb over her mouth, dipping his head to kiss her once more before moving to the door to glare at the pizza delivery kid. Her heart wouldn’t stop racing. God, this must be what true love feels like.

When Jim returned with the box, he dropped it on the coffee table and fell back onto the couch in his original position. “Where were we?” He asked huskily, pulling her almost on top of him, her knees straddling his hips, sitting up with his back against the cushions of the sofa, their lips catching each other in a fury of passion and intensity. Pam slid her hands up his chest, pushing him back, but leaning in to nibble a trail of kisses along his jaw.

“Jim,” She murmured next to his ear, sliding her tongue against his earlobe, “We have all night.”

He groaned into her hair, his hands resting on her hips, his thumbs sliding along the skin under the elastic waistband of her yoga pants. Pam giggled, grasping his hair and tugging playfully.

“If THAT had to get interrupted by a pizza boy, we’re going to eat that pizza and we’re going to enjoy it… And then we can get back to enjoying THIS,” She laughed, her mouth falling to the soft skin between his neck and shoulder, sucking softly.

Jim grinned at her, his eyes shining. “Yes, Ma’am”.

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It was the quickest pizza ever eaten by two people, they were sure of that. They inhaled the slices, not tasting the spicy pepperoni or the sweetness of their beers. For Pam, the only thing she could want or need to feel, hear, see, taste, touch was JIM. They closed the top of the box, anxiously falling back together, their bodies molding together, legs knotted, hair tousled, lips and hands moving simultaneously in a sensuous rhythm. It was everything Pam had dreamed of since Casino Night, every penny she’d dropped into a wishing well, every hope she had ever had. It was an incredible high, a delicious desire, a playful banter of tongues and touching and beating hearts. It was perfection in its simplest state. It was Jim and Pam, Pam and Jim, slow kisses and deep passion and concentrated ecstasy. It was flawless.

Pam, nestled on Jim’s lap and chest, stroked his cheek with her hand, snuggling up to his warm, solid body. His arms folded around her, holding her close, his nose brushing her forehead, his lips kissing her eyelids. She smiled lightly, laughing gently, glancing up into his emerald eyes.

“So, uhh... You come here often?” She asked, biting her lip.

Jim chuckled. “Um, no, no not really.”

“Well, that’s good… Because that would make this kinda awkward, huh?”

“Like you have no idea, Bees,” He replied.

They moved to relax deeper into the soft cushions, Jim’s arm snaking around Pam’s shoulders, his right hand sandwiched between hers, their fingers a tangled mess. She looked up at him, unsure of what to say or do. This was all so new, so different, so amazing, but so strange.

“So I told you my piece,” She smiled. “What about yours?”

She felt Jim hesitate around her, his body physically becoming tight. “We can’t just ignore what I had wanted to say and move on?”

“Absolutely not.”

He sighed, pulling his arm back from around her, rubbing his eyes.

“I don’t really know what to say, since I feel like we just said everything that needed to be said…” He began. “I knew I loved you after our first lunch at Cuginos… I knew that you were someone special, someone I wanted to be with… I tried to force myself to tell you dozens of times, praying that you’d feel the same way. I said what I did on Casino Night because you were there, gorgeous, three weeks from marrying Roy, but there I wanted to marry you. I just… I needed to say it. When you said no… It broke my heart. It wrecked me.

“I met Karen in Stamford, and she took my mind off of you. We went out a few times, and it was fun, and when the Stamford office closed, she moved here to be with me. I really wanted her to be the one, so when I saw you at reception, it didn’t hurt so much anymore. But it didn’t work. It actually got worse. Sometimes it felt good to know that you were kind of upset about it, because I wanted you to feel all the same things I had felt for years. But it broke my heart more to see you in pain.

“When you got back together with Roy, I was pissed. Really, really angry with you actually. I didn’t understand why you looked at me the way you did, but went home with him. Again. But then I saw you becoming more distant, and I couldn’t understand why, and I dreaded why. And then you came in on Monday with your face all bruised, and I guess I figured it out pretty quickly. I know Roy is an asshole and I kind of always assumed that he was an asshole at home to you, but I never, ever imagined he was… Hitting you. Physically. I couldn’t stop looking at you sitting there, your face blank… God, Pam, I am so happy you decided to talk to me. I am SO thankful that you decided to talk, because if you didn’t... It terrifies me to think what he could have done to you.”

Jim’s face fell, pulling her back into his arms, sighing into her hair, his hands running over her body, him owning her, her owning him. Belonging only to one another.

“What is going on with Karen now?” Pam asked. “What happened yesterday when you left for lunch?”

“As of right now, we’re still… together I guess. But I want to be with you. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, and I love you, Pam Beesley. Always... Yesterday, we went to lunch and I explained to her that I still love you and I know that it hurt her to hear that… And she probably doesn’t care to even know where I am right now. I think in her heart she knows that I’ve always carried a torch for you, I gave myself to you a long time ago. And no matter what happens between Karen and me, it’s never going to change.”

Pam gazed deeply into his eyes as he spoke, his tone reflecting his emotions, his voice thick with passion. She smiled gently, the pain of her bruise still aching, but in a sweet knowledge that it was only because Jim kept causing her to beam in pleasure. She ran a hand through his hair, down to the back of his neck, and pulled his head towards her.

“I love you, Jim Halpert,” She whispered tenderly. “And that’s never going to change.”

She brushed her lips across his lovingly, her eyes drifting closed and marinating in the feeling of having both confessed their hurt feelings and expressed their desires to be together. Finally, it seemed that everything could be OK. And for once, Pam believed it.

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It was nearing midnight, their eyes closing periodically, her head cradled in the crook of his arm against his chest, feeling his chest rise and fall and listening to his heart beat over and over. They whispered “I love you” quietly from time to time, his lips finding her hair, her hands running over his taut stomach. They lay cuddled on the couch, the shine from the TV their only light, covered by a thick, warm crocheted blanket. It felt like home.

“Pam?” Jim asked, shifting easily against her.

“Mmm?”

“Let’s go to bed, OK?”

Pam’s eyes shot open at the mention of the bed. She had been so comfortable laying there in his arms she hadn’t anticipated his question. What did he mean by bed? Damn it, she should have brought that lingerie! Or did he just mean cuddling? Or did he mean he was going to go to bed, and she needed to stay in the living room to sleep? Or…

She was shaken from her thoughts as he grasped her hands and pulled her from the couch, his hand on the small of her back leading her to the bedroom. Her breath quickened glancing at the bed, a queen sized mattress covered by a white down comforter, plush pillows resting against a simple wooden headboard. He tugged his shirt over his head and pulled down the comforter and bed sheet, slipping under them. She stood by shyly, not knowing quite what to make of the situation. Jim grinned at her sudden inhibition.

“Come here,” He said quietly, pulling down her side of the comforter, patting the bed. She walked to him, fell onto the soft mattress, jerking the comforter up around her, curling onto her left side. Jim laughed, spooning up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, his lips on her neck.

“I love you, Pam.” He whispered.

“I love you, Jim.” She replied.

Today was a new day.

The sunlight was sliding through the blinds, shimmying across them, spooned in his bed, in a perfect, absolute silence. His arm was draped across her waist, his head resting above hers, their legs tangled in a tan bed sheet. He sighed lightly into her hair, achingly delicious and devastatingly sweet. “We have to get up,” He whispered into her curls.

She groaned and pulled his arm tighter over her, wishing she could get so much closer to him, pressing her body against his in a slow, rhythmic dance. “Let’s just stay a little while longer.”

She could feel him smile against her instinctively, hear him inhale her scent, taste his love for her in the strength of his arm around her, the sound of his sighs on his lips… It was everything she had ever thought it could be, waking in his arms in his bed. How far they had come from just several days ago…

Twenty minutes later, she slipped from the bed and into the shower, finding a towel in his linen closet. She slipped under the hot stream, letting her hair soak, the water erasing the rest of her doubt. She was standing in Jim’s shower. She had spent the night with him. She had told him everything that she had in her, everything that had tormented her for the last several months, and he had told her he loved her. It was romantic and sweet, upsetting and trying, but they had made it through the night together, in one another’s arms, their lips doing more talking than their voices. It was amazing. It was everything she had ever dreamed of.

After shampooing her hair and washing up, she stepped out of the shower and into the towel, drying off quickly before wrapping it around her and walking back into the bedroom to retrieve her clothes. Jim was sitting upright in the bed, his brow furrowed, when she sauntered in, his eyes running over her nearly naked self, his mouth dropping open. Pam giggled.

“Yeah, I’m in a towel, Halpert. Get a grip,” She smiled, winking at him.

Jim shot out of bed, biting his lip. “Uhh, wow...”

She arched an eyebrow. “If I had known I would have gotten this much of a rise out of you, I would have done it years ago!”

“That’s what she said,” He laughed, prompting her to smack his shoulder playfully.

“I cannot believe you just said that!!” She said, grinning from ear to ear.

It was like that for the rest of the morning they spent at Jim’s, playful banter back and forth, longing gazes and brief kisses. It was like they’d been together forever, moving around each other with a familiar fluidity. When she made his coffee, he smiled like he won the lottery. When he opened her car door, she thought her heart would burst. It was the simplest of things, the easiest of actions, the sweetest of events. She loved him, wholeheartedly. She adored him, without hesitation. She wanted him, with every cell of her being. Jim Halpert was it for her.

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When they arrived at Dunder Mifflin, neither of them could stop smiling. They held hands in the car, singing along to some cheesy ‘80’s mixed CD Jim had in his visor CD case. When he pulled into the parking spot, he jumped out to open her door, grasping her hand with his, their eyes meeting in a yearning stare.

“Let’s go back home,” Jim suggested, his eyes darkening. “We can take the day off, just play hooky at the house.”

Pam smiled. “Because this is only day two, Jim. Plus, we’re already at work. And I don’t want to hear Michael when he finds out we took the day off together.”

Jim nodded. “OK, but, once everyone knows about this, I’m taking you away for a long weekend… We need it.”

She glanced up at the tall man next to her, already making earnest promises that she knew he would actually be one to keep.

“Soon, Jim,” She squeezed his hand. “Very, very soon.”

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They had just entered the front doors of the building when they noticed him standing at the elevator. He was smiling, his eyes hard, his fists jammed in his pockets. Pam’s heart began to beat quickly, anxious in her chest, her pulse racing.

“Roy.” She heard Jim say flatly.

It was truly amazing to her how an amazing morning could turn so cold. A bitter, freezing, icy chill running through her blood stream, her hands sweating, her entire body tensing at just the thought of his standing before her.

“Halpert, hey, how’s it going?” Roy asked easily.

She felt Jim’s hand squeeze around hers. “What do you want?”

Roy laughed, his eyes falling to Pam, running over her like she was naked in front of him. So different from Jim when she nearly WAS naked in front of him just a while earlier. Jim had made her feel warm, secure, safe. Roy’s stare made her feel dirty, soiled, insufferable. The waves of change flowed through her body, a song of hope, a sob of reminder.

“So, I ran into a mutual friend of ours last night,” He began, his eyes intently staring at their entwined hands. “Karen. She was just… GREAT.” He emphasized.

Pam felt Jim’s hand clench.

“What are you talking about, Roy?” She asked, almost timidly, hating that she couldn’t be more forceful with him.

“Well, last night, I decided that, hey, it’s time for me to branch out. So, I figured I’d call up my good friend Karen because I mean, she knows what I’m going through, right? Turns out, I WAS right. And she’ll find out just how right I was tonight,” He winked.

Pam closed her eyes, not believing what Roy was telling them. He had gone out with Karen? They had talked about them? What had they said, what did they do? Questions sliced through her mind like a sharp knife, the answers terrifying her.

“She won’t be scared to call the cops on you,” She replied quietly, staring directly into his eyes. “I never did, but she won’t let you hurt her.”

Roy laughed a sinister, loud, threatening laugh. “The word let is the operative one in that sentence, huh?” He said. “But, I guess if they can’t actually FIND her, that’d be the best way to go…”

Jim took a step forward, his jaw tightening, his eyes darkening. “Don’t touch her,” He growled, his voice deeper than Pam had ever heard.

She didn’t know quite what to do. Roy was standing before her, intimidating her, scaring her. Threatening to hurt her was one thing, but his threat to hurt Karen, a woman who had, truly, nothing to do with their situation, just to hurt Jim… It was unfathomable in her mind for someone to be that cruel. She looked at the monster in front of her, his broad body mere feet from her, the hate in his eyes something she had never seen. Not even when he was hitting her before did she see that kind of revulsion. And now here he was, his grin a blow on her soul, his laugh a punch to her mind. She couldn’t let him hurt Jim by hurting Karen.

Jim was standing a step ahead of her, his body tight with loathing, his hands rigid with abhorrence. He was saying something, but all Pam could think about was what she needed to do to stop it. To stop Roy and his threats, to stop Jim from hurting, to stop herself from just feeling… She had spent the best night of her life before with the man a step ahead of her, she woke up with his arms holding her tight, she was utterly in love with him. She couldn’t let Roy continue to hurt the man who had protected her, loved her, given her a reason to live.

“What is it going to take to make you leave her alone?” She found herself asking quietly.

Jim whipped around, his eyes wide. Roy smirked.

“Just a few hours with me, my love,” He said, grinning.

She needed to do it.

“OK.”

Jim grasped her hands in his, his concern evident on every corner of his face.

“You don’t need to do this,” He whispered, his voice cracking.

Pam looked into his eyes, his deep green eyes that she loved so much, that she had hated just a few days prior because of the things they did to her.

“I need to do this for you,” She responded, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

She turned to look at Roy. “Where are we going?”

Roy just smiled again and gestured towards the door, Pam slipping her hands from Jim’s and heading backwards, back into the parking lot, back into her former life. When she reached the door, she turned quickly, Jim standing with his back to her, his arms crossed, his head hung low.

“Jim, do you love me?” She called out, his body turning to look at her. His eyes were shiny with concern, maybe tears.

“God, I love you, Pam.”

She smiled, knowing that this man was the one for her. This was the man who truly loved her, who took care of her, wanted her. This was the man that she adored, cherished, respected. She opened the glass door and stepped out into the sunlight, beams of heat stretching down to her.

She needed to do this.

She was 4, dancing in a white dress, her daddy holding her hands and twirling her around the wooden floor. She was laughing, carefree, excited. She giggled when her daddy raised her above his head, exclaiming, “I have the best little girl in the wooooorld!” In that moment, that fleeting minute of joy and bliss, she was happy.

She was 13. She sat under the tree in her front yard, watching her older brother play pick up football with his friends. She picked up a leaf between her thumb and first finger, rotating it slowly, studying the veins and the color and the shape. Later that night, she sat on the floor beside her bed, her sketchbook in her hands, and drew it by memory. In that moment, that fleeting moment of comfortable satisfaction, she was content.

She was 17. He held her hand in the car on the way home from the game, stopping in front of her house, unsure of what to do next. He smiled, she smiled, he stroked her cheek with the side of his thumb. When he kissed her, it was shy and sweet, scary and new. He pressed his lips to her knuckles, running his hands over her curls, she opened her mouth and let him inside of her. In that moment, that fleeting moment of fresh beginnings, she was nervous and insecure.

She was 22. Her graduation cap was perched on her head, liquid confidence in her belly, a degree in her hand that she didn’t know what to do with. Liberal Arts meant she was able to do a lot of different occupations, but other than drawing, analyzing her relationship didn’t qualify as experience for a fulltime job. She was older, but not wiser. Later that night, when he slid the ring on her finger, ecstatic wasn’t the right word to express how she felt. In that moment, that surreal moment of engagement rings and marriage proposals, she was terrified.

She was 24. When he walked through the door, he smiled, and something inside of her broke. He didn’t say a word, but he said so much. His eyes, those expressive green eyes, spoke volumes. He played games, he made her smile, she dreamt of him at night while pressed against her fiancé. He never touched her, but he kissed her soul and stroked her mind. He pressed his fingers to her lips and ran his palms over her hair. He was there, but he was gone. When he played a prank, he glanced at her, their eyes meeting, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. In that moment, that fleeting moment of playful banter and fluttering butterflies in her stomach, she was pleased.

She was 24 and a half. Being friends with someone she loved as more than a friend, itching to wipe away a tear on his cheek when he told her he loved her, but the ring on her finger weighing her hand down like an anvil. Her tears came later, in her car, her teeth grinding and her head pounding. Questions ached in her stomach and her heart throbbed with sorrow. When she came into the office and he was gone, her hot tears ran shamelessly down her cheeks and onto her throat, leaving her unable to speak, to hear, to breathe, to just LIVE. In that moment, that fleeting moment of terror and panic, she was devastated.

She was 25. He was coming home, he was smiling, he was walking away with his hand on the small of another woman’s back. She was left bound and broken in the middle of the parking lot, “we’ll always be friends” burning on her lips and thickening in her mouth. She grimaced and clenched her jaw and begged the sweet Lord to just take her because the pain in her heart was just… overwhelming. She cried in her shower, the scalding water no match to the blistering hurt. In that moment, that fleeting moment of searing soreness, she was broken.

She was 25 and a half. She cleaned his apartment and watched football on Saturdays, and Sundays, and Monday nights. She tried to draw, but found herself creating the same works of art, pictures of his hands and his eyes in pastels, and charcoals, pen drawings in the margins of her notebooks that she used to take notes in Michael’s meetings. She slid her hands down to her bruised knees, drawing them up to her chest, sitting on her back porch and biting her lip, tasting the dried blood that perched there from an earlier argument. In that moment, that fleeting moment of self-resurrection, she was changing.

She was 26. She was standing in front of him in a bedroom, crying, begging, wishing, hoping and praying. He was every joy in her heart, every morsel on her tongue, every tear in her eye. He grasped her in his big hands, telling her the things she’d dreamt of since before she could remember, reminding her of who he was and where they could be. In that moment, that fleeting moment of confidence, she was assured of what was to come.

She was older, dancing with him in a black tux, her hair half up, half down, white tulle hanging down her back. She was sliding her hands over his chest on a white sand beach. She was watching him cradle a baby swaddled in a pale green blanket in front of a window. She tasted the sweat on his temple as he ran around with a group of little boys, bouncing a basketball between his long legs. She stood in front of a brick house on a quiet, well established street, her belly swollen, a bicycle tossed on the lawn haphazardly. She hung a picture on the wall of a small gallery, tapping her finger to her lips, and then straightening it a bit. She held his hand as they watched a teenage girl grasp a diploma and move a tassel, she smiled as she watched a young man stand nervously at the end of an aisle, she held his hand as the liquids from the IV dripped into her blood. She saw his face as she closed her eyes, a green teapot, a gold ring, a silver Saab and a proposal in the rain. A laugh, a kiss, a smile.

She saw her past, she imagined her future, she felt her present. The sparks behind her eyes drowned out her sea of pleas. She was full. She was alone.

In that moment, that fleeting moment of truth, she just knew.

She was everything to him. The earth, the moon, the stars, everything sappy his older brother used to write to his girlfriends that he ragged on him for. But looking back on the words of a 14 year old, they seemed to be pretty pragmatic now. She consumed his every thought; her laughter made him feel 10 feet tall, her smile was his reason for living. He spent the night before with her curled in his arms, breathing even and solid, her smooth, satin leg resting under his, her hair smelling like apricots and peaches under his nose. When she'd begged him to stay in bed just a while longer, he felt on top of the world. This woman, this unbelievably unselfish, warm, sweet, caring woman, wanted to be with HIM. It was everything he had ever dreamed of.

He had let her go. Goddamn, why had he let her go?? He stood with one hand on the wall, facing the hard concrete, his forehead pressed against the cold stone. He knew that she wanted to go, to prove to something to him, unnecessarily. He saw in her eyes her love for him, her desire, her longing. He also saw her strength, her compassion, her perception. He couldn’t comprehend her understanding and her perception with Roy, let alone in regards to his relationship with Karen, which had been dysfunctional to begin with.

Karen was gorgeous. Everywhere they went, people stared at her, her glossy dark hair always perfectly done, always dressed meticulously, always polite and gracious. She was intelligent, well-read, fresh and clever. She was sweet and smooth, spicy and romantic. But she wasn’t Pam. And nothing ever could have changed that. He tried to ignore that significant fact, he honest to God tried. He took her to lunch and movies and plays, he made dinner with her in her apartment, he made love to her because she was in love with him and he knew that she was amazing. He did love her; but not in the right way. When they fell asleep in her apartment (never his), he fell asleep in her bed, but never holding her. She liked her space while she slept. He was a lucky man, he reminded himself as she slithered over him, her slim, near perfect figure aching for his touch. Guys clapped him on the back for nailing such a hot chick, women licked their lips at him because he must be um… huge… to be nailing such a hot chick. She wanted his heart, his mind, his body, his soul. But he couldn’t give it to her.

Karen had never warranted what he had done to her. She never asked him to be in love with someone else, she never asked him to stop loving Pam, she never asked to be thrust into this situation. But she had been. She had watched him like a hawk when he had admitted that he had been in love with the receptionist, talking him through their past for a full 2 weeks until all hours of the night. But he’d never been quite honest with her, because he couldn’t be honest with himself.

And God, then there was Roy. That freaking ape, that bastard, that monster. He’d bruised the flesh of the one woman Jim would have given his life for, sans his own mother. But he knew, deep down, that the purple and blue marks on her body weren’t even close to the damage Roy had done to her mind, alternating beatings with flower-giving apologies. His eyes closed tightly, hitting his forehead lightly against the concrete. Roy had hurt Pam, but so had he.

The day they had met, when her blue eyes had met his, the silky ache in his chest began almost immediately. It was like his body was reacting to something his mind hadn’t even processed yet. He hadn’t noticed her ring yet, had barely spoken to her, but the sheer warmth of HER radiated through his body like a wildfire. He loved her before he had even really known her, her smile a gentle kiss, her laugh a tender hug, her winks during their first Dwight prank burning a hole through his throat with the size of the smoldering lump her joy brought him. God, he’d loved her almost immediately with everything inside of him. And then he’d seen the ring, and she’s explained Roy, and it was like his heart dropped to his shoes and he had stumbled over it in a drunken stupor. How could he have been so blind? Of course a beautiful, amazing woman like Pam would be engaged. What an idiot.

And then he began to hurt her. Not physically, never, ever physically, but he knew what he had been doing. He’d seen the look on her face when she’d asked him to get a coffee and he’d denied her. Her felt her anguish when he pressed his lips to Karen’s temple in the break room, he heard her heart drop when they walked out the door at closing time, joking about who was the worst cook or where to order dinner. He became irritated at the tears she tried to hide slipping down her cheeks when he would tell Karen he loved her over the phone from his desk, he rolled his eyes when he heard her trying to be brave when he curled Karen into his arms, picking her up and swinging her around, her laughter bouncing off the office walls. He’d loved her for long, he’d been hurting for so long, he’d been wishing and hoping and praying for so long… It was almost justified to him to see her in pain and wanting the same things he’d dreamed about for so long.

And now he stood, unable to understand why he could have ever wished to see her hurt. Pam, the woman he’d dreamed of his entire life, the woman who made him smile, feel on top of the world, take pleasure in life in so many more ways, even just the simplest tasks being more enjoyable because she was there. How could they have hurt each other so much? Make one another feel so small, feel so insignificant, feel so… there were really no words to describe the pain they had inflicted on one another throughout the years.

But then again, here he was, still relishing over the night before, that same morning, just hours before, holding her in his arms and praying to God that someday that would be an everyday occurrence. He knew that Roy had hurt her, in so many ways, but he couldn’t be the one to stop her from doing what she needed to do. He had seen in her eyes as she left her strength, her desire, her needing to go with Roy once more to finish their conversation, as scared as she was of his brute muscle. He couldn’t hurt her anymore, even if he’d wanted to.

His head reverberated against the wall as the glass door shut behind him, Jim whipping around to hopefully see Pam standing there. It was Karen. She ignored him and stepped towards the elevator, pressing the button and waiting impatiently. His Karen. The woman who loved him, left her entire life in Stamford to follow him to Scranton, the woman who he could have spent the rest of his life with. The woman whose name at mere mention from Roy Anderson’s lips made his blood boil and his chest burn. Despite everything, he still loved her, for everything that she was to him.

“Karen,” He said weakly, surprised to hear the sound come from his own mouth.

She rolled her eyes, turning towards him slightly, her lips forming a tight line. “What the fuck do you want, Halpert?”

He swallowed with difficulty. “What did you and Roy talk about last night?” He asked a bit louder, needing to know the lies that Roy had pushed into her head, ideas of cheating and trust and God, he just didn’t want her to hate him.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She spat out, her anger spreading across her face and body like a tidal wave.

He stared at her. “Roy Anderson… He said… He said you two had a long talk last night…”

Karen arched an eyebrow at him in disgust as the doors to the elevator slid open. She slipped inside, poking her head out for just a brief moment more.

“I’ve never talked to that douche before, but even if I’d had, it’d be none of your business, asshole.”

With that the door slammed shut and brought Karen up to the third floor. Jim was left speechless, his back pressed against the wall, his head dropped forward, his chin on his chest. Roy had never spoken to Karen, it’d been a lie. A lie to get Pam to go with him. His heart began to beat wildly, his mind racing a mile a minute, anger and worry and frustration digging into his mind. He knew she’d needed to leave, but he shouldn’t have let her, he should have known better but he didn’t want to hold her back, but now she was out there with him, he didn’t know what Roy wanted to do with her, but it couldn’t be good if he was going to lie about Karen and God, he just needed her to come back, to come home to him, to be with him now always, with nothing in their way and time on their side for once and for all. God he just… he just needed her. So badly.

He slipped out the door, walking quickly back to his car, her smell still lingering on the gray interior. He slid into the driver’s seat, pressing his nose to the passenger’s side headrest, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and aching to touch the memory of her there just minutes earlier. He didn’t remember driving home, walking through the door, tossing his keys haphazardly across the table into the floor, removing his shoes and jacket and tie and sliding into his bed onto her side, fitting his body over the slender indentation of where her body had laid the night before, needing to feel her almost inside him, needing to hold her close and drink her in completely.

He didn’t remember the phone ringing or even jumping out of bed to answer it. He just remembered the voice on the other line. And needing her.

She sat with a gray fleece blanket around her shoulders, her head spinning, her heart pounding. She stared blankly at the wall in front of her, a bright white square almost directly at eye level, where some picture had been long before. Her eyes were swollen, her hands shaking, her hair mussed, her mind blank. Her jaw was clenched tight, her hands clasped together in her lap, her lips quivering. She didn’t notice him burst through the front door, stop abruptly when he saw her, his mouth dropping open at the sight.

He fell to his knees in front of her, his eyes glancing over her quickly to check for injuries, concern evident all over his face. He stroked her shoulders, grasping her chin in his left palm, saying her name softly, achingly. Her eyes traveled slowly to his, blue and red lights illuminating the swollen pupils, her bottom lip folding between her teeth tightly.

She sat on that couch… That navy blue chenille couch that they’d fought over for weeks, and she’d finally given in to the color if he gave in to the fabric and she stared at that spot ahead of her where she had hung the first painting she did after she’d gotten engaged, a mixture of blues and grays and strips of a bright, glaring white, and she’d hung it proudly, but he didn’t understand it. She glared at the big screen TV in the corner of the room, covered in a thin layer of dust, ran her eyes over the dark area on the carpet in front of the front door where he’d never learned to wipe off his shoes, over the CDs and DVDs tossed about the room in his hopeless clutter and disorganization. She gritted her teeth and gulped loudly and when her eyes met his again, the tears started to come and they just wouldn’t stop. He took her into his arms, running his hands over her curls, pressing her face into his neck and she almost pulled away because this was HIS house and she’d never meant for THAT to happen but he felt so good and she felt guilty immediately. Everything was happening so fast. And she had no way to stop it.

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When she got into the truck, it was an almost instantaneous reaction to sit as close to the door as humanly possible. Roy looked at her and grinned. “Don’t worry, Pammy,” He winked at her, “We’ll be home soon.”

The rest was all a blur. They’d gotten back to Roy’s, and he’d pulled into the driveway, and she’d somehow ended up in the house on that couch and he’d sat there beside her. Words were said, he’d grasped her hand and she thought he’d apologized, for what she had no idea now, but he smiled and kissed her on the cheek, and she recoiled. He’d turned red, anxious, angry. She’d stood, walked towards the front door, told him that they were done, and it was her choice, and ten years meant something to her, but it was never enough. Time was never enough to keep them together. He’d stood and walked to the adjoining dining room, rummaging through a drawer in the curio cabinet that he’d bought for her at a yard sale on their eighth anniversary, right after he’d bought the house, and he’d pulled out something black and metal and he’d waved it in the air, screaming at her that he had lived for her and she was everything to him, and fuck her and fuck Jim Halpert and she would regret this. She turned and grasped the door knob and she heard the explosion behind her and she turned to see his body collapse on the ground, dark red blood spilling from his head and his nose and his eyes were open. Then she was next to him, holding him, screaming his name and tears running down her cheeks and the blood made her hand slick and she was trying to flip open her cell phone, but it was so wet and she could barely grasp the phone, let alone dial 911. Finally she got the operator and she was sobbing and then a man in a uniform had his arms under hers and he was pulling her up and onto a wooden chair and he was checking her for wounds and she stared at the freckle on his brow like it was a gift from God. She didn’t remember when the female detective draped the throw over her shoulders, or led her to the sofa to inquire about the purple bruise still spreading across her cheek, or when Jim got there or how she ended up in his arms.

And for the life of her, she couldn’t remember the last time she had ever told Roy she loved him. Because she had, despite it all. For ten years, for high school proms and college degrees and jobs at Dunder Mifflin, summers spent at the lake and winters spent skiing and family parties, dinners in front of the TV for Monday night football and losing her virginity and laughing, engagement rings and almost weddings and every dream they’d had. The last year he had become someone she didn’t know, someone angry, someone hurtful. But she’d loved him.

And now… Now he was gone.

Guilt. A five letter word that could never be defined quite right. Webster called it “the state of one who has committed an offense especially consciously, or feelings of culpability especially for imagined offenses or from a sense of inadequacy”. What the hell did that even mean? All she knew was she could taste it on her tongue, weigh it in her hands, feel it on her skin. It slid down her throat like a thick, cold shake and settled in her stomach like a scalding, heavy brick. She heard it in the depth of her ears, felt it prick at the bottom of her feet and the crown of her head, saw it behind her eyelids. Guilt. Remorse. Transgression. Responsibility. Malfeasance… Blame.

She was drowning. She was floating in it, absorbing it through her pores, dripping in it. She was falling into quicksand, watching it slowly swirl around her feet and legs, gripping her hips and her torso, reaching for her hands and arms. She was looking up as it slipped past her neck, swallowed her tongue, covered her eyes. She was lost in it, destroyed by it, wrecked in every sense of the word and nakedly exposed. She resigned herself to continue to drown, to allow the pain to overwhelm her, to accept the ache in her heart as finite and everlasting.

Until she felt him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He held her on the couch, cuddled to his chest, her sobs radiating through him as though he himself were the one crying. She wept until there were no more tears and her fingers had clenched thick wrinkles into his white work shirt and the only sounds left in the room were the soft mumblings of police officers and the ringing in her ears. When they were asked to accompany the police back to the station, he’d carried her to his car, resting her in the backseat so she could lay down on the soft interior, her head throbbing. When the police questioned her in a bright room with hard plastic orange chairs, her only solace was knowing he was in a waiting room, patiently staying there for her, just… being there. As he always was.

When the police released her, she walked down a stark white corridor to the waiting room to find him sitting in the same hard plastic chairs, his head in his hands. His shirt was stained with drops of red, his hair mussed, his face pale. But he was there. For her. He must not have heard her when she walked in, he jerked harshly when she gently slid her hand through the hair on his crown, his eyes meeting hers, blood-shot and sorrowful. He stood to his full height next to her, grasped her hands in his, squeezing tenderly. He pulled her towards him, running his hands over her face and her hair and her shoulders and finally enveloping her into his arms, holding her firmly, trembling… He collapsed into the chair beside him, her falling to his lap, still entwined in one another, her hands finding his face and running over the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes… God, those eyes… Those green eyes that held the silky sheen of tears and everything she’d dreamt of. Those eyes that told her everything she needed to know when she knew nothing. He pressed his lips to her temple, whispered, “I just need to bring you home”, but sat there holding her, refusing to release her, as though he just couldn’t let her go. Not again.

He brought her home. To his place. They stood in his bathroom, her hands on the Formica countertop, staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair hung limply, her shirt spotted with blood, the bruise on her left cheek still aching and apparent. He stood behind her, lifting his shirt to remove it, and she moved to turn on the shower.

“Pam?” He asked softly, unsure, as she slid her own shirt and skirt off, standing in front of him in only her bra and panties. She moved towards him, pressing her face into the soft hair on his chest, breathing in his spicy, muscular scent and pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Not… That.” She sighed into him, reaching behind herself to unclasp her bra. “But I can’t be without you.”

She slid the bra straps down her arms and slipped off her panties before stepping behind the green checkered shower curtain, the scalding water pelting over her skin in droves, burning and aching. She heard him get in behind her, his back to her, carefully not touching, his hands against the cold tile wall, heat rising between them. She turned to face him, running her hands over his back to his hips, pressing a kiss to each of his shoulder blades, whispering, “I love you,” with every breath.

Jim turned to cup her face, his mouth covering hers briefly, his fingers tangling in her hair, desire on their tongues. He bent to grasp the shampoo she had left there from the night before, squeezing a small amount into his hands, and lathering it into her curls. Pam closed her eyes, feeling the careful strokes of his fingertips into her scalp, his lips finding her cheeks and her forehead, the crest of her nose and the hallow of her throat. He pushed her gently into the hot stream of water, washing out the coconut scented suds. As he smoothed soap over her shoulders and arms and back, she smiled at his sudden shyness to touch her intimately. He quickly shampooed his own hair, washing in record time, and reached around her carefully to turn off the water. He slid open the curtain to grab a towel, unfolding it and wrapping it around her.

They stepped from the tub and into his bedroom as he grabbed a towel for himself, drying off hurriedly. He found an old t-shirt and handed it to Pam, who slipped it over her wet tresses, the hem coming almost to her knee. She watched as Jim slid on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and stood to stare at her, questioning whatever they were, or weren’t, doing. She stared up at him, his worry apparent in every crease of his face, and felt an overwhelming tenderness for the man before her. Her gaze fell to the floor.

“Will you hold me?” She asked softly, swallowing hard, as though asking him that simple question could break him into pieces.

He crossed the room in two and a half steps, pulling her body to his, tightly holding her, no words being necessary. He bent at the waist and picked her up into his arms, laying her on the bed and sliding the covers up over her. He slipped in next to her and shifted them to be behind her, their bodies firmly spooned, her damp hair resting beneath his chin. She felt him breathing, first shallow, then deeply. As they relaxed into one another, feeling safe, warm, protected, she felt her eyes drifting closed.

As she inhaled a sleepy breath, she nuzzled her cheek into his chest, his heart reverberating on her skin. “I’m in love with you, Pamela Morgan Beesley,” She heard him whisper softly, gently, “And I’m never letting you go again.”

The sun drifted through the blinds, cascading over their bodies in a warm, silky heat. Pam inhaled through her nose, the feeling of Jim’s heavy arm resting over her, feeling familiar and protective. They hadn’t moved from the day before, staying entwined in his bed, under his white down comforter, safe and secure. His body so close to her, his breath on her cheek and his hand on her stomach, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Roy.

He was gone. The man she’d loved once, the man she’d been with for so long, who she had planned to marry. He was gone. It seemed ironic at that point, to be laying in the arms of another man who she knew saved her from the mess she had been in, the man who when she pictured basketball games and floppy haired little boys and growing old could only think of him, to be thinking of the one who had hurt her physically, emotionally. But she was.

It hadn’t always been that bad for her. For them. She lay in Jim’s arms, remembering a time when she wore her hair up in clips, wearing a blue and white leather letterman jacket and cheering on the bleachers at a football game. Remembering dancing in slow loops around the gym in a long navy dress and a tux. Recalling signing a paper in a stark white room with ugly cloth chairs and receiving a key on a bright blue keychain, grinning from ear to ear as they raced out to the big truck with their belongings and out to the west side of town to their first place. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of the first time she’d made dinner and it tasted like bark but he sat back and rubbed his stomach, telling her it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. She remembered to when she’d hung that first picture, that first painting she’d done in a collegiate art class, a painting done in blue and gray and white, and he stared at it and told her it was great, even when she could see in his eyes that to him it was just some splotches of color on a canvas. A tear rolled down her cheek as she thought back to when they’d made love for the first time, losing their virginities to one another, and he stilled inside of her as she grimaced at the pain and the heat and he pressed his lips to her forehead and told her he loved her.

It hadn’t always been that bad. He had loved her once, he had been there once, as she had once loved him and cherished him. And now he was gone. She was leaving him, she was closing the door that he never believed would be closed, and she was moving on. She’d had enough of the threats and the abuse and the constant desire to just change, and she had finally had that talk with Jim and things were looking up, and then… God, he was gone… She never imagined in her wildest dreams that he would have done that, but he did, and it was because of her and the things she’d said and she couldn’t even remember the words that had come out of her mouth in anger and frustration. All she could remember was the feel of the cool metal under her palm as she touched the doorknob and the reverberating blast of noise behind her and turning to see him falling. And in that moment, she she’d forgotten about the bad.

The moment Roy died, all she could think of was a circle of yellow gold and a 1/3 of a carat diamond, a high school graduation, bathing suits and weekends at the lake, a rocking chair with a teddy bear, a ride to work and a kiss goodbye.

She closed her eyes, wiping away the tear that slipped down her cheek, and felt the man behind her. She rolled towards him, sliding her arm around him, pressing her face into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, biting the fabric with her teeth, running her free hand over him to the small of his back, pushing his body closer to hers, trying to get as secure as possible, wishing that she could just melt into him so they could be one and she didn’t have to feel those feelings anymore. She felt his arms tighten around her, his breath hitching, his lips in her hair and his hands on her waist. He mumbled incoherently into her, and she sighed into his chest. This was where she was meant to be.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She felt him stir and sit up gently, running his hands over her hair and cheek and pulling the comforter up to her shoulder and tucking it in around her. She shivered, even though she wasn’t cold, when she felt his lips press against the bruise that was lightening on her cheek. She heard the door close and snuggled closer into his bed, smelling his hair on her pillow and feeling his warmth on the mattress beside her. She smiled and slowly opened her eyes, adjusting to the light and stretching leisurely. She licked her lips and stared at the popcorn ceiling, feeling warm and safe. Like if she stayed right there, right in that spot exactly, nothing could hurt her ever again. Her head jerked towards the door as it opened, Jim quietly tiptoeing in, a grin breaking out on his face when he noticed she was awake.

“Hey,” He whispered softly, setting a glass of orange juice down on the side table on what had become “her” side. He sat next to her, bending to brush his lips against her forehead, his eyes full of concern.

“Hey,” She whispered back. She sat up and against the headboard, sighing and extending her hand to him. He grasped it in his and squeezed gently.

“Are you OK?” Jim asked uneasily.

“I think I will be.”

“I don’t want to push you.”

“You won’t.”

He stared at their entwined hands, his gorgeous mouth turning down at the corners, his brow furrowed. His eyes closed, his jaw clenched.

“I thought I lost you,” He murmured quietly, swallowing hard, his hand tightening around hers. He opened his eyes, their gazes meeting, the gloss of tears pooling in the crook.

She was overwhelmed. She could literally feel his anguish on his skin, hear the pain in his voice, taste his suffering in her mouth. She let out a tormented cry and threw her arms around him, rising to her knees and pressing her body to him, begging God to extinguish the hurt in his eyes. His stiff stance dissolved as she clutched his shirt and pushed her face into his neck, exhaling harshly and screwing her eyes shut tightly. He held her in his arms, shaky breaths echoing in her curls, his entire body trembling. It was her fault. That shaking, those breaths, that ache in his voice. It was because of her. Like Roy’s death was because of her, and Jim’s breakup with Karen was because of her, everyone’s pain was because of her. But he was holding her, and he loved her. And in that moment, it was all she needed.

“I’m still here,” She whispered into his bedhead. “And I’m not leaving again.”

She felt the relief in his bones, his tension relax, his shaky breath slow.

“Good,” He replied.

She smiled and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah,” She answered.

He tasted like cinnamon, she discovered as they sat cross-legged on his bed, the phone and a glass bowl of popcorn nestled between them. He tasted like cinnamon, and his hair smelled like mint, and the stubble that darkened his chin felt rough and coarse under her lips. His skin was smooth and lightly freckled, she found with delight, and he stretched and moved and lingered in bed for a prolonged period of time before opening his eyes, and he needed to brush his teeth immediately after getting up otherwise he said he “just wasn’t awake”. She was watching him intently, photographing every movement in her memory, drinking in his mannerisms and every little thing that just made him Jim. She’d known him for years, but had only ever dreamed of feeling him this intimately, this thoroughly. It was everything she’d ever wished for.

The phone rang again, and shook her back into reality. Jim picked it up to glance at the caller ID. “Michael, again,” he sighed.

Call number seventeen from Michael. Pam was sure he’d leave a seventeenth teary message, wondering where she was and begging Jim to call him back. Pam was astonished at how many calls had come into Jim’s, seeing as how no one knew she was really staying there. But they called him, pleading for information since she wasn’t answering her phone at home, insistent. Dwight had called thirty-four times, questioning Pam’s involvement in the suicide of Roy C. Anderson the previous day, and threatening docking pay and decrying his unauthorized leave of absence. Kelly had called and somehow associated Roy’s death with Kurt Cobain, and Toby phoned to let Jim know that his leave of absence was understood and to call him as soon as possible so he could sign some forms to send to Corporate. Phyllis called in concern, and to let Jim know that Karen had cleaned out her desk, and it would be safe for him to come back. But none of it really meant anything, all the calls and the questioning. She was with the only person who mattered.

Pam rubbed her eyes and fell back against the pillows that were propped up against the headboard. “This is going to be the longest day of my life, isn’t it?” She asked.

Jim gave her a lopsided smile. “Probably not as long as yesterday,” He assured her.

Pam reached between them and moved the popcorn to the foot of the bed, grasped his arms, and pulled him down to her. He lay almost on top of her, resting his head on her chest, her arms enveloping him. She sighed and breathed in the scent of his shampoo and the knowledge that he was so entirely close.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Jim said quietly. “It’s not going to be easy, but you’ll get through it. Today, tomorrow, the next day. And I’m going to be here. OK?”

“What if they blame me?” She asked, her eyes lingering on the highlights that peppered his hair.

“They’ll be wrong.”

“What if they’re not?”

Jim’s eyes snapped to hers, concern written over his face, furrowing his brow and darkening his irises. “What do you mean?”

They hadn’t spoken of what happened that morning. He had picked her up from the couch she had picked out with Roy and had brought her back to his apartment, laying her in the bed and letting her cry wet tears into his shirt, holding her tightly, listening to her mumble and weep and apologize and just… hurt. But they’d never spoken of what happened. He knew from the police and common sense that she had been walking away, opening the door when Roy had put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. He knew that she was in no way physically responsible. But her tears, her beautiful, soft, tears were alive, and she was alive, and that was all that mattered to him.

“It was my fault,” She said quietly. “I didn’t know he was going to… well, do that, but I knew he was angry. And I knew he was going to do something irrational. I truly never dreamed he would hurt himself.”

Jim shifted to look at her eye to eye. He cradled her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers, looking for the right words. He finally sighed.

“There’s nothing I can say other than I would choose him hurting himself any day of the week then him hurting you ever again.”

For as long as she would ever live, the only thing Pam would remember about that day was how she felt at that moment, how the smile he put on her face seemed to grow from her toes and radiate throughout her body, a kind of balmy warmth flooding her body. She still felt guilty, for everything. But for the first time in a long while, she felt loved.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They fell asleep early that night. The stars were just popping out of a midnight blue blanket, exhaustion of the day drooping their eyelids and biting at their tired minds. The wind blew gently through the blinds, twisting the soft sheers covering the windows, sliding over them. She was cuddled next to him, in a casual tank top and shorts sleep set, he in a thin pair of boxers that sat low on his hips. His hand rested across her stomach, her curls sprawled about the pillow. He nuzzled her cheek and pulled her closer to him.

She awoke in the middle of the night to her cheek resting on the soft hair on his chest, and ran her hand over the taut muscles of his stomach. He groaned softly, holding her tighter, his hands sliding under her tank top, over her smooth, silky skin. She opened her eyes to find his looking at her intently.

“Do you want to do this?”

She silenced his questions with a soft kiss, dipping her tongue into his mouth, running it along his bottom lip and stroking his jaw. He rolled on top of her, their legs tangled, his lips becoming urgent and hot on hers. He pressed kisses to her cheeks and the tip of her nose and sliding down her neck to her clavicle. She moaned lightly, urging his touch to linger delicately over her, the feeling of his fingertips rolling down her arms a sensation she didn’t want to forget. He was handsome, and sugary sweet, and achingly – almost painfully – slow with her, as though she were a fragile piece of glass.

Afterwards, he held her to him, their naked bodies slick and warm against one another, their hands linked against her chest. He kissed her bare shoulder, sighing into her hair.

“I love you, Jim,” She whispered into the darkness.

She felt his breath hitch in his chest, his forehead fall against the curve of her neck.

“I love you too, Beesley.”

She was standing with her back to a maple tree watching the service. Watching his mother, clad entirely in black, her tears falling freely. Watching his brother cover his hands with his face, watching Darryl inhale deeply to try to maintain his composure. She listened as the minister’s words traveled through the viscous air, listened to a bird above her chirping cheerfully. She felt the sun on her shoulders, felt the cool grass under her sandles, felt the smooth breeze on her face and blowing through her curls. She stood there silently, her jaw clenched, her arms and legs quivering. She blinked away the dozens of tears that flooded her eyes, bit her lip to the point where it bled, clutching her hands together until her nails dug into her pale skin.

“May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind always be at your back,” the minister’s voice carried the simple Irish Blessing. “May the sun shine warm upon your face, and the rains fall soft upon the fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand. In the sweat of your face shall you eat bread, till you return unto the ground; for out of it you were taken: for dust you are, and unto dust shall you, our son, brother, and friend Roy, return.”

She watched as his mother silently wept, brushing her hand over the smooth, shiny wood of the coffin. Saying goodbye to her son. She watched as Kenny, his brother, knelt beside it, his forehead resting against the side, whispering how much he was going to miss him. She watched as Darryl laid a quarter on the hood, in homage to their favorite drinking game. And as soon as they were there, they were moving away, their voices a distant memory, their presence before an oddly comforting feeling. She watched them stalk up the hill beside Roy’s gravesite, now just a simple 8 foot hole in the ground, soon to be filled with the body of the man she had once loved. The man she still, despite everything, did love in some way. She watched Kenny and his mother step into an awaiting black town car, Darryl slipped into his truck, and suddenly they were gone, and she felt cold…. Cold and terribly alone.

She never imagined when she went there that morning that she would be drawn to his casket the way she was. She laughed inwardly, awkwardly, anxiously in anticipation of being so close to him. She stepped out from behind the trees that shielded her from his family, and suddenly one foot was stepping in front of the other and she was in front of him, her fingertips sliding over the cool cherry wood, glossed to where she could see the reflection of her own tears on her cheeks. She slid her fingers over the brass plate on the hood, in typical Roy style – all upper case, block letters. “ROY MATTHEW ANDERSON”. She smiled to herself. She smiled at him, fingering the crimson petals of a rose that was placed probably over his heart. And she started talking.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“I’d never known what love was until I met you,” She started quietly. “I’d never know what love was, and then you ended up in my life. The big jock with me, the stupid girl who cared more about the difference between Monet and Manet than who the cool new band was, or who the guy was that every girl had written on their binders in black sharpie. I never expected you. But God, I was so happy to have you.

“I remember so vividly our first dance… God, do you remember that?” She asked, sliding down next to his coffin to sit on the cool grass. “I wore navy blue because it was a Scranton High color, and it was homecoming… I thought it’d make you happy. And I think you were. You gave me a huge smile, and gave me a pink rose… We were with a big group, but you looked at me like I was the only one there… Like I meant something. No one else understood …

“You were so great when my mom was sick, too… Back when we thought she was going to die, and you sat with me in the hospital all night long, and you held my hand and you stroked my hair and told me everything was going to be OK… We’d only been together for a year or two, but you being there meant so much to me.

“Haha, and remember that time when Kenny first moved into his house? He’d never lived in a cape style house before, with the angled ceilings, and he kept slamming his head when we were painting? You ended up with specks of paint all in your hair and it was so hard to get out when we got home, and finally you ran downstairs and grabbed your old clippers and buzzed all of your hair off…” She grinned at the memory, coming so easily. “I took so many pictures that night, and Liz scrapbooked them into a book about you guys…

“So many memories I have of us… So many moments in time that I can’t imagine having with anyone but you. You were so much to me. The way you did everything, Roy. The way you held my hand, the way you tried to hold me close, the way you smiled when you knew I was pleased. I didn’t know how to not be with you after a while. Every facet of my life was entwined with yours, and I was OK with that. But I wanted to be better than that. I wanted a new job, a career that was more than just being a receptionist at Dunder Mifflin. You knew how much I loved art, how much I wanted to do something creative, something that didn’t entail me answering phones and taking messages and faxing and filing. I never understood why you didn’t want that for me, too… I never understood why you didn’t want me to be the person I wanted to be…

“I had a lot of big dreams for us, Roy. I had so many dreams and I wanted you to be there for me and I could be there for you. I just… I just wanted us to be happy together.

“And then came Jim. And I know how much I hurt you when I told you about what happened, but if we were going to have an honest start, I needed to come clean about what happened. And I don’t regret what happened, and I stand by my decision to tell you, because you deserved that much. And I love Jim. I think maybe I always have. We just fit together, in ways that you and I always tried, but never did. I feel complete when I’m with him. He’s amazing, and he loves me, too.

“But that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you still. Because I do. Because even when you were hitting me, I loved you. And I probably shouldn’t have because that was so wrong of you, Roy. You shouldn’t have hit me, and you shouldn’t have said so many mean things because that usually hurt worse than the physical pain. You just shouldn’t have done those things,” She wept, pulling her knees to her chest, angry tears running furiously down her cheeks.

“But despite everything, God, I wish you hadn’t done this,” she cried. “I wish this hadn’t been the end to this. You could have hit me one more time, I could have accepted that. I dealt with that pain many, many times. But this… This we can’t change! And I feel so guilty… If I hadn’t gone to that door, if I hadn’t told you about Jim, if I hadn’t allowed our issues to even be acceptable in the first place… You’d still be here and your mother wouldn’t have walked up that hill devastated, and Kenny would still have his brother, his partner in crime, and God… Roy, you’d still be here. And we can’t change it now.

“I love you. I think I always will. For ten years, you were mine. And I was yours. And I know things wouldn’t have turned out well for us, and I think you knew that too, and we were grasping at straws at the end in our reasons to be together. I wish things had been different… You made me so angry, and so scared, and so ashamed. But I still loved you…

“I guess the only thing for me to do now is to say goodbye… To tell you that I love you, and I think I’ll always miss you. But I need to move on. I don’t know if I ever will, but I need to try. And I’m going to try.”

With that, Pam stood and brushed her hands over her face, wiping away the wetness on her cheeks. She tapped her fingertips to the top of his casket, biting the inside of her cheek and sighing audibly. She bent at the waist and pressed a kiss to the shiny, sleek wood. She slowly stepped back from him, her hand still outstretched.

“Bye, Roy,” She whispered, a final tear sliding down her cheek and into the hallow of her throat. She brushed it away quickly, and smiled briefly at him. And for the last time, she walked away from Roy Matthew Anderson.

She found herself staring at his front door, unable to bring her finger up to press the doorbell, feeling her breath catching in her throat, and wondering when her feet got super glued to the doormat. She couldn't understand how in just a week, her life could have changed so much. How a single bruise on her cheek could have equaled where she was standing right now. At Jim's door. Knowing she could turn the doorknob and walk in, and feel more at home than she did in her own apartment. Knowing that Roy was never going to be able to hurt her again. Knowing that Karen was gone and she and Jim could finally have the chance that they had been begging each other silently for, for... years.

This was the chance she had given herself. A chance to live the life that she had wanted since the day Jim walked through the doors of Dunder Mifflin. To be able to sprawl out with her paints and charcoals and pastels and know that he'd just smile and be content with watching her create. To walk down an aisle towards him, to carry his child inside of her, to be who she wanted to be. But did she deserve it?

They’d hurt each other. In God, so many ways. He’d hurt Karen. A woman who loved him completely, and who he wanted, so badly, to love in return. He’d broken Karen’s heart, and then took Pam in, protected her, wanted her… loved her. He loved her. Pam still couldn’t believe he’d uttered those words to her, again, after how badly she’d wounded him. And yet he did. And it brought her black and white dreams into Technicolor.

She poised her finger over the smooth circle of the doorbell, and hesitated. This was it. This was the beginning of her life. This was the moment of clarity she’d been waiting for.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He was sitting on his sofa, knowing full well that she was standing on his doorstep, pausing before she came in. He grinned to himself, remembering the feel of her body against his, her breath on his cheek, his lips in her hair. He could feel her uncertainty now, through the thick maple of his front door, but it was OK. They’d hurt each other so much, broken each other’s hearts, said things they didn’t mean, didn’t speak the words they needed to say so many times. They had been dishonest with themselves, with Roy, with Karen. But now… Now nothing was standing in their way. Except her apprehension.

Roy was dead. It still didn’t feel real to him. Especially knowing now just how incredible it felt to have Pam in his arms, in his bed. To have her give him a shy smile and nuzzle her face into his shoulder in the warm cocoon of his blankets. It was surreal. It had been amazing.

Roy was dead. Gone. The man who had felt it was OK to beat on not just a woman, but a woman like Pam. A woman who had given him everything, who was thisclose to walking down the aisle to him, a woman who had wanted to spend her life with him, carry his child inside of her. It was a strange juxtaposition to want to thank God that Roy was no longer able to hurt her, and to thank his own lucky stars that the bruise on her face brought him out of the bubble he’d be in.

And Karen was gone. It was an odd feeling to have her walk away, and not feel any desire to call her to come back. They’d been together for nearly a year, but… nothing. It was abnormally simple to tell her it was over, to hand her whatever she had lying around his place, and watch her leave. There were no longing stares at the door, no “should he” or “shouldn’t he” questions lingering when contemplating tossing her toothbrush. He loved her. At least, he thought he had loved her. He told himself he loved her every day. And maybe that was the problem.

The problem was that with Pam, he’d never had to find reasons to tell himself why he loved her. He never sat up at night studying her features, and wishing her hair was a little curlier, or a different color. Or imagining that she smelled like peaches and petals, instead of Gucci and Burberry. The problem was that with Karen, he had to try so hard. Not that he was against trying. But there was something inside of him that begged the question as to why loving Karen had to be analyzed, while loving Pam came so naturally.

And now he knew how easy it could be to love her. How simple it was to slide his hand into hers, how uncomplicated it could be to feel her arms around his neck and their lips pressed against each other in heated passion. How effortless it was to wake up beside her, to hold her before she slipped out the door and down to the cemetery, to lay back down in his bed and feel the warmth of where her little body had been snuggled against him and the scent of her shampoo on his pillow. It felt so good. And now, there’d be no way he’d be able to live without it.

Now, she was standing outside of his door, and he could see her through the front window, her hand hovering in the air to press the doorbell, wavering. He could almost see the tension in her eyes, the questioning. They had hurt each other, they had so much more to work through. But they loved one another. She was wavering, and that was OK. Because it wasn’t just up to her to make what they had work. She’d been there, done that. Being the only one giving the effort. He wasn’t going to let that happen again.

He grinned to himself, and stood to open the door.

And she rang the doorbell.