Yesterday you loved me
Yesterday it was too easy
To speak, to love, to listen
To everything you had to say
But I'm not gonna lose you this way

Everything's turning to dust
All around us
But what if our love is enough
To carry us through?
Nothing in sight
No one around
All that remains
Fall in shadow

 

The last thing she remembered clearly was Jim glancing at her, a half grin on his face.

The rest — the sudden bright light cutting through the night and blinding both Jim and Pam as they sat in the car, driving through the green light, her own horrified scream of, "Jim!", the squeal of tires on wet pavement — it was all a blur.

Her head was pounding, her ears felt clogged, and her eyes were heavy. Her entire body, in fact, was heavy. But as her mind finally began to clear and sense returned to her, all she could think of was Jim and the baby, Oh, God, the baby. She fought to open her eyes, to rejoin the world of the living, to reassure herself that everything was okay.

It had to be.

She heard voices. No one sounded panic. She wasn't uncomfortable, not really, and she didn't feel glass or blood or even rain. Maybe it had all been a bad dream? The fog was gone from her ears, and before she even realised it was possible, her eyes were flickering open.

Everything was blurry. She didn't have her glasses. She tried to sit up and was immediately hit by a wave of exhaustion. She was in a bed, but that was all she could process before the dizziness overcame her and she crashed back against the pillows. She took a gasping breath and her throat burned.

Machines started beeping rapidly around her and she blinked her eyes rapidly, once more trying to push herself into sitting position. "My God," someone muttered, and her head snapped to the voice. She tried to say something, but nothing came out. "Page Dr. Abbott, now," the voice went on. "Tell him Beesley is awake."

Pam trained her eyes on the woman in front of her as she approached. It was a nurse. She was in a hospital. "Hello, Ms. Beesley," the nurse greeted kindly, her eyes trying to catch Pam's. "Can you look at me? Pam?"

"Halpert," Pam rasped. At least her voice was working again. Her head started back in surprise at the flash of light. The screech of tires echoed in her ears. She blinked again, wishing the nurse would put down the flashlight instead of shining it in her eyes. "My name's Halpert now."

"Do you know where you are, Pam?" the nurse asked as her hands reached out and began checking Pam's pulse and then her heartbeat, pulling back to scribble something on a clipboard.

Pam shook her head. She really wished she had better vision. "The hospital?' she guessed.

"That's right," the nurse said, and Pam could just make out the kindly smile on her voice.

"But — but what happened?' Pam asked. It seemed she was okay. Somehow she had made it to the hospital. But she didn't matter. "Jim?" Pam pressed. "Where is he? Is he okay? Did they bring him in, too?"

"Pam —"

"And the baby!" Pam exclaimed, panic rising inside her. Her stomach was flat. She ran her fingers across it, tears welling in her eyes. Her baby. Oh God. She hugged herself. Where was Jim? He had to be okay; he had to be.

"What's going on?" There was a man in the room, one with shockingly bright red hair.

"She's confused, but all her vitals are good," the nurse explained. "Pam," she said, turning away from the man. "This is Dr. Thomas Abbott."

Pam opened her mouth to one more demand about her husband and baby, but the doctor didn't give her a chance. "Follow my finger, Ms. Beesley," he instructed. Pam did as she was told. "How are you feeling? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Pam insisted. "But what about my husband? Where is he? Did they bring him in with me?" She clutched at the man's coat sleeve before he could pull away from her. She wouldn't let him run away without answering.

"Your fiancé is fine, Ms. Beesley," he told her. "He barely had more than a scratch on him, and a nurse has already called him. He should be here any minute."

"My husband," Pam corrected, her voice a whisper. She was growing tired by the second, her arms were still tight around her flat stomach, and her vision was still blurred. The doctor and nurse were talking, were discussing her, but Pam couldn't follow their quick voices. "Dr. — Dr. Abbott?" she asked. "How's my baby?"

The man frowned. "Ms. Beesley —"

"Halpert," she interrupted. She was so proud of that title. How could they not know it? Could this night possibly get any worse? The doctor and nurse glanced at one another.

"PAM!" The nurse nearly went flying as Pam's mothered barrelled into the room. A small wave of comfort and relief washed over Pam at the sight of the older woman, her best friend, the person she loved most in this world, second only to Jim.

Her mother had her arms around her an instant later, and Pam pressed her face into her mother's sweet smelling hair. "Oh, sweet baby girl," her mother whispered, clutching her, "my sweet, sweet Pammy."

"It's okay, Mom," Pam assured, returning her mother's embrace tightly. "I'm okay."

"Oh, I know you are, I know," her mother said, her voice teary as she pulled away from Pam. She stared at her a second, her bottom lip trembled, and she pressed a kiss to Pam's forehead before embracing her again. "Oh, I knew you would be okay," her mother wailed, rocking with Pam.

"Let the girl breath, Helene."

Pam broke away from her mother to see her father standing in the doorway. "Daddy," she greeted. Was her whole family here? How long had she been out of it?

"Hey, baby girl," he greeted. He stepped closer, and to her utter relief, he held out a pair of glasses to her. She grasped them with a grateful smile and put them on to see that he wore a sheepish look. "I thought you might need them."

Pam's mother sat beside her, stroking her hair, and Pam almost felt like a little girl again, like she was seven and had just had a cast put on her broken arm. She smiled in between her parents, but her mind was still whirling and her baby was still gone and she needed Jim.

"Mom," she asked hesitantly, "what happened to the baby? Is it —?"

Her Mom tilted her head at her in confusion. "Sweetheart, what are you . . . what baby? Your cousin Lacey's? He's fine, Pammy. Why would you be worried about —?"

"No, no," Pam shook her head.

As if he knew how overwhelmed she was, the doctor interrupted the conversation. "You need to take it easy, Ms. Beesley. Your body has been through a great deal, and you'll need a few days to adjust and a few weeks before you're back on your feet again. Don't rush, alright? You're going to be fine, but you need to give your body the rest it needs."

Pam nodded numbly. "But Jim?" she asked the doctor. "You said he was fine, right?"

He looked at Pam's parents, and her eyes were drawn to them, too. "Baby," her mom began. "Do you mean Jim Halpert?" Who the hell else would she mean? "I'm sure that Jim's fine, Pam. He's even visited you a few times. But I don't understand why —?"

Pam's heart was racing. "How long have I been in here?" she asked.

Her parents glanced at one another. "Two months," her mother finally replied. Pam's jaw dropped. "We've been so worried about you," her mother went on, her voice wet once again as she tucked a lock of Pam's hair behind her ear. "You were in that accident and then you had all those surgeries and you pulled through but you've been comatose and. . . . But I knew you would pull through. I knew it."

"But Jim's okay?"

"Why are so concerned about Jim, honey?" her father asked. He glanced at the doctor.

"She's probably disoriented," the doctor explained. "Give it time." Pam had already had enough of the man. How was her asking after her husband a complicated, disoriented thing? She wished her head wasn't still so muddled, so heavy and painful. She wished her whole body didn't ache so much.

"I'm concerned because he was in the car with me," Pam snapped, "and he's my husband."

It was silent, and Pam didn't miss the way her mother's eyes went wide. Something hadn't happened to Jim, right? Of course not — they were confused for no reason. The only thing that should be shocking about this whole situation was the fact that Jim wasn't already by her bedside.

"Sweetheart," Pam's mom said. She couldn't seem to come up with anything else. Her father looked at the doctor again. Before anyone could say another word, however, yet another person entered the scene.

"Pam," he breathed. He rushed toward her only to come up short, as if unsure how to act. His face was panicked and white with disbelief. "You're okay," he said, and relief and happiness danced in his eyes. He swallowed thickly, and she was still staring when he swooped over her, pressed a quick wet kiss to her lips, and hugged her.

It was Roy.

It was then that Pam realised something much, much worse than anything she could have ever imagined was happening. Roy released her, but she didn't look at him. She looked at her hand, at the diamond ring that sat on her left ring finger.

It was the wrong ring.

The alarmed shouts of her parents filled her ears as blackness swept over her.

---

Pam didn't know how much time passed as she flittered in and out of consciousness and the days bled into one another.

She would wake up and feel her mom stroking her hair.

At one point, her father held a glass of water to her lips.

She would stay awake for a few hours at a time and hear the doctor talking with her parents, and phrases like "slow recovery" and "scans show normal activity" and "just be patient" floated through her head as she drifted back to sleep. She couldn't believe this.

The nurse checked her vitals often, and it was from her that Pam slowly managed to gather all the pieces: she was still Pam Beesley, she was engaged to Roy Anderson, and it was July 2006. She was three and a half years in the past. Or, at least, she had dreamed up the last three and a half years in the two months she had been comatose in a hospital.

Roy came to visit once in a while, but if she wasn't sleeping, she pretended to be.

She couldn't deal with him.

She felt herself growing stronger, though; she slept less and sat up in bed when no one was around. She couldn't face everyone. It wasn't just Roy. It was her parents, too. They had tried to talk to her about Jim and her confusion when she'd mistakenly called him her husband, but she'd brushed off their words, and they hadn't pressed her.

She couldn't talk about it with them.

It had all been a dream.

Being with Jim, marrying him and having his child inside of her . . . it was all a dream.

Pam sat up in her bed, distractedly fingering the spoon that sat in her uneaten Jell-O on her dinner tray. The nurse had brought it in a few minutes, smiling at the sight of Pam awake and aware in her bed. "It's only been a week and you're doing great," the woman had said happily, placing the tray on the bed.

So that's how much time had passed: a week. Only a week.

There was a knock on the door frame.

Pam glanced up and felt her mouth go dry.

Jim stood there, looking a little unsure of himself. His hair was as messy as always, the shirt sleeves of his button up blue shirt rolled to his elbows and his tie a little loose around his neck. He looked as if he'd come from work, and her heart banged against her chest. Finally. "Hey, Beesley," he said hesitantly. She could see the relief on his face.

This must have been so hard for him, having her in the hospital.

Because even if he wasn't her husband in this universe, even if her life with him had all been a dream, Jim was still her best friend, wasn't he? And he still loved her, didn't he?

She had already calculated that his confession on Casino Night had been a dream, too. In fact, it was Casino Night that she'd had the accident — when pretending to sleep, she had heard Roy tell the nurse that if only they had stayed at the stupid Casino Night a few more minutes, the other driver wouldn't have slammed into Roy's truck when the drunk run the red light.

In this world, she had gone home with Roy that night. In this world, she hadn't stayed and Jim hadn't told her with wide, longing eyes that he loved her, that he wanted more than friendship. In this world, her life had changed on Casino Night for completely different reasons.

And worst of all was the fact that this world was the real world. And her world, well, that was all a dream. A dream that had slipped through her fingers, and she wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep.

"You okay?" Jim asked, concerned. He still hadn't entered her room. "Do you want me to get Dr. Abbott or —?"

"No," she said. Tears welled in her eyes against her will. She shook her head quickly, before tilting forward slightly, bowing her head and pressing her hands to her wet eyes in a failed attempt to stem the tears.

"Hey, hey," Jim said softly, and before she knew it, he was kneeling beside her bed, pulling her hands from her face and holding them softly in his larger, warmer ones. He quickly captured her gaze. "Hey," he murmured, smiling at her in that way only he possessed. "Aren't you happy to see me, Beesley?"

"Of course!" she exclaimed tearfully, and she threw her arms around his neck before he could stand up and away from her. He seemed startled by the actions, but she couldn't care less. She needed this. She pressed her face into his neck and took a deep breath. He still smelled like the Jim of her world, like her lover and husband and father of her unborn child.

Slowly, Jim returned the hug, and his hand ran reassuringly up and down her back. "Sorry it took me so long to come see you," he said. "I was a little nervous, actually."

"S'okay," she murmured into his neck. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

"Yeah," he replied. She waited for him to try and pull away, and she knew she wouldn't let him. She clutched him close, afraid to release him, but he didn't even try. He hugged her, and she tried to imagine her stomach was large and her name was Pam Halpert.

What if she told him of her dream? Would he think she was crazy? It had all seemed so real that a part of her wondered if this hell was the dream . . . or a nightmare. But how could it be? "Jim," she whispered.

"You're awake."

Jim tore away from her instantly, and Pam could barely process the sudden wave of coldness that swept across her and through her as she looked up to see Roy walking into the room. "You're awake," he repeated. He was grinning. "Jeez, Pammy," he said. "I thought you'd be spending the rest of  your days sleeping!"

He kissed her again, his lips wrong against hers, and then hugged her. Over his shoulder, Pam looked back at Jim, who had shoved his hands into his pockets and was staring at the ground. It was because he loved her. She knew it. In this world, he still loved her. He just hadn't had time to make his confession, right?

"I, ah, guess I should get out of here," Jim said, looking at her with a tight smile. Roy finally let go of Pam. He looked at Jim. "Let you two have some privacy."

Pam wanted to scream at him that privacy with Roy was the last thing she wanted. What she wanted was privacy with Jim. She had barely gotten a moment with him, and now he was leaving again.

But how could she say that?

"Yeah, thanks, Halpert," Roy said, sincerely kind. "And thanks for keeping her company until I got here." He squeezed her shoulder. She resisted the urge to shrink away from him. A part of her would always care for Roy, for the nine years of her life he had been a part of, and he really wasn't a bad person, just bad for her.

Yet she was absolutely repulsed by him at that moment.

She wanted her husband.

Jim nodded. "Sure." He turned to leave.

"Jim," Pam said, not sure what she could possibly say. He paused at the door, glancing back at her. He smiled, and she tried to read his gaze but came up short. She thought she saw love and longing and everything that her Jim felt for her in her world, but what if she simply saw what she wanted to see?

"I'm glad you're okay, Pam," he said.

Then he was gone.

"He's a good guy," Roy noted, dragging a chair to her bedside. Pam could only nod, not looking at him. "He's come to see you a couple times. That office probably sucks without you.  'Course, now that you're awake, Scott and that whole batshit crazy bunch'll probably be storming the place and —"

Pam couldn't stop herself.

She started crying.

"Pam?" Roy asked. She still couldn't look at him. Once again, she pressed her hands to her face. He pulled them away, just as Jim had done, and his face was as concerned as Jim's, if not a little more helpless, and she cried harder, wanting her Jim back, please, Oh, God, please.

"It's okay, babe, it's okay," he comforted. He pressed a kiss to one swift tear on her cheek, and it was a moment of greater sensitivity for him, but she couldn't take it. She couldn't take this. She couldn't. Before long, she would be expected to get out of bed and go home to Roy and live a life she had cast off a long time ago, had cast off with so much work and strain and — and — and —

It couldn't have all been a dream, it couldn't have all been a dream, it couldn't have. . . .

She tore herself from Roy, leaned over the bed, and retched until her stomach was empty and her throat burned. Roy ran off to find the doctor and Pam cried even harder, and her glasses fell off her face and skittered across the ground, but it didn't matter, because her vision was already swaying.

She wanted to go back to sleep.

She wanted to go back to her dream.

It had been a good dream. A perfect dream. And real life?

Real life sucked.

To Be Continued . . .

 

She felt as if she were sifting through old memories.

Her apartment with Roy was much the same as it had been years ago, before she'd left him — the furniture was all in the same place, the flat screen television still took up most of the living room, and the washing machine still sounded like a dying donkey. Worse still, Roy hadn't done much to clean it lately, and her nose scrunched up at the sight of mud stains  grounded into the carpet, a fine layer of dust over her bookshelf, and dirty dishes in every available space in the kitchen.

It reminded her of the time she'd spent a week on a cruise with the only two friends from high school she kept in contact with. Roy hadn't wanted her to go, but as Marissa was offering to pay, he only protested so much.

When she'd returned with a tan, gushing over the best week she'd had in years, she'd found the apartment in much the same state it was now.

"It's good to be home, isn't it?" Roy asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "God, I'd be okay with never going to a hospital again, you know?" She might have nodded, she wasn't sure — she hadn't really been paying attention. He kissed her temple. "So you need anything or . . . ?"

She glanced up at him, frowning slightly. "The game is on," he went on in explanation, "so if you maybe want to get settled in again and I'll just be. . . ."

"Sure," she said, pulling away from him. She gave a tight smile. "Sure."

He smiled. "Thanks, Pammy."

"Don't." He frowned, and she took a steadying breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "Don't call me Pammy," she clarified quietly. "Please."

"Okay," he said. "I didn't know it bothered you."

"It does. I've told you that before." He only stared at her, and she turned away from him. She couldn't deal with this. "Enjoy your game." He didn't reply, but about the same time she reached the bedroom, she heard noise from the television.

She had been released from the hospital after three weeks, and as frustrating as it had been lying in a bed all day, it was almost worse to come home to this. And on the car ride home, Roy had asked her when she felt she'd be ready to go back to work.

She told him soon. She wasn't actually ready to go anytime soon, but it was the only way she could see Jim. She hadn't seen him since his one and only visit, and it was almost as if he were haunting her — the more time passed, the more she found her every thought directed to him, to what he was doing and thinking and whether or not he was coming and if he were there, what would he be doing? Saying?

It was kind of ridiculous, really, and if this were all a dream, she could imagine how he would laugh at her when she described it to him the next morning.

"And I would be imagining you in all the conversations I was having and everybody was thinking I was crazy," she'd say.

He'd grin and tell her, "So what your saying is that your dream self is even more obsessed with me?"

But it wasn't a dream. There was no waking up and finding him lying right beside her. Pam sunk down onto her bed, her fingers tracing the plaid design of the old comforter she had bought at Target years ago. It had some sort of stain on it, some old one she vaguely remembered being upset about.

She lay back, staring up at the fan ceiling slowly spinning. This wasn't a life. She needed a life. She couldn't do this.

She needed to leave Roy.

She needed to get Jim back. Except she'd never had him, so she wouldn't be getting him back, just getting him in the first place. That wouldn't be hard, would it? She knew he loved her. Her mind flashed to berry yogurt and office Olympics and a teapot with a dorky yearbook photo.

Yes, he loved her. She'd cling to that, and somehow — somehow — she'd make the rest work out.

---

Pam took a deep breath as she reached the top of the stairs.

She had taken them instead of the elevator so she could prolong her entrance. But it really only gave her an extra minute, and there she was, about to face her crazy co-workers. And see Jim. She straightened up and pushed the door open.

The usual office sounds greeted her, and she forced herself not to look around as she made her way to the reception desk. It looked slightly different than she remembered, with things in different places than she'd always kept them. Roy said they'd found a temporary replacement for her, as Michael had refused to hire someone permanently. "Scott actually did something right," Roy had said.

Pam's mind flittered to her brief stint as a saleswoman while she put her purse on her desk and slipped off her coat. "Michael!" Dwight yelled, and Pam's head snapped in his direction. "Michael, she's here!" Dwight disappeared into Michael's office.

Pam had an instant in time to glance at Jim, to meet his gaze, and something inside her warmed at the amused grin that danced across his face in that single instant. The next thing she knew, Michael was coming towards her. "Pamela! Over here, come over her!" He waved his hand at her, directing her to come out from behind the desk.

"Everybody!" Michael shouted to the office, and Pam watched her co-workers turn to her, various kind smiles on their faces. "Look over here! Our Pam is back! This is an epic moment. We knew you would return, didn't we? Well, I knew. I knew." Michael beamed at her.

"Thanks, Michael," she murmured.

"Welcome back, Pam," said Phyllis, and others echoed her, calling out greetings and giving warm smiles, and Creed even looked mildly interested.

"And, okay, that nurse of yours," Michael went on, "she was awful. Every time I tried to see you, she stopped me. But she's not here now, is she? And wait, wait, come here —" He grabbed her arm and started dragging her towards the conference room.

"Wait, Michael," Angela called. "It's not ready yet!"

"Ta-da!" Michael trilled, presenting the conference room to Pam with a dramatic flourish. There was banner hanging that read Welcome Back Pam! and two balloons. Michael frowned. "This is it? Where's the food? I said you should get an ice cream cake, with a layer of mashed up oreos. I saw it in —"

"We didn't have time," Angela insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. "We'll have it by this afternoon."

"It's okay," Pam insisted.

"No, okay, no, it's not okay. You're supposed to feel welcome, and this — this is not welcoming. Ice cream cake is welcoming," Michael said, looking genuinely distressed. Pam found herself comforted by the familiarity of it.

"You're right, ice cream cake is welcoming," Jim said. He had swivelled in his seat to face where they were gathered at the entrance of the conference room. Pam cherished the excuse to look straight at him, and her eyes feasted on his casual, relaxed sprawl in the seat. "But you know what else is?"

"What?" asked Michael.

Jim looked at Michael, all seriousness. "A hug. From you."

"You know, Jim, you're right," Michael agreed. Pam barely had time to give Jim an outraged looked that clearly expressed, 'you're mean' before Michael had his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him.

"Welcome, Pam," he said.

"That's really nice, Michael, but you really don't have to —"

He hugged her. "Welcome home," he said. "I've missed you so much! Sally, your replacement — she was terrible. She didn't understand me at all." She patted his back awkwardly. Damn it, Jim.

"You can let go now," Pam told him. It took him a few moments. It was going to be a long day. But as she walked back to her desk, she saw Jim smirking at her, and she shook her head at him, mentally swearing revenge. He only grinned.

A couple of minutes later, he approached her desk, momentarily saving her from the ten thousand e-mails she was attempting to work her way through. "No jelly beans?" he asked.

"I'll get some tonight," she replied, smiling shyly. Would it be inappropriate to climb up on her desk and throw herself at him?

"You better." He rapped his knuckles on the desk. "Welcome back, Beesley."

"Thanks," she replied softly. He was already heading back to his desk.

---

The day went by excruciatingly slow

A little before lunch, Kelly launched herself at Pam, screeching and squeezing the life out of her before demanding to know why no one had told her Pam was back. She had gushed on and on, trying to fill Pam in on everything she had missed.

Toby had kindly brought her some flowers, shrugging and saying he hoped they would brighten her day. Kevin had also wanted to know when the jelly beans would return. Michael continually stopped by to talk to her, his conversations ranging from his mom's new boyfriend to what it felt like for her to have a near death experience.

It was very, very normal.

At lunch, she and Jim sat together. He made easy conversation, drinking his grape soda and eating his ham sandwich, smiling and laughing and teasing her, but even as familiar as it was, it was so achingly wrong, because she knew what was missing.

She had also begun to analyse every word he said and every move he made, and it was, unsurprisingly, a lot of work.

The highlight of her day was probably when Michael wanted to have a conference about getting an office pet. He wanted something exotic. He had printed off all sorts of animal pictures. "Michael, come on, that's a lion," protested Toby. "Don't you think this is a little ridiculous?"

"First of all, that is a lioness, and second of all, nobody likes you, so why don't you just go jump off the roof?" Michael replied, making a face at Toby, who audibly sighed.

Pam tuned out most of the hour long meeting. She was sitting next to Jim, and her knee barely brushed his. What would it mean if she grabbed his hand? Would he tense and pull away? Would he look at her in surprise? Would it give her the clue she needed to confirm that he did, in fact, love her, just as in her dream?

"Hey," Jim murmured into her ear, surely about to say something witty about whatever was happening, whatever she had missed while she was trying to gather the courage to touch her hand to his. She automatically turned towards him, and her nose brushed his cheek.

He pulled away. "Sorry," he said immediately. He never said what he'd intended to, and she hated the look on his face, the apology. Her chest constricted a little. He wasn't supposed to pull away from her. Ever. He wasn't supposed to apologise.

She started to say something, anything.

"Hey, Jim, Pam, come on! This is a group activity. It needs group participation!"

She said nothing. And she never did grab his hand.

But she kept her knee pressed to his.

That was something, right?

---

Roy came up to collect her as the day drew to a close. "How was you first day back?" he asked. She shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm sure you'll get back into the hang of things soon." He smiled, leaning forward and pecking her lips before she could pull away. "Let's go."

Her eyes flickered to the back of Jim's head. He wasn't facing her.

"Pam, let's go," Roy repeated. She nodded, grabbing her purse from under the desk. Roy was already out the door, leaving her momentarily by herself as she buttoned her coat.

"Bye, Jim," she called out. He turned towards her and gave a small smile.

"Night, Pam." She must have stood too long, staring at him as if he would suddenly leap up, wrap his arm around her waist, and they would go home together. "You okay?" he questioned.

"Fine," she muttered. "I'm fine."

He smiled and turned back to his computer.

She left. In the car, she pressed her forehead to the glass of the passenger side window.

How did she do this? What happened first?

She hadn't been alone like this in years. She'd gotten use to having Jim around, to being able to talk to him about anything and everything, to taking comfort in what he thought. He was always supportive of her, he always let her make her own choices, but he was also always there. It might be wrong, but she seemed to have lost the ability to function without him.

She made dinner that night for the first time since she'd awoken in the hospital. Instead of having Jim sitting on the counter, trying to help, offering to make the salad, or simply trying to entertain her, she was alone. Roy was watching TV in the next room.

Feeling rebellious, she made home-made macaroni and cheese, steak, and peas with too much bacon. It was Jim's favourite meal. Roy liked it. She wished he didn't. He spent most of dinner talking about the poker game Darryl was holding that night.

"Wait, it's tonight?" she asked, finally having listened to a full a sentence he said.

He paused, slowly lowering his fork. "Is that okay? 'Cause I mean, I can stay home, if you really want. I mean, if you need me to stay home, I can."

She cleared her throat. "No. It's fine. Go." She smiled tightly. "Have fun."

"Great, babe. You can go get yourself something pretty at the department store with some of my winnings, how's that sound?" He grinned at her as if he were the greatest fiancée in the world and turned back to his dinner.

When he was gone, she pilled the dishes in the sink. She couldn't be bothered with cleaning them. Before she could stop herself, the emptiness of the apartment making her go crazy, she picked up the phone and dialled the cell number she knew by heart.

After three rings, he picked up. "Hello?" He didn't recognise the number. Had she ever called him from this phone before? No. They had only ever been co-workers for all those years. She called them friends, but no, they were co-workers. She had barely ever seen him outside of the office. "Hello?" he repeated.

She abruptly hung up. What was she going to say? She took a calming breath, tilting her head back so it rested against the wall as she cradled the phone to her chest. What was she doing? This was ridiculous.

She needed to talk to him. He would help her figure everything out.

Her fingers only shook a little as she called him again. "Hello?" She opened her mouth to say something. Nothing came out. "Who is this?" Jim asked. "How did you get my cell number?"

"You gave it to me," Pam replied. There. That was something.

"Pam?" He was surprised.

"It's me," she said. It was quiet.

"Are you okay?" His voice was concerned. That made her heart ache. "Did something happen?"

"No, no I'm . . . nothing happened, but I — I'm not okay." She bit down on her lip, tears beading suddenly in her eyes. Why did she have to be such a girl? She wasn't even pregnant anymore (and she never had been).

"What —?" His voice cut off and she could hear another voice buzzing in the background. "Just a minute, Pam," he said. The other voice spoke again, slightly muffled. But it was a girl's voice. He was with a girl. Her stomach churned. Oh, God. "Pam?" he asked. "You still there?"

"Yeah, but I, um, I have to go."

"Wait, what's going on? Do you need me to come get you from somewhere or something —?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Really. I shouldn't have called. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Pam —"

She hung up the phone. She wiped hastily at her eyes. Why couldn't she go back to sleep and wake up where she belonged — with Jim and her baby and in a life that was so utterly right?

She took a long shower that night, standing under the hot water with her mind wandering to everyday moments with Jim, to him showering her with gifts on Valentine's Day as if to make up for all the Valentine's Days Roy gave her nothing. She wasn't sure why her mind sticks to that.

She tried watching jeopardy. It wasn't as fun without Jim.

She took out her drawing paper. She put it back away.

She went to bed at 9:47. At 10:13, she was still staring at the ceiling.

Roy stumbled in past midnight, jolting her awake from whatever restless sleep she'd fallen into. She sighed, turning over in the bed and letting her eyes flicker shut again as he pounded around the kitchen, turning on lights and probably making a mess.

He came into the bedroom, muttered something under his breath, and disappeared into the bathroom. When he re-emerged and climbed back into bed, his arms went around her in an instant. "Are you awake?" he asked. His breath was thick and warm and smelt of beer. "Pammy, are you awake?"

"I don't want to be," she muttered back.

His hand slipped under her shirt. Her eyes flew open and she pulled away from him. "Aw, c'mon," he protested. "It's been so long."

She took a deep breath. There was no way in hell anyone other than Jim was ever touching her again. She might not have found the way to break things off with Roy yet, found a way simply to deal with everything, but she knew she would, and nothing was going to happen. "It's late."

"It's not that late," he pushed, his face leaning towards her. She nearly shoved him aside.

"I said no, Roy. Not tonight." Not ever.

He groaned, falling back on the sheets. "Well, can you at least help me out?"

"No."

"Pam!" She climbed off the bed, grabbing a pillow and disappearing into the living room. She had no problem sleeping on the couch. "Damn it, Pam!" he yelled after her. "Don't be pissy! I wasn't out that late!"

She didn't respond, and he didn't bother her again.

When she awoke the next morning, there was a crick in her neck, and her cheeks were sticky and salty. Roy was a little hung over, and he didn't say anything to her as she made breakfast. He'd probably already forgotten, most likely having fallen asleep minutes after she left him. They drove to work in silence.

She couldn't do another night of this, another day of this, another minute of this.

It was time to do something to make it right.

 

To Be Continued . . .