"People walk a tight rope on a razors edge

Carrying their hurt and hatred and weapons.

--Brett Dennen, “Ain’t No Reason”

“You know, Ryan, I’m – I’m totally ready to be set up with one of your business school friends. Whenever.” Pam leaves the break room quickly before Ryan even has a chance to answer, ‘okay’ in that ambivalent tone of his. Pam feels dirty, and she hates it.

She doesn’t need to see Jim’s face to know he’s wearing that wounded puppy dog expression, the one where all the color has drained from his face and he looks like he’s been kicked in the stomach. After all, that’s what she was aiming for. She thought she would feel accomplished and satisfied; instead she feels ashamed and tired.

She’s been tired ever since Jim came back from Stamford. Ever since he blew her off when she invited him for coffee. Ever since he wanted to let her know he was seeing someone. Ever since that night in May where his love, so tender and delicate, was ripe for the picking and she was just too scared to reach out for it. For him.

She’s actually grateful that the stripper is standing at her desk, popping jellybeans into her mouth. Pam’s not hungry, and says as much as she plops down in her chair. She’s trying to pinpoint the moment in time where they had quit being Pam and Jim (whatever that meant, anyway) and where they had started hurting each other at every turn, when they had started using words as weapons, sharper than any sword.

She hates who she’s become, because it’s who she’s been all along. Someone who’s still afraid of the truth, someone who still isn’t courageous enough to take a risk, even if it’s to gain something she really, really wants. Someone who doesn’t believe she deserves what Jim offered her. The only new thing about Pam is that she’s now angry enough with Jim for moving on so quickly that she’s willing to hurt the person she cares for the most. It’s safer that way.

She spends the remainder of the afternoon on autopilot with her head in her hands and her heart in her throat. She leaves before Jim even realizes it’s quitting time. Or so she thinks.

“I think you should set her up with Trevor, Ryan, and not Noah, because I’m saving him for my friend Anna,” Kelly gushes, oblivious to the look of hurt and bewilderment on Jim’s face. “Trevor’s cute but not as cute as Noah, who’s kind of too cute for Pam. No offense,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

Jim throws his chips away and walks out as Ryan begins to comment on the creepiness of saving his friends for hers. Jim feels something between heartburn and nausea and realizes he’s been feeling sick a lot lately. As he walks back to his desk he looks at Pam without really looking at her, an art he’s had to perfect with Karen in the picture and wonders what he did wrong. He really thought hiring Ben Franklin would amuse her.

Sometimes he’s sure that Pam’s sending him vague signals that she might possibly feel something for him and then other times he swears it’s his own wishful thinking. Sometimes he longs for the old days when it wasn’t so hard, when so much hadn’t been said, when it hadn’t all been laid out on the line. He misses how easy it used to be to make her laugh, how he revelled in her smile. Other times he’s glad he left and came back, because Karen… Karen is a pleasurable distraction. Guilt floods him every time he thinks that because he knows deep down what he’s doing with her is wrong, is unforgivably selfish, but he needs it. Karen’s kind of his safety net.

He twirls a blue pen around his fingers and thinks about how his safety net… pretty much sucks. He’s trying as hard as he can to keep up with Karen, to be what she wants him to be, but one word from Pam, one sideways glance, one wrinkle of her brow sends him back to square one. Do not pass go, Halpert. Do not collect $200. He sighs, feeling small and defeated and picks up his phone, pretending to check his messages, but really he’s listening to her.

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam. One moment.”

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam. Yes, I’ll transfer you.”

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam. He’s in the office but he’s not at his desk. May I take a message?”

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam. No, Kevin. I just have jellybeans, not M&Ms. Okay.”

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam. Sure, may I put you on hold while I check?”

He sits just like that, with the phone pressed to his ear until he hears her zip up her jacket and walk out of the office. Hearing the door close snaps him out of his reverie and he thinks about where to take Karen for dinner.