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Author's Chapter Notes:
This beginning is dark, please be forewarned. But please be patient, there are more chapters to come.
I have one request if you are kind enough to read my story: Please listen to these music tracks for full effect, they're free.
http://kurtelling.com/music/flirting_with_twilight/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqmgldSVgXM&feature=related
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Early one Friday morning, about 4 months after Jim has joined the Stamford branch:


Jim awoke coughing, breaking the dusky silence of his apartment, and wearily rolled over to look at his clock on the bedside table. 3:44 am. Not again. He’d like to blame it on this crappy cough but it had been happening for at least two months, long before he ever got this cold. Resigned, he reached over and turned on the small lamp, sat up on the side of the bed, and ran a hand over his face. What now?

The last weeks had taught him there was nothing on TV at this hour in the morning that would hold his interest. He’d tried turning it on just for the noise, but found that simply annoyed him. Then he’d tried going out walking, but he had to take a flashlight in the dark. After a policeman finally stopped him one morning thinking he was a prowler, he gave that up. Lately, he just listened to music.
Jim reached for the music remote on his bedside table, and clicked “Play.” Kurt Elling’s voice filled the void of the room.

You don’t know what love is
Until you’ve learned the meaning of the blues
Until you’ve loved a love you had to lose
You don’t know what love is




How had it come to this? He had always considered himself an optimist, a survivor, a guy who could adapt and adjust. That night in Scranton, with Pam’s wedding approaching, he had mustered his courage and laid himself wide open to her, told her he was in love with her. She had rejected him. Twice. He had to move on and he knew he couldn’t if he was looking at the woman he still loved every day - especially after she was actually married to another man – one that he knew would never let her realize all of her dreams. He had racked his brain for something else he could do, anything. But he came up blank, Pam had made her choice.

You don’t know how lips hurt
Until you’ve kissed and had to pay the cost
Until you’ve flipped your heart and you have lost
You don’t know what love is


Jim took the promotion, transferred to Stanford, and dug into work. He was the top salesman in the company in June. In the meantime, six people from the Scranton office had emailed to tell him that Pam had called off the wedding. Of course none of them were Pam, but still, Jim felt a glimmer of hope that maybe his confessions of Casino Night had had a part in that. She just needed time to think, no doubt, so he waited.
Come July, he was still waiting. He decided he really should get out, so he started dating Karen, a girl in his office. She was smart, cute, funny and they'd had a good time. Jim was the second best salesman in the company that month, beaten only by Dwight. But at some point, he realized he was just going through the motions with Karen, and that wasn’t fair to her. He was rebounding from a relationship that never actually existed, but rebounding nevertheless. He ended it on good terms.

Meanwhile, he still hadn’t heard a word from Pam. How hard would have been for her to just…send a “Hi, hope you’re doing well” text to him? Or something?



One night after his Karen breakup, he had gotten desperate and gone to a bar. He ended up doing too numerous to count shots and beers with a slutty looking but well built girl he knew only as Bridget, and she had taken him home with her at closing time. He’d ended up puking on her carpet and passing out without even so much as a makeout session. He woke up in the middle of the night on her floor and walked the entire eleven miles back to his apartment feeling cheap, empty, and hung over. That was that, no need to try it again.

Do you know how lost hearts fear
The thought of reminiscing
And how lips tasting of tears
Lose the taste for kissing


Then one early August Saturday morning, he was sitting in his kitchen having his coffee and shuffling through the paper, when the realization finally hit him - he could remember the exact moment. Pam hadn’t called because she really didn’t love him. Not like that.

All those times he was sure she felt something for him, his belief that it was only her previous commitment that was standing in their way – all that - it was only his delusion. Something he had wanted to believe so badly, that he imagined he saw it in her eyes. The truth was, Pam didn’t love him, not like that. She didn’t want to be with him. He would have heard from her by now. Sweet Pam, she was trying to be a kind friend and let him move on.


That morning, in that instant realization, something in him withered. Pam didn’t love him. Was he too geeky, too mild, not masculine enough, too something or not something enough? It didn't matter. Pam could never love him, would never love him.

You don’t know how hearts yearn
For love that cannot live yet never dies
Until you’ve faced each dawn with sleepless eyes
How could you know what love is?



Despair settled in, heavier than anything he could have imagined. Eating became a chore, food just didn’t taste good anymore. When he did force himself to eat, it was mostly to keep away the dull headaches that would nag when he went too long without food. He started waking up at three or four in the morning. He would fall in bed every night exhausted by eleven, but he couldn’t stay asleep. He tried exercising, but in the end, it just took too much effort. On some level he knew something bad was happening to him, that he should talk to someone. But who? His best friend? That irony wasn’t lost on him.

Besides, he still managed to go to work every day. The routine was comforting and it gave him something to focus on, but his sales had dropped off and lately he hadn’t been very meticulous about his attire. What did it matter, after all? As September wore on, he started getting looks from his coworkers. The HR person even asked him what was wrong. He lied that his sister had been sick and he’d been visiting her every weekend. He didn’t think the HR guy believed him, but he didn’t care, and he didn’t have a sister.

His new alibi served him well. Nobody asked him to do things anymore on weekends, so he didn’t have to make up excuses. Now his friends were the people who sang the songs at four am. These people that understood – they offered Jim about as much comfort as he could get at this hour. Ah, here was his favorite. Frank got it right.

“In the wee small hours of the morning
While the whole wide world is fast asleep
You lie awake, and think about the girl
And never ever think of counting sheep

When your lonely heart has learned its lesson
You’d be hers, if only she would call


Yeah, the songs made him hurt, but it was better than the terrifying emptiness. Without the music, he’d just be alone, and it was nice to hear that someone somewhere at least understood.

In the wee small hours of the morning
That’s the time you miss her most of all”


As the last notes faded, Jim shifted on the side of the bed toward his night table. He clicked “Stop” and laid down the remote - right beside his gleaming black pistol. He picked up the gun, as he had the last few mornings, the steel cold in his hands. Jim turned the piece over, examining it, and began asking the same questions he always did. He flipped the safety off, cradling the gun as his palms began to sweat ever so slightly. His breathing quickened and time seemed to stretch.
Then he remembered the one thing that had always stopped him – at least so far. He reluctantly eased the safety back on and slid the gun onto the night table. It would always be there later if he changed his mind, after all.

Jim got up and walked to the bathroom sink, the tile cold on his bare feet. His hands trembled a little as he splashed warm water on his face, and a sigh prompted a bout of his deep wet cough.

Maybe he would call in sick today. He needed to take care of some things.
Chapter End Notes:
Please don't get freaked out and stop reading.

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