It is the time of the year where he can’t tell the difference between day and night.
Speckles of light dance around his computer screen as he taps his finger in unison with the ad blinking in front of his eyes.
“Click here NOW for a FREE list of your future LOVES.”
He sighs and hits the X in the corner, wanting so badly to cross off this day as another marked failure in his aching life of nothingness.
Sometimes he goes for days without feeling any ounce of happiness that usually stumbles into his life. But then he remembers all the times their fingertips brushed, all the sneaky laughs that slipped past their lips, and all the smiles that spread miles across their faces and he can’t help but think about how much she is to him.
He stares blankly at his computer screen as the lights above him refuse to dim. He feels like he’s being interrogated by emails from his friends asking how he’s doing and what he’s been up to. Truthfully, if he had to put his sorrow into words, he’d write about how he can’t sleep anymore, how he barely listens to his favorite songs because the lyrics that mean so much to him remind him of the girl that means too much, and how he can’t look people in the eye and say, “yeah, I’m fine,” because he knows all too well that he’s completely lying.
His eyes wander from email to email and his throat tightens as he closes each of them. His breath catches in the back of his throat as she stands at reception and reaches for her coat. His eyes follow her movements and suddenly his every dream is standing in front of him.
She smells of lavender and honey as she perches herself on the corner of his desk, her curls coming lose from the taut grasp of the constraining clip. He looks into her hazel iris’s like he always does – he pushes aside the thoughts of how beautiful her eyes are when her cheeks flush red, how appealing she sounds when she can’t think of the right words to say, and how much he hates himself for not doing anything about it.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“I’m going out to get lunch at that new panini place – you want anything other than your regular ham and cheese?”
“Nah,” he replies and is about to continue when Dwight interrupts.
“Jim, it’s really lame to consume the same products for every meal.”
“I agree with you, Dwight,” Pam begins, leaving Jim’s mouth open with laughable shock. “Jim here isn’t the smartest crayon in the refrigerator.”
“There’s no need to tell – what?” Dwight retorts while Jim watched the exchange with wide eyes.
“Jim’s not the smartest crayon in the refrigerator.”
“I know what you said, Pam. Crayons do not belong in the refrigerator.”
“That’s where I keep mine.”
“That is unethical. Even Cylons from Battlestar Galactica do not keep anything in refrigerators, and they’re considered the weird ones.”
“Dwight, what does that have to do with anything?” Jim questions sarcastically.
Pam interrupts, “When I was little, my mom put my crayons in the refrigerator so when I drew with them they wouldn’t break as easily.”
“Are you serious?” Jim asks, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Absolutely,” she smiles as she uses his favorite term.
Dwight’s eyes narrow as he turns back to his work, clearly annoyed by the encounter. Jim and Pam share a smuggled laugh complete with raised eyebrows, pursed lips, and crinkled dimples. She gives him a quick wave before leaving for lunch.
It’s moments like these that leave him breathless – so haunted through and through by her absolute charm and ability to take over his mind that he plainly forgets to breathe. And even after one hundred and fifty six taps in the shoulder, forty seven playful smiles, and one reason, he’s still convinced he can get over her.
He has to learn to live with his life on paper and forget the feelings – her scent, the feel of her, and remember only how they never had a chance, remember only what they gained and lost by their ever-altering thing they called a “friendship.”
He fiddles with his tie and blinks three times as he wonders how long it will be before he can hear her voice soothe the awkward office aura. He thinks about how horrible it is that he can barely make it through the day and wonders why he let himself fall this far.
Maybe, if he attempted to smile when she looked him in the eye, or talked to her when the all-too-familiar ring of the phone neglected to dissipate in the office air, or even acted like he was happy with how smiley she looked to not be in his arms, maybe he could replace the sick, twisted feeling in his stomach whenever he thought about how much he wanted to call her his.
He cannot tell if he is crazy or just confused, but either way, the ache of knowing how she doesn’t know is enough to keep him up at one thirty six in the morning, hating himself for hating her.
But he did not realize how she never saw the zzzz’s either.
Author's Chapter Notes:
He tries to smile when she smiles.
Chapter End Notes:
Comments/suggestions/whatever-else-you-want-to-say is appreciated! Part III is underway!
