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“You took the part that used to be my heart,
So why not take all of me?” --Billie Holiday
***
You dip in for another kiss, oh God, more, and she puts her hand on your chest, stopping you. “Jim.”
You can’t believe it. “Are you really going to marry him?” The taste of her is still on your lips.
She looks you straight in the eye and nods.
“Okay,” you say, and you drop her hands and walk away.
It’s anything but ‘okay.’ You walk and walk and walk, trying not to think at all. You have no idea where you’re going – it doesn’t matter. Some distance later, you find yourself back at your car, just as the security guy is about to lock the lot. He sizes you up and asks if you need a cab. “No,” you say, “I’m not drunk. Just needed some air.” He stands at the gate, holding the lock, and waits for you to drive out.
It’s moonless and black outside, and Scranton is all closed up. You drive aimlessly. You’re not sure what you think is going to happen. Maybe you’ll fall asleep at the wheel and that will be that. Doesn’t sound that bad, really, but you know you won’t. Going to sleep isn’t something you’ve done much of in the last three or four weeks. You notice the gas gauge is getting low, so you drive to the apartment. The place is dark inside – Mark’s girlfriend’s car is parked out front. She’s here a lot these days.
You slip in the front door. Flip on the kitchen light. Absently grab a beer from the fridge. You sit at the table alone, staring at the wall, numb. The refrigerator purrs. You lift the bottle to your lips but you can’t seem to swallow. You sit the beer back down and shake your head in disbelief.
You can’t believe you did it. Hadn’t meant to. You should have told her you were transferring. It’s so clear now. So obvious. You’re so stupid. You could have drifted gracefully out of her life, always wishing you’d met her before Roy had. Now you know too much.
Your eyes sting and you blink hard. Must be the hour, you think, but you know better. You turn off the light, head silently up the stairs. Hear a rustle behind Mark’s closed door. You make it down the hall to the sanctuary of your room. Close the door with a click. Lock it. Don’t turn on the light.
Suddenly you can feel everything, like when you’re numb from the cold and then you walk into a warm room. You feel like you’re burning and your heart is pounding. You can’t get your clothes off quickly enough. You pull off your sweater and shirt, undo your khakis and let them drop. Peel off your shoes and socks. Leave everything scattered on the floor.
You fall back onto the bed in just your briefs, and stare up into the darkness. Your mind is racing. You can’t shut it off. You glance at the clock. 3:38. Of course, she comes into your mind, like usual. You’ve thought about her so many nights. About kissing her, taking her into your arms. Knowing you’d fit together so perfectly, you and Pam. You’ve imagined how it would be, between you - learning each other, pleasing, making your bodies sing together. Thought about how it would feel to lie tangled together afterward, languid, warm and content. Pam and you.
You were so certain you could make her happy. If she’d only see you that way. That you could be more than her Ken doll friend. All the time knowing that was the very thing that allowed the intimacy of your friendship. You weren’t a threat. Smiling, laughing, understanding. It was all safe. Roy didn’t even see you as a man, and you weren’t sure Pam did either. You'd hoped one day she’d figure it out. That if she’d really look, she’d see how much you were dying to give her. How much you wanted to be more than her friend.
Now you know you were wrong about Pam. She knows you’re a man. She knew all along. You know now, because she kissed you back. Really kissed you. Like a woman kisses a man. You can still feel her hand burning the back of your head where she touched you. Pulled you in. She knows how it feels to kiss you. That you want her. That you’re in love with her. That you need.
You laugh, unamused. You realize you’re such a fool, because, she has thought about you like that. You’re like that dress she saw in the store and held up in the mirror in front of her just to see how it would look if she tried it on. The one she smiled at and put back on the rack because it was kind of cute but she had no intention of buying. You’re not the man she wants. You know that now for a fact, and it hurts worse than you could have ever imagined. It hurts someplace deep and ugly and decimating.
The clock says it’s after four. You wonder if Pam is asleep, at home in her bed. Is he rolling over toward her now, slow and clumsy? Does he reach up under her gown with his rough hand, waking her?
You wonder if he bares her perfect breasts so he can mouth them while he climbs on her, assuming her consent? You picture him pulling down her panties in a hurry, pressing her legs open, and shoving himself into her. Inside Pam. Is he rough as he uses her, making himself feel good? Probably not. He’s just lost in his own pleasure. Does she moan, “Yes, Roy,” because that’s what she wants? What she likes? What she thinks she deserves? When he gasps, sweaty and heaving, and claims her as his own, does she like how that feels? You know the answer.
You hate that you’re hard now, thinking about her, so you pull off your briefs. Your hand goes to work frantically, angrily, so rough it hurts - but not enough. When you come in a wave of agonizing relief, you cry out in disgust. At yourself. At all of this.
Pam wants Roy. Not you.
You want to give yourself credit. At least you tried. You finally told her. You think that ought to make you feel better, but it doesn’t. Because now you know for sure, and that makes it worse. It twists you and tears you in places you never even knew existed. Worst of all, you see yourself staring into a huge, gaping emptiness. You’re so close to that darkness that it scares you, and you have to get out, you have to get away. Somehow.
***
You hear the alarm. Open your scratchy eyes and see it’s 7:15. You must have drifted off. You’re freezing, lying naked on top of the bedspread. You groan, pull on a T shirt and underwear, throw on your robe. Head down to the kitchen out of habit. Before it sinks in that last night really happened.
When you see the beer on the table, you know it was real. You’re still on autopilot so you make coffee and sit down. You rest your elbows on the table, and then bow your head in your hands.
Think. You have to call in before she gets there, tell them you’re not coming in. Take a sick day. Go to Stamford and find an apartment. Today. Make it official.
You can make a new life there. Try at work. You’re smart. You’re capable. Make yourself successful and stop wasting time pining over something you can’t change. It’s time for you lock away this pain, turn away from the dark, and move on. You have to. Because now you know.
Three Weeks Later
You’re sitting at your new desk on a sunny morning in Stamford. It’s June 7th . You’re staring out at the ocean, waiting for your email to pop up. It’s weird here, but it’s different and you find yourself not thinking about her, and that’s good. You’re sleeping at night. The boss likes you. You glance down the list and see an email from Phyllis@dundermifflin. What does Phyllis want, you wonder? You click on it.
Hi Jim, I hope you like your new job in Stamford. I thought you might want to know that Pam called off her wedding yesterday. She’s getting her own apartment now. Take care, Phyllis.
Your hands shake a little as you send a reply.
Hi Phyllis. Stamford is good and the view is great. Thanks for the news. Maybe she’ll take that art class now. Best to everyone, Jim.
You don’t get anything done for the rest of the day. You can’t concentrate. You check your phone and your email a thousand times. The girl behind you thinks you are crazy. You don’t see what you’re hoping to see.
That night, you lie in bed awake. You’re thinking about her again. She just needed some time to think about things, you figure. You can’t wait to hear from her.
You wait another day. And another.
Then a week.
Two, three, four weeks.
Nothing.
She never calls.
.
.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I have no idea where this came from. It's different from what I usually write and I'm trying to stretch a little. I had to post it in a hurry though, before I chickened out. So thanks to Nan for reading this on short notice.
Here's the link to the Billie Holiday version of the song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujdbwEHkv1I&feature=related
.
Here's the link to the Billie Holiday version of the song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujdbwEHkv1I&feature=related
.
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading.
jazzfan is the author of 16 other stories.
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