Her eyelids moved slightly, and she opened her eyes, blinking sleepily at her ceiling; without glasses or contacts, Pam saw only a white blur. She laid motionlessly, taking pleasure in awakening without an alarm and hurry, listening to the sensations that surrounded her. Her sheets and blanket embraced her in a warm, comforting cocoon; she stirred her foot and felt the soft texture of the fabric. 

But, except for the sense of touch, she felt nothing. 

Her bare feet touched the cold surface of the floor. Her tiny apartment was always so cold and quiet, and she didn't like that; unknowingly she associated that with emptiness and loneliness of her own existence and tried to avoid that at any cost, putting on as many layers of clothes as she could to warm herself up and turning on the radio or TV as soon as she got out of bed to create an illusion of a company. Pam did the same now, almost mechanically, and the sounds of her favorite song filled her apartment. She lingered for a moment, while the familiar lyrics whispered words of love and yearning in her ears. 

Usually, they made her heart tingle with ache, but today they were just a string of sounds. Pam switched the channel, and the song was cut off, replaced by some merry wordless melody. 

Perhaps, the liquid forest fire that had flooded her veins yesterday had burned to the ground any remaining nerve endings in her body, leaving only coals and ashes inside. She was tempted to take a hammer and hit her thumb, just to test if she still had the ability to feel pain, but, in the end, she decided that this feeling wasn't the one she'd miss. It would be nice, for a change, to live without that dull nagging pain that had settled in her chest last May and hadn't let her concentrate on anything except her failures, misery, and broken hopes. She felt relieved at her loss. 

Pam had finished her breakfast and did the dishes, humming along to the tune,  when she heard a tentative knock at her front door. She took her time to turn the water off, wipe her wet hands, and mute the radio before walking to open the door. 

She wasn't surprised at all to see Jim behind it. 

For a moment she just stared at him, noting how wrinkled his shirt was, and how wildly his hair stuck out, and how deep the shadows under his eyes were; he looked like a man who had spent a night on a bench in a park and woken up a couple of minutes ago. Pam found it slightly amusing that it was she who had words 'bearly awake' printed across her teddy bear pajama shirt, but she neither made a joke, nor greeted him; she just stepped aside, allowing him to enter, and locked the door when he crossed her threshold. 

He was silent as well, following her to her kitchen with this unchangeable haggard expression. It might have lasted too long, Pam thought and cleared her throat. 

'I can make you some coffee if you…' 

'I broke up with Karen,' he interrupted her without warning, and his weary voice sounded so much like thunder. Just a week ago, this news would have made her heart flutter, but now it settled a sickening feeling in her stomach. Pam sat on her kitchen chair, staring at the floor. 

'Why?'

For sure, her question was far from what Jim had expected. He furrowed his brows, looking at her incredulously, but she avoided his eyes. 

'Because she isn't the person I want to be with. And never was.' 

Just a week ago, his words would have turned her world upside down, colored her cheeks with a happy blush, and brought a huge smile on her lips, which she'd have tried to hide unsuccessfully. Now they put only more weight on her shoulders. 

'All these things you said yesterday,' he continued, his voice quiet and just a little desperate. 'I… I just can't pretend they mean nothing to me. After I...' 

He kept talking, but Pam barely listened to him. Just a week ago, if she'd heard this confession of his, seen him like this after all months of civil avoidance and silence, she'd have cut his speech with her mouth on his, clutched him, and never let him go. But now all she could think was Karen, somewhere alone in the city, so confident and sharp, and using the word 'rebound' toward her felt so ridiculous. She was smart enough to connect the dots and saw the truth behind the apologizes and polite words she'd definitely heard after the reception. Pam thought about what she'd have felt if she'd found herself in Karen's position. She'd have felt used. Humiliated. She'd have felt like a faceless substitute for someone else. 

Of course, Karen was much stronger than Pam, and her feelings and thoughts could have been so very different. Nevertheless… 

'Pam?' Jim worried as she continued to stare at one point at the floor, almost without blinking. 

'I said all of this mostly to hurt you, I guess,' she said in a small voice, and he flinched. 'I've never meant to harm Karen, and I'm sorry for that.' 

'So, you just…' he almost fell on the chair across hers, as if he was a puppet and her words cut the strings that held him, '...made everything up?'

Just yesterday, she'd have found great satisfaction in this expression of utter heartbreak on his face. She remembered that vindictive elation but felt no joy watching the sight before her now. 

'Of course, I didn't,' she said, finally turning her face to him. 'I meant every word I said and told you no lies. Well, most of that was my subjective assessment, but…'

He closed his eyes, and air left his lungs with a loud swoosh. He was probably relieved with her answer, but these days Pam had more trouble reading and deciphering his reactions than she'd ever had before he'd left for Stamford. 

'Do you love me?' he said unexpectedly, and Pam's eyes widened. 

'What?' 

'Do you love me?' Jim repeated persistently, studying her face. 

She couldn't speak; the words stuck in her throat, so she just gave him a slight nod.

The corners of his lips curled up. Something boyish and endlessly endearing lit up in his eyes, behind that mask of exhaustion he wore. 

She loved him for that. 

She hated him for that, as the peaceful state of feeling nothing crumbled, and the waves of familiar pain engulfed her, squeezing her heart in a deathly grip. The shuttered pieces of her previous tranquility washed out of her body with hot tears, and Pam despised herself that moment for her weakness and inability to keep a face. 

'Hey, hey, hey,' Jim was near her now, kneeling before her chair, full of concern and care. 'Don't cry, please. It's gonna be fine. Everything is gonna be fine now.' 

But her tears just spilled down with even more force. 

He hugged her then, muttering something reassuring, his fingers ran gently through her hair. Pam was sure that she ruined his shirt, but he didn't seem bothered by a growing damp spot on his chest. 

Little by little, her sobbing hushed, and Jim pulled back slightly, looking lovingly at her blotchy face, and that was enough for her to shed a few more tears. He wiped them away with thumbs and leaned forward to brush his lips against her left cheek, then her right, and finally — against her lips. 

Pam gave up for a few moments because she'd lie if she said that she didn't dream about another kiss for months, but when first gentle touches started to morph into something less chaste, she pushed him away and stood up, forcing her wobbly legs to make a few steps back. 

'We can't do this,' Pam shook her head like she was trying to get rid of some delusion. 'It's so wrong.' 

'Wrong? Why?' Jim didn't move from his spot, looking at her upwards, and Pam laughed humorlessly at the strange déjà vu. 

For the second time in twelve hours, she was asked what was wrong by a man who might have had some interest in her. 

This time though, she could try to explain her reasons. 

'Because Jim, you don't know me, and I don't know you anymore,' she said desperately. 'I've never been a person who hurts people on purpose, and you've never been the one who uses others. And look at us now!' 

Pam saw how he clenched his teeth at her last words, but kept silent. 

'The main thing about me remains the same,' Jim said at last. 'I still love you.'

'And I love you too,' Pam said wearily. 'But I don't think that just love would be enough to remedy everything between us. This single confession can't erase more than half a year of no communication, and hurt, and…'

She'd have to stop there if she truly wanted to remedy things between them (and she wanted that more than anything else) before she did more damage with her words. Pam took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself and prevent more tears from escaping. 

'Before we could become lovers,' she said softly and saw how he swallowed hard, 'we should remember how to be friends.' 

'Okay,' Jim said quietly, standing up and returning to his chair. 'Okay, let's try.' 

'Okay,' she said with a shadow of a smile and turned to the stove. 'So, how about some coffee then?'