Karen woke up again for the 3rd time, her heart hammering against her ribcage. She sat up and knew trying to sleep anymore would be a waste of time. She flung her comforter off her legs and shivered a little as the cold assaulted her almost immediately. She stared down at her legs. Bruises on her thighs. Some bigger then others. Sometimes she felt like a kid finding shapes in the clouds when she looked down at her battered body. She was grateful that she had been so active growing up. Her body seemed very tolerant to the abuse it underwent.

She was usually able to catch up on her sleep on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. The only time she was normally able to sleep was during the day. At night she only managed to sleep 10 to 15 minute intervals at a time before waking up in a familiar panic.

The kitchen floor was cold against her bare feet and she was having trouble making sense of the lack of dishes in her cabinets. She froze when her eyes rested on the spot near the toaster where her cookie jar used to be. Her ears began ringing with the screams, all the hatred of that night flooding back. Who kept heroin in the cookie jar? Only Rich could be that stupid. Opening her fridge she wasn’t too surprised to find it scarce. Half a gallon of milk, some unopened mayonnaise, an empty beer can. Karen carefully took it out of the fridge and deposited it in the recycling bin near the trash can. It has started out as a mini project she started to get a few extra dollars. Recycling that is.

She remembered thinking when she was young she would probably be famous one day and make a lot of money. She thought she was pretty. And continued with that sort of wonderful self confidence all through high school. She knew it was probably this sort of confidence that ultimately set Rich off. When he started hitting her it meant he was ready to prove her wrong. He had done a good a job.

She didn’t feel so pretty anymore.

~**~

Rumors started flaring up that the Stamford branch was closing. Not that it came as a completely huge surprise to Karen. Though she felt herself getting close to Jim and wasn’t really ready to say goodbye quite yet. She needed to spend more time with this guy. The feelings were confusing. Karen usually brushed men off in fear of this exact predicament. She knew she was too vulnerable. She knew she hadn’t seen the last of her abuser.

Maybe it was because Jim had been so quick to be her friend. She wouldn’t lie; he was a really likeable person. He made her want to play again. She couldn’t remember the last time she had wanted to play. She never thought she’d be doing crazy things like spending a whole entire work day looking for a bag of chips. The night Karen took her new, very drunk, friend home was the night she realized how much she missed being young. She was still only in her mid twenties but felt she had grown up far too quickly. He laid out in the backseat of her car making sounds and flicking her elbow as she drove.

“No Jim.”

She felt like she might has well have been scolding a flower pot.

“Your so taaaan,” he noted, drawling his words as to be expected from the amount of alcohol he had consumed. Karen caught herself smirking.

“Thanks Jim…I think anyway.”

“Karen?” he started in a questioning tone. She hit the brakes at a stoplight and his un-seatbelt-ed body lurched forward a little.

“Yes?” she pushed him backwards while they were still stopped. “Put your seatbelt on.”

Jim fumbled with it for a couple seconds before ruling it not worth the effort in his drunken state.

“Where did those bruises come from?”

The question caught her slightly off guard. She tried to remember he wasn’t fully there. As the car started rolling again and Jim hit the back of her seat the smirk returned.

“Softball,” she answered simply. “Where do I turn Jim?”

“Their not from softball!” he hiccupped. “You told me you hit your arm on the desk.”

“I did,” she said, enjoying far too much toying with him. He stared at the back of her neck.

“Turn left at the next light,” he instructed, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of his window. He paused for another second. “You don’t play softball.”

“Yes I do,” Karen pulled into neighborhood. “Which one?”

“Third one...on the left.” Jim seemed more a little more aware now. But as Karen parked the car near the curb he started moaning. She turned around to look at him.

“You are not puking in this car Halpart.”

He moaned and she got out, opening his door. He fell out onto her and she helped steady him against her shoulder.

“I miss Pam,” he said softly.

“What?” Karen asked, walking him to the door. “Who’s Pam?”

“A girl,” Jim moaned. “I left her in Scranton.”

“Ohhhh,” Karen laughed a little. “No worries. If this branch closing comes through then you’ll probably be headed back to Scranton Jim. Do you have any keys?” Jim fished his key ring out of his pocket and handed them to her. She put the key in the lock and turned the knob, a sense of relief washing through her as she stared into the quiet darkness of his home. “You going to be okay Halpert?”

Jim stared at her with hazy eyes, hiccupping lazily before detaching himself from her arm.

“Thanks,” he took a long breath, stepping through the front door. “You won’t tell anybody?”

Karen just smirked.

“Who am I going to tell? Andy?”

“Please?” he was using the door frame to steady himself now and Karen knew it was time to say good night.

“I’m not going to tell anybody. Just take care of yourself alright?” she turned and started heading down the walkway, back to her car.

“Karen.”

She turned around and met his gaze.

“If they offer you a job in Scranton you should take it. You’d be really good. I like spending time with you.” All the words came slow and deliberate as if Jim’s mind was chewing on every one before it allowed him to say them. The drunken haziness was slowly ebbing, making way for an excruciating headache. She couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ll think about it Halpert.”