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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.

 

 

Karen should find it ridiculous that the light spray jetting out of the fountain and tickling her arm is making her feel some weird emotional cocktail of dejected and annoyed. She should dry her eyes and find a ride home, before all her friends make plans and she’s left a mere vagrant on the streets of New York City. She should be grateful that the camera crew wrapped up for the day before this whole breaking her heart in public thing, that there won’t be some tangible reminder of her duress and embarrassment caught on tape for the world to see.

But she isn’t any of those things, because the worst part of it all is that it isn’t completely his fault. She’ll tell herself that later, under the influence of Häagen-Dazs and tequila and bad chick flicks, but right now her head is painfully clear and all it seems to want to remember is Jim saying yes when she asked him if he still had feelings for another girl. And she just walked away.

But not to splitsville, oh no. To long nights of talking through their feelings. Like his denial and her stern looks would change his heart. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She recognizes that now, but she supposes there’s a reason why they say that hindsight is 2020.

She’s clutching a napkin in her hand (because she hadn’t come prepared for tears when she’d packed her purse before they left, only for mustard and crumbs) when she glances up and does a double take.

“Jan?”

The other woman glances up, the box of her personal effects balanced precariously on her knee and a planter by the fountain.

“Karen.” And she says it like she’s still in that office back up there ten stories, all professional and precise and competent. If she hadn’t witnessed her demolition herself she’d probably think this was just a normal coffee break for her.

“What are you doing out here. I thought you left after-“

“Michael’s bringing the car around.” Jan clarifies quickly, tapping one finger after the other in a slow progression against the cardboard, each making a louder and deeper sound like they’re spiraling down. “You?”

“Me?” Karen brings her hand to her chest, balled up napkin and all, as if there is anyone else she would be referring to. “I’m… waiting too.”

Why not lie? It’s not like Jan can discipline her, not now.

Jan nods, but questions her. “For?”

“For… for…” Karen buries her head in her hands. “For a bus to come and hit me.”

“Jim?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“Well let’s just say I’ve known Jim and Pam a long time.”

Karen presses her heel of her hand against her eyelids until she sees sparks.

“Oh god. I’m that girl, aren’t I? The stupid love interest that’s just a distraction until May sweeps.”

It surprises her when Jan puts a hand on her back. The other woman had never really seemed like the affectionate type, but apparently getting a boob job and being fired does strange things to people.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

And it almost makes her feel bad for mocking her, back when jobs were still open and boyfriends weren’t exes and her life hadn’t taken a sudden and unexpected turn for the worse. And then down a few flights of stair onto concrete.

“I’m sorry about your job.” She says it as Michael pulls up, waving like a little kid out the school bus window at her.

Jan straightens, jutting out her breasts (whether knowingly or not) and flipping her hair back.

“I’m not.”

Karen nods at that, not quite believing her but willing to pretend, knowing that later, when her friends ask her if she’s alright and she says that she’s fine, they’ll agree in just the same way and she won’t mind that merciful lie at all.

Because now Karen knows a little something about hard-core self-destruction.

 

Chapter End Notes:
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bebitched is the author of 66 other stories.
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