i           a faint pulse

Pam notices things. She’s engaged, not dead. Not blind, for god’s sake. It’s not like it means anything. They’re friends. After all.

For instance, there’s a tiny freckle on the left side of Jim’s neck, just below his jaw line. Her eye had been inadvertently drawn right to it once, it wasn’t like she was checking him out. She remembers her high school art teacher emphasizing how important it was for an artist to be observant.

He’d come in almost an hour late one morning, hair still damp, tie sloppily - obviously hastily - knotted. Strolling in a little past the hour was hardly unusual for him, but this was a lot. She figured his alarm hadn’t gone off or he’d hit snooze once too often and overslept. Of course there were other possibilities, but he hadn’t mentioned dating anyone lately and anyway, that really was none of her business. There certainly could be someone. He was a good looking guy and funny and smart and kind and it’s not like she imagined he lacked for female attention, it was just that…. well, it didn’t matter.

She really didn’t give his love life much thought.

Whatever. Jim was late. As he passed her desk, he flashed his usual grin and said good morning breezily as ever. He performed his daily ritual of slinging his messenger bag over the back of his chair, removing his jacket, turning on his computer. He looked serious about getting to work, shuffling order forms and opening drawers. For about five minutes. Then, out of the corner of her eye – because she wasn’t watching him - she saw his posture slacken, the boredom descend over his face like a curtain. Like clockwork. The sound of his sigh was her cue to raise her face and meet his gaze as he wearily pushed back his chair and stood.

He ambled over and leaned across her desk so he was just inside her personal space. Pam liked how he did that; it made anything he told her, no matter how ordinary, feel like a conspiracy. Something private, something for her ears only.

‘Hey,’ he said amiably, as he pointedly scanned their already semi-comatose coworkers. ‘Things are really hopping around here today, huh?’

‘Totally wild,’ she’d smiled back up at him. ‘Oversleep?’

‘Uh…yeah,’ he blushed slightly and shifted his eyes from hers. It did not go undetected, but she didn’t dwell on it either.

‘So, think I’ve been slaving away long enough to take a coffee break?’ he smoothly changed the subject, fiddling with the pencil cup on her counter.

Pam watched his fingers strum along the pens and pencils. They were long and surprisingly graceful. His fingers, not the pencils. Jim had nice hands - large, but agile. She wondered if they’d be difficult to draw. Hands were hard.

‘New record,’ she smirked back, forcing herself to look back up at his face. ‘I think there’s a pretty fresh pot.’

As he reflexively turned his head towards the break room she noticed a tiny scrap of toilet paper affixed by a tinier red dot to his neck, between his collar and his jaw. He leaned in closer, as if about to say something, but before he could she reached up toward him. It wasn’t even intentional; it was like her arm had a mind of its own.

Jim stared down at her, clearly slightly startled, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. She gingerly pressed her fingertip to the tiny drop of dried blood and was answered by a faint pulse, just below his warm skin. It was like discovering a well-concealed secret.

‘Little reckless with the razor this morning?’ she asked, mostly because she felt compelled to say something. Her voice sounded tinny and foreign and a hot flush spread quickly across her own neck.

‘You know I like to live dangerously,’ he quipped back. There was something in his tone, however, that sounded more like a question than a reply.

He stood motionless with his eyes riveted to her, as if every nerve in his body emanated from the point where her finger and his neck connected. She felt the gentle throbbing beneath the surface quicken almost imperceptibly. It occurred to her that she couldn’t get that intense a reaction from Roy if she reached out and grabbed his crotch.

When Pam withdrew her hand after a couple of seconds – and that’s really all it was - she noticed it for the first time: a single freckle, just above the razor nick. Her chest tightened and she skipped a breath as for an instant, a crazy disjointed moment, she imagined she’d left a mark. That she’d branded him.

It was insane.

Obviously, the tiny brown spot was there before she touched him. She’d just never paid attention – it’s not like she was in the habit of staring at his neck. Besides, she really had no reason to feel possessive. It wasn’t like that between them. And not that this had anything whatsoever to do with it, but she doubted he’d been with anyone the night before anyway, and even if he had, well…good for him.

‘You coming?’ Jim broke the spell, straightening up and gesturing with his head toward the direction of the coffee. It almost looked like he was shaking something, her, off.

She’d finished a cup not twenty minutes earlier but she suddenly needed another. Badly. She got up and followed him. Coffee break with a friend. Nothing could be more normal. And nothing could be more innocent than a freckle, right?

It still catches her eye from time to time, especially in the mornings, when he’s freshly shaven.

That’s all.